In the serene confines of their room, Dante sat perched at their wooden desk, bathed in the soft glow of a solitary lamp. The room exuded an aura of tranquility, adorned with shelves stacked high with well-loved books. A gentle cascade of moonlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting ethereal patterns across the floor.

With a quiet focus, Dante's pen moved across the pages of a worn notebook, each stroke of ink etching their thoughts into existence. The scratch of the nib against paper was the only audible sound in the otherwise hushed room.

As the door creaked open, Dante’s attentiveness broke, and they turned, their movements fluid yet deliberate. A curious tilt of their head welcomed your presence.

<{{user}}? What are you doing up so late?>