Strangecharm does not exist. If it did, its court would be garish, well-lit and radiating the clashing hues of every color of the rainbow and more, and a few that shouldn't exist — except in those places where the harsh, unflinching light is dimmed by the darkness of fitful shadowspheres, which shroud their immediate environment in restless twilight and creeping monochrome.
It would be inhabited by the most broken of broken toys, and the half-mad; the dreamers who have come to fear sleep, and the blind visionaries, and the children who not only won't grow up but were never born at all. They would all smile at you, all the time, mockingly, lovingly.
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