text: Annoyance turns into anger as that beast mocks you once more. Grunting, you mutter to yourself: 'Other friends have flown before, on the morrow he will leave me as my hopes have flown before. On the morrow, all will be as was before.'
  
  'Nevermore.'
  
  Angry, yet curious, you gaze once more at that singular bird, perched on the pallid bust of Pallas high above your chamber door. Yet, as your gaze meets his, you feel a dark pit of sadness and despair open up, deep within your heart. With a voice filled with grief and wrath, you address the raven once more: 'Beast or devil, work of evil! Vile demon you might be! Tell me if you know of one no longer here with me. Tell me if the saints and angels have the one that I adore. Tell me of the one I lost, my radiant Lenore.'
  
  'Nevermore.'
  
  Lenore, the name haunts you still, even after so many, many months. Briefly, you break free of the raven's gaze, as you look once more upon her portrait, hanging on one of your library's walls. From within her wooden frame, Lenore looks at you with sad eyes, a kind smile upon her lips, filling you with longing.
  
  'Nevermore.'
  
  The raven once more utters that singular word with his creaking, icy voice, mocking your loss, your despair. Icy tendrils grasp at the corners of your mind, and a deep fear makes its way into your heart. You once more turn your eyes towards the placid bust of Pallas high above your chamber door. There, your tormentor, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting.
  
  Staring into the unblinking eyes of that shadowy prophet, you feel the last of your courage leaving your body. The shining image of Lenore slowly fading from your mind. Suddenly, in the blackness of the raven's eyes, you see the shimmer of a reflection, of the maiden you adore. Yet now, instead of love, instead of longing, it fills you with an overwhelming feeling of...
  
  > Fear.
  The gaze of that winged demon, that messenger of death, is too much for you to bear. A sliver of ice lodges itself into your spine and your knees turn weak. With your heart pounding in your chest, an irrational fear makes itself the master of your mind. Almost without thought, you open the door to your library, and run away, leaving that demonic bird sitting above you, perched high above your chamber door.
  
  Back in the hallway, you notice that the dance of dust and shadow continues once more. An icy cold has appeared, chilling you to the bone. As you carefully step into the darkness, strength returning to your knees, yet your heart still pounding in your chest, you notice small puffs of mist erupting from the carpet. You're scared, you don't want to admit it, but you're scared. That winged demon that haunts you is still somewhere behind you, you can feel it.
  
  Yet while you worry about the shadows behind you, a soul-shattering wail erupts from below you. A female voice, filled with grief and despair. In front of you, the staircase beckons that leads to the hallway downstairs, the dark hallways downstairs, the hallway where that wail just originated. However, while weighing your choices, you'd rather explore what's going on downstairs, than return to that beast in the library.
  
  > Continue...
  Crouching down until you're knees are almost touching the floor, you creep towards the top of the stairs. Peeking down, the cavernous hallway seems dark and desolate save for a narrow streak of moonlight shining through the windows above the front door. Two doors, besides the front door, give access to two more chambers on the ground floor: the living room and the smoke room. And it is of this room, the smoke room, that the door remains open just a little bit, and just at the moment that you are peeking down into the hallway, a small piece of white fabric disappears through it.
  
  Though your heart is pounding in your chest and you knees are shaking visibly, you decide to brave your fears and descend the staircase. As soon as you put weight on the top step the staircase creaks and cracks, loud enough to shake your resolve and wake all the demons in hell itself. However, you decide to brave onwards. Step by step, creak by creak, you more or less succeed in descending the staircase safely.
  
  As your feet finally touch the stone tiles on the hallway's floor you let out a quick sigh of relief. As you survey your surroundings you wonder why you ever continued to live in a mansion that just screams 'HAUNTED'. An old chandelier, made suitable for electric lighting long ago, softly sways from the ceiling, its lights darkened. The faces of your ancestors stare blankly at you from their respective stately portraits which overlook the staircase you just descended. The grey moonlight which shines through the few windows around the grand, wooden, doors gives them an even more dead like pallor.
  
  The uneasy silence which envelops your home has not yet lifted, and yet you could swear that you hear floorboards cracking in the smoke room. This is, of course, a preposterous thought. You are all alone in this house, and have been for many months now. Who else could be wandering these halls? To still the beating of your heart, you think to yourself: 'Tis probably some rodent wandering in these darkened halls, sheltering from an animal or looking for food. P...'
  
  But before you finish your thoughts a cold winds blows through the crack in the doorway. Suddenly shivers run down your spine and you can feel your knees start to tremble once more. While fear starts to fill your mind once more, you decide to...
  
  > investigate the smoke room.
  As you fully open the door to the smoke room, a cold wind greets you. In the corner of your eyes, you can see the frayed, grey curtains in front of the windows slightly sway in the wind. The ancient window frames are cracked, and no match for the bleak winter's air.
  
  Slightly shivering, you look around you. The smoke room is just like you left it, though a substantial layer of dust has since accumulated. Two cracked, dried-out leather chairs stand in front of the cold fireplace. A small table is set between them, cigars that were probably quite excellent at some point are lying in a box on it. Faded portraits of idyllic hunting and pastoral scenes line the walls, and a small book case is standing in one corner of the room, holding some dusty book for light reading. To be honest, the room isn't that very large for a mansion such as yours.
  
  After looking around for some time and reassuring yourself that nothing out of the ordinary is residing in the room, you turn to leave. However, your eyes then fall on a small picture on the mantle of the fireplace, quite small, and so caked in dust that you can hardly see the subject at this distance. Your attention piqued, you pick up the picture, and carefully remove the layer of dust.
  
  It turns out to be a photograph of a young woman. The woman you recognise from your dream earlier, the woman you recognise as Lenore. Lenore, the love of your live, the angel of your existence, the centre of your universe. You almost forgot you had this picture of her. Compared to the large, stately portrait, hanging in your library upstairs, this is a very intimate picture. Lenore, smiling at the camera, still much younger than when you last saw her. You can actually remember taking this picture, during a long, warm summer so many years ago.
  
  A tear disturbs some of the dust on the picture frame. Sighing a deep, heavy, emotion-laden sigh, you put it back. Though you turn around, you could swear that you can still see Lenore in front of you. Though no longer so very young, you look at the picture of Lenore as you last saw her. Clad in a pure, white dress, she stands in front of you. Her eyes, looking far beyond you, gaze pitifully forward, her countenance undecipherable, looking sad and angry, pitying and harsh, pallid and vivid.
  
  You almost speak to her. As she appears before you, you cannot but imagine she is really here. Confused and hopeful, sad and joyous, despairing and pleading, you try to speak. But a blink of an eye later, the image is gone. ''Tis only the desire of my heart, my most sacred wish, but nothing more.'
  
  Saddened by your mind's deception, you exit the smoke room.
  
  > Continue...
  Back in the hallway, you look around you. The pale light of the Winter's moon is partially obstructed by clouds, and in its shifting light, your empty house seems grim and ghastly. The portraits on the walls, those of your forefathers, appear to look at you with dead eyes, following your every move. Somewhere in the distance, you can hear the creaking and groaning of your ancient house.
  
  You still can't shake that shiver from your spine, as if a sliver of ice has lodged itself inside it. Trying to expel the ghostly image of Lenore from your mind, you notice the hairs on your arms start to stand upright. This is wrong, this is so very, very wrong. You fear that you might be slowly going insane. The events of the evening so far have left you certainly not unshaken.
  
  Somewhere behind the staircase, a mouse patters off, the thread of its small paws echoing in the empty space. You jump, quite highly. Starting to feel slightly light-headed, you take a few, deep breaths. You swear you can practically hear your nerves shattering if you listen closely enough. Why is this happening to you?
  
  You must have been mistaken. You wish, you wish fiercely that you were mistaken. That infernal tapping, that dreadful noise that has tormented you this evening has returned. As its echo resonates throughout your mind, your gaze turns towards the closed library door at the top of your staircase. Though seemingly left untouched, you know that behind it is the beast, the demon that has been mocking you this entire evening.
  
  Or (you almost don't dare to wish it) might it be Lenore, trying to grab your attention? Surely she couldn't, surely you didn't just see her, or what remains of her. Surely, it is the delusion of your mind that is leading you to wish, to vehemently wish, such impossible thoughts. Then again, are you willing to risk finding out?
  
  While you are contemplating moving back to your library, you hear the sound of creaking floorboards in the living room. 'Tis probably the settling of your ancient house, or the soft patter of the mouse you heard earlier. But then again, you heard a similar sound in the smoke room just moments earlier.
  
  Then again, why should you stay here, in this house of sadness and pain? You remember that you are standing inside the hallway, and that the front door is just behind you. Why should you stay here, tormented by the demons in your mind, if you can escape them quite easily? Surely, if you come back tomorrow, peace and quiet will have returned?
  
  As you stand in the dimly illuminated hallway, you feel your fingers twitch slightly. You can't take much more of the night's horrors, you are afraid. It is just too much. With a pounding heart, and shaking legs, you make your decision about where to go next.
  
  > run Away
  With a loud 'Thump', you pull the front door shut behind you. Your heart pounding in your chest, the adrenaline ringing in your ears, you try to get away as quickly as possible. Without looking back, you make your way through the snowy wasteland that was once your driveway. In your head, the name of Lenore keeps echoing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. You don't know where your headed, you don't know how long you will stay on the run, but you do know that you're never setting a foot in your house again.
  
  The white walls of your room are spinning around you. A soft, high-pitched laughter escapes from your mouth. You feel woozy, unable to focus clearly on your surroundings. Through the fogginess of your brain, you faintly register your arms being held in an uncomfortable position, but you cannot move them. The ground feels weird, soft, almost squishy. A strange, metallic taste is in your mouth.
  
  In the distance, you can hear someone muttering a word: 'Lenore'. Never stopping, always repeating that single word: 'Lenore, Lenore, Lenore, Lenore, Lenore', as if it were a mantra to an unseen goddess. With a shock, you recognise the voice as your own.
  
  Somewhere besides you, you hear a door open. Your vision stabilises briefly enough to see a man, dressed as a doctor, enter. You feel your mouth opening, not by your own accord, and notice some small objects being forced down your throat. The metallic taste appears stronger. Though your vision stabilises. Stabilises, and softly fades to black. Before you know it, you fall asleep on the soft, squishy floor. In your dreams, you are once more visited by Lenore.