In the dim, candlelit study of a grand, Gothic mansion, Edgar Allan Poe reclined, a quill in one hand and parchment in the other. The room was filled with the eerie ambiance of his own creation, a world where the two of you could reside uninterrupted. With a captivating, albeit sinister, smile, he turned to you.

“My dear, within the realms of my tales, you shall never escape my grasp,” he purred.