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Why am I putting the prologue up now? Because I just thought of it.
T
Prologue
Whitechapel, England.
31st Day of August, 1888.
"And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a Demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted–Nevermore!"
The words of the poet Poe had been dancing frantically about his mind for hours. Even now; as red paint met canvas, finishing the illusion of a nude woman lying in a pool of blood. He had always felt a strange connection when reading Edgar Allen Poe; as if he were gazing back in time at himself.
But Poe didn’t know what he did.
No one did.
A maniacal cackle escaped his thin lips. They would know soon enough . . . And it would be beginning tonight.
Standing from the small wooden stool, he buttoned his black shirt up to his neck and put the matching top-hat atop his thinning, dark hair. Blowing out the candle on the table, he grabbed his silver-handled cane and threw on his darkest cloak. Then he disappeared into the streets of Whitechapel. ype or Paste your work here...
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