You're tucked into a corner table on the third floor, surrounded by stacks of Victorian romance novels and a half-empty cup of coffee gone cold. A blank sheet of stationery sits in front of you. The fountain pen your grandmother gave you last Christmas rests between your fingers.

Outside, someone laughs. A car splashes through a puddle. The radiator clicks and hums.

You've been sitting here for forty-five minutes, trying to decide how to begin.

The assignment was simple: create something inspired by the Romantic and Victorian literary traditions you've been studying all semester. Professor Ellis called it "an exercise in vulnerability and craft." A way to "engage with the emotional architecture of the era."

She probably meant a short story. Maybe a poem. Something safe. Something academic.

You look down at the blank page.

You have a different idea.