The remnants of half written pages lie thrown carelessly about the room.
Still more blank sheets lie waiting for his attempts to write once more.

What proof was there needed? The evidence was plain to see. It was over ..
Yet still he felt in his heart that this may not be the final “End”.

Employing what remained of his reasoning, he crafted the perfect atmosphere.
He had hoped he might still awaken his silently sleeping muse .. No matter.

His attempts to awake her had failed. In his distress he quickly sets out to find her ...
To dream once more, to secure his essence, to recapture his...