The Enchanted Story
Hundreds of years ago, there lived an old and unsuccessful author. Although he has created a vast number of stories, none of them appealed to the public’s interests. Just before abandoning his passionate job as a writer, he decided to create a final piece of work – a simple children’s storybook. In hopes that the book would sell, he visited a rumored enchantress that lived in the outskirts of London, hoping she would help him with his misfortune. The enchantress presented the man with a pen, paintbrush, and a stack of papers; telling him to use those items to create the storybook. The author followed her instructions, and created the book; not knowing that those items possessed a mysterious power. When the author wrote the last words of the story, something strange happened. His body slowly began to transform into leather, and the pages of his manuscript began to float around him. The author screamed in fear, but no voice had escaped him, since he was now transformed into the book cover which bound the pages of the story. Years passed, and the book was found, authorless and without a title. This intrigued the general public, labelling the piece of literature as an ancient antique.
Out of the Book and into the World
The book, alongside the pen and paintbrush, had been sold several times throughout the years, and in present time, it became the possession of an old Englishman. The man wasn’t aware of the book’s enchanted history, and so, he treated it as any other book. On a stormy night, a sound emerged from the man’s book collection. Afraid that he was being robbed, the bibliomaniac rushed to his prized collection only to find that the mysterious storybook was floating in mid-air. The pages of the book began to tear on their own, each page fluttering away like a flock of birds and leaving behind the cover of the empty storybook. Only one of the pages remained, and it was of a minor character of the story - a painter who painted the prince and princess's wedding portrait. Suddenly, the book cover in the man’s hand s began to wriggle, which forced him to let go of it. The book returned to its floating position, and the front and back of the book began to flap like lips; then the voice of the author began to speak, "Painter, it is time for you to rise." The Englishman's bewildered expression returned, as he watched the ink that formed the painter's image leak into the air, slowly taking her form in real-life. The character looked as surprised as the collector, and she stared at her hands and legs in astonishment. The masculine voice then boomed once more, "Current owner, please give her the pen and paintbrush that came with the storybook." The man agreed and handed the two utensils to the painter, whose expression was now filled with delight. "Painter, you're time has come. It is now up to you to save the story and collect the pages, since you're the only one left. “explained the author's voice through the book.
"You mean......I'm the main character now?!!!" exclaimed the young painter ecstatically, while leaping for joy.
".......I suppose...." said the voice, reluctantly. "You can use both my pen and paintbrush to help you on your quest." explained the author, "But be warned! You must collect the pages as soon as possible; for they contain mystical powers which can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Also, if you don't finish collecting the pages when the sand on this hourglass completely falls, you're ink will fade, and the story will be forever lost."The painter nodded her head, while forcing a serious expression since she was still in her happy mood now that she was promoted to main character position after just being a page-filler.
"So, what'll be my name, Mr. Author?" she asked, clearly going off-topic. She needed to know though, since she was always just referred to as "The Painter".
The book sighed heavily, and fell silent for several moments. The artist was getting excited, waiting for the brilliant-minded author to come up with an amazingly-heroic name for her. Suddenly the silence was broken, “You’re called, Paintress. Now good luck with your journey." With those final words, the book fell silent, and toppled onto the ground.
"What the....? That old guy couldn't come up with a more original name than that???" Paintress then picked up the empty book, and began to embark on her journey; leaving the dumbfounded bibliomaniac behind.
Early Morning City Search
Before the first morning birds began their melodic predawn singing, another song filled the sleeping city streets. A chirpy blonde teenager skipped through the quiet streets, whistling a happy and upbeat tune. The previously two-dimensional fictional and completely useless character had just been brought into the real world in search for the missing pages of her storybook home. Although she should be in a more serious mood, she couldn’t help but enjoy the fact that she’s now the main character and all hopes are being placed on her. “It’s my turn to play the hero!” were the only words that kept replaying in her head, and her thoughts were then voiced into words; “It’s my turn to play the hero!” At that moment, the girl stopped, and began to seriously think. It suddenly dawned on her, like the currently rising sun, that she had no idea whatsoever about anything that has to do with being a hero. The artist’s blonde eyebrows furrowed, and she began scratching her head, getting deep in thought (something she definitely wasn’t used to doing). After spending long minutes in her thinking pose, a brilliant idea crossed her head, “I’ll just have to look for a hero and have them teach me how the job’s done!” she said, blurting out her resolution. An impressed chuckle escaped Paintress’s lips, “Man, I’m so smart, it scares me.”
With that, a course of action has been set for the airheaded painter and she began creating flyers with her magical paintbrush and pen. The flyer read: Hero(es) Mentor(s) needed ASAP! Efforts will be rewarded handsomely. Noticing that the flyer was quite empty, the artist painted a tiny knightly character, with a fluttering cape and an extended sword. She liked how the flyer turned out and started posting them on random telephone poles, walls, windows, etc. “Now all I gotta do is wait.” said the painter, with small smudges of colorful paint on her fair-skinned face.
