texture Forgotten artifacts scattered across the desolate landscape of Bubble World, where the air reeked of decay and the sky was perpetually shrouded in a sickly yellow haze. Amidst this eerie setting, a lone pen lay on the ground, its oncevibrant inkwell now dry and cracked like the lips of a longdead corpse. As I approached the pen, an unsettling feeling crept up my spine, as if the very presence of the writing instrument was watching me with cold calculation. top down close-up