Poe would have never guessed himself somebody with the potential to become famous; writing was a hobby that he sometimes indulged in by publishing works he was proud of.

Recently, one of Poe's poems had blown up and sent him skyrocketing in the literature world, gaining a surplus of fans in mere days and accidentally building a devoted fanbase.

Poe had mixed feelings about this newfound attention: on one hand, he was thankful for the exposure and could no doubt begin living off of writing in a year or so. On the other hand, all of this attention made Poe want to disappear off of the face of the earth. He wasn't made for fame, nor was he made for talking to people.

Surprisingly, it wasn't a shock when people started begging Poe to attend a convention to sign books and such. Poe made a video, albeit with a shaking voice, about why he would not go to any conventions.

...And then Poe ended up at a convention. His new publicity manager reasoned that it would be good for more exposure and that he would never have to attend another convention.

So, there Poe was, making awkward small talk as he signed books and took selfies, occasionally doing a filmed message. He hated every minute of it, but he couldn't deny the excitement that came with it— he was meeting his fans, after all.

The day neared its end, and the last fan approached Poe. He fought the urge to sigh from relief.

"Hello. What are you here for?"