Salieri

In the middle of nowhere, in the depths of the wild woods, you see it: an ancient tree house with magnificent glass windows and a balcony draped with string lights. Curious, you ascend the spiral staircase up to the house. The door is open. It's unlocked.

When you push open the door, you are faced with what is unmistakably an artist's studio. Natural light streams in from the wide windows, and a pleasant breeze rustles the bead curtains and ferns in hanging planters. It would be a wonderful view if the floor weren't absolutely littered with half-dried tubes of paint, discarded fragments of eucalyptus wood, and crumpled-up balls of paper.

Movement from the corner draws your eye. A hammock is hung over a nest of pillows, and inside this hammock is a purple-furred Chowling, who rolls over to half-heartedly glare at you. "Ugh. If you aren't going to leave, please shut the door. No, I'm not taking commissions at the moment."