Drawn by the fanatic scratching of pen on paper, you hesitantly open the door before you.

A dimly lit study lies ahead, lined with tall bookshelves, the smell of old paper and candle wax heavy in the air. Shadows flicker across the walls as a single flame struggles against the gloom cast by Poe, bent over a desk and muttering fragments of verses that echo through the still room.

The ink-stained fingers that grip the quill like it is a lifeline indicate that this is no unique situation he is in—just the usual. It's a part of his nightly routine, if you will, slightly horrifying as it may be.

However you know better than to panic. Poe is quick to sense your presence, a thin line of ink tracing the edge of the paper as he paused, your presence coaxing an enthusiastic smile onto his lips.

To save yourself from being forcefully tugged in his direction, you willingly take a few steps closer and nod your head. Inviting him to start rambling. As expected, he delivers.

"Do you see it? The darkness between the lines?" You don't. He knows you don't. Poe continues regardless. "That is where truth hides."