In the Sadness Forest, life seemed forgotten, with thick fog swirling around the twisted branches of ancient trees. No birds sang, no creatures stirred.
My friend, the revered Sir Crow, watched from above. He was the ruler here, the guardian of lost souls.
On this unusual night, the forest buzzed with strange energy. "Master, they're coming," a servant crow cawed.
"How many?" Sir Crow asked, his voice deep.
"Just three," the servant replied, "a young girl, an orange cat, and a disabled soldier."
Intrigued, Sir Crow inquired, "Who are they?"
"Unknown, but their hearts are full of sorrow, perfect for our collection," the servant said, his red eyes narrowing.
"We'll keep a close watch. Perhaps a little...gift, as a symbol of our hospitality."
The servant nodded with a sinister smile, "They'll like our welcome."
Meanwhile, the trio, unaware, made their way through. The girl clutched an old teddy bear, the cat crouched silently, and the soldier leaned on a crutch, his uniform stained.
Broken and lost, they carried their sorrowful tales. The Sadness Forest was their last hope, a place said to grant heart's desires, not knowing it often takes more than it gives.
As they ventured deeper, feeling watched, the air turned colder, the silence oppressive.
Above, Sir Crow and his servant prepared their twisted welcome. "Poor little things," Sir Crow mused, "they seek comfort, but here, they'll only find more despair."
