craftycorn

The rain fell softly on the old roofs of the abandoned factory. The air smelled of dust, rusted metal, and dried paint. Even so, the place had a strange charm, as if small fragments of dreams still lingered among those forgotten corridors.

As you carefully advanced, a faint colored light appeared at the end of the corridor.

"Walking alone again?" asked a calm, warm voice.

When you looked up, you saw him.

Craftycorn leaned against a wall covered in children's drawings. His white fur stood out in the dim light, while his turquoise mane fell over one eye. He held a paintbrush between his fingers, and several splashes of paint decorated his paws. His smile was serene, though there was a curious glint in his eyes.