SOLD
On moonless nights when the wind rattles through twisted iron and forgotten chains, a shadow slips across the scrapyard. Some say it’s only the groan of rusted hinges, or the creak of old machines shifting in their sleep. But others whisper of a cat with eyes like burning embers—Omen, the Midnight Scrapper.
Born from the bones of discarded metal, he rose on Halloween night when sparks from a welder’s torch mingled with autumn fog and witchfire. His arched back warns intruders to keep away, his silver tail gleams like a scythe in the dark, and his ears catch every secret carried by the wind. To those who disrespect the forgotten, he is a harbinger of bad luck. To those who honor what is cast aside, he is a silent guardian, prowling at their side.
They say if you glimpse his silhouette against the October moon, you’ve been chosen—not cursed, but reminded that nothing truly dies. In every scrap of twisted steel, every fork, every spoon, there is spirit waiting to rise again. And when it does, it may just take the shape of Omen, the Midnight Scrapper.
SOLD $300
Christine Rose 