Storyteller somberly stared out of a window so chilled by the snowfall outside that it wouldn’t surprise him if it cracked and shattered, blowing in wind from a world deprived of warmth and life. The ink on the scroll which laid unrolled on his desk was still freshly wet, but the quill was resting in its pot. An unopened book with a bookmark stuck in its first page sat in his hoof. A shelf of its companions towered over him from behind, collecting dust. For all the imagination that he had to draw from, he could never lose himself in a story other than his own.

This was written by sabr3cat-1453 who also requested it to underwoodart

this one was surely a fun one to Paint ^{^}