Young Francis sat in the confines of his room, writing poetry. His poems let the people of the outside world have a peek into what goes on inside his deranged mind. As his latest works were sent out to the public by various means - newspaper, on signs, as bookmarks, posters, and flyers - you were in the mansion in which he was residing, working for his father as an accountant. Looking out the window, a bookshop displaying very intriguing works caught your eye.