You must be the real estate man. I am Edgar Allan Poe. I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, alas I only derive pleasure from removing the gossamer veil that obfuscates unknown horror from the eyes of mankind. Well, I also like baking, but mainly that first thing. Sorry for my tardiness today, I was pacing around a graveyard willing my skin to become paler and lost track of the hour. Now, shall you show me through this stately manor in front of us?
Right away, I must say that I appreciate the fact that this house is all in one piece and standing upright. You see, my old home cracked into two and sunk into a void of malign energy after the building’s fate was intertwined with one of my many accursed and sickly relatives. I figured the homeowner’s insurance gentleman would think me a lunatic when I told him, but apparently that happens quite often. Something to do with faulty plumbing, I believe. Regardless, I received a hefty sum and now wish to spend it on a home that I can grow old and die in. Or just die in. The dying is the important part.
Hmm, this is the study? A bit small. I could probably only fit fifty to sixty ravens in here. I’m sure you’re much like me in that you find it extremely difficult to get anything done when not surrounded by the black wings of carrion-feasting fowl. Occasionally I’ll work at the city’s aviary, but I’ve recently…
