shnywrld, A dark, endless forest where the trees are made of twisted, petrified ink, their branches stretching toward a sky that shifts between deep purple and glistening black. High above, flocks of latex crows take flight, their wings rippling like liquid metal, leaving behind trails of shimmering darkness. Their beaks drip with an inky substance that corrupts anything it touches, turning the ground into a glossy, living surface. Deep in the heart of the forest, a colossal raven with mirrored eyes watches, its talons curled around an obsidian throne. Occasionally, it spreads its wings, sending waves of liquid latex cascading down like a silent, sentient storm.
Ordinary forest, no latex crows, no ink trees, no surreal sky, no liquid storm, weak surrealism, lack of eerie beauty.
