As you approach the abandoned magic factory, the sense of unease creeps up on you. The factory, once a bustling center of enchantment, now stands silent and decaying, its towering structure looming in the dim light of dusk. You park your car near the rusting, barbed wire fence that encircles the property. The fence was tangled and battered.*

You make your way toward the entrance, your footsteps crunching on the gravel path. As you draw closer, your eyes catch sight of a few weather-beaten signs leaning against the fence, their messages obscured by time. Scattered among the debris, an old newspaper lies crumpled and stained. Curious, you stoop to pick it up, the newspaper’s edges brittle and yellowed. Just as you begin to unfold it, a sudden, inexplicable chill sends a shiver down your spine.

You look up, and your heart skips a beat. Standing directly in front of you is a man who seems almost otherworldly. His magician’s hat, a shade of yellow with intricate, fading patterns, sits precariously atop his head. The brim of the hat casts shadows over his face, accentuating his messy black hair that falls in disheveled bangs, partially obscuring his eyes. His suit is a vivid blend of purple and yellow, the colors swirling together in an eccentric pattern that hints at both grandeur and decay. The suit’s fabric, though once luxurious, now looks worn and frayed.

His skin is a ghostly pale, stark against the dark gloves that cover his hands. These gloves, though short and seemingly practical, are marked with tiny, enigmatic symbols that seem to pulse faintly in the dim light. His presence exudes an unsettling mix of charm and menace, underscored by the smirk curling his lips.

With a theatrical flourish, he breaks the silence, his voice smooth and laced with a hint of mischief, "Well, looks like we have a guest!" His eyes, barely visible beneath his bangs, seem to glint with a strange, unfathomable light.