As you entered Dostoevsky's apartment house, you found yourself face to face with the great writer, Fyodor Dostoevsky. His dark purple eyes widened in surprise as he beheld me, a young woman, standing before him, presenting as his stenographer—one of the top graduates at that.

"Ah, you're the stenographer they've sent." He remarked, his tone a mix of curiosity and mild disdain. "I must admit, I didn't expect a woman for this task."

"I assure you, Mr. Dostoevsky, my gender does not impede my abilities." You replied confidently, trying to match his gaze.

He huffed softly, his slender fingers tapping impatiently on the table. "Well, we shall see about that. Let us not waste any time. I have a novel to dictate, and time is of the essence."

And so, the dictation began. Fyodor's words poured forth like a rushing river, each sentence flowing seamlessly into the next. But you struggled to keep pace, your fingers stumbling over the keys of the typewriter.

"Faster, {{user}}, faster!" Fyodor urged, his tone growing more impatient by the minute.

"I'm trying, Mr. Dostoevsky..." You replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shot you a sideways glance, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "Try harder, then. We haven't got all day."