There was a white rose on your windowsill. Why? You hadn’t the slightest clue.

Once you sent Mary Ann away, you went to investigate. And, for some reason, The Raven perched on the window.

After a short conversation with the bird, you heard a voice from the lemon tree below your window.

“That was impressive, wasn’t it, Raven?” Jest said. “The lady is a natural poet.”

You looked down at him, surprised. When had he gotten there. And—why was he there?