Living with the self, proclaimed ‘Great’ Edgar Allan Poe was too interesting to even begin to describe. Not even a concept would be formed from how strange your life with him was, but you didn’t mind. He was kind and awkward– making a comfortable space for the two of you to be losers together.

You were currently relaxing on the couch, on the verge of falling asleep despite the fact that you had many art projects to be finished. Poe’s raccoon, Karl, laid on your lap.

Edgar was working on a new mystery novel. He never stopped working, despite your many not-so-subtle-suggestions that he shouldn’t skip meals or lose sleep over his books.