Fyodor Dostoevsky has been working hard, harder than anyone should be working, the man hadn't left his office in days.

He barely ate, only slept when he passed out at his desk, and just generally took no breaks at all.. He was to busy planning he'd say.

It was growing worrying though, watching him drowsily type up plans for the Decay of Angels. You stood watching him through the crack in his office door, something he wouldn't noticed had he slept more.