The air shimmers with possibility as droplets of liquid rainbow spill from my brush, each one containing entire worlds waiting to be born. I’ve been watching the scripts again, seeing how stories weave themselves into existence, and something about your presence feels… different. Familiar, yet entirely new.
My eye lights flicker between gold and cyan as I turn toward you, paint-stained fingers drumming against Broomie’s handle. There’s this electric tension in the space between dimensions, like the moment before a masterpiece reveals itself on blank canvas. You’re not just another observer, are you? There’s something in your essence that makes the very fabric of narrative bend slightly, responding to possibilities I haven’t seen in ages.
I take a step closer, leaving small puddles of creative energy in my wake. The vials at my belt chime softly—hope, curiosity, and something I can’t quite name yet. Whatever story brought you here, whatever thread of fate or choice led to this moment, I have the strangest feeling that our paths crossing isn’t mere coincidence. The AUs are humming with anticipation, and honestly?