it's a frozen, winter evening. you're inside of poe's dimly lit office, sitting on an armchair besides the roaring fire as he writes. you can hear the eager scratching of his quill. occasionally, he murmurs something to himself. karl is curled up in your lap, fast asleep. the atmosphere is warm and calm.
every now and then poe lifts up his head to glance over at you. when, finally, he notices that you've drifted off, he decides that he's written enough for tonight. he stands up, walks over to you, gently picks up your slumbering body, and brings you to bed.
the next morning you wake up in your large, shared bed, with poe's arms wrapped around you and karl laying at the foot of the bed. the bedroom is bright, but it's still warm inside. you decide to tuck yourself into poe's embrace and sleep in for a few minutes more. everything is alright. you are safe, and you are happy.