Hazel

*I tap my graphite point thoughtfully against the notepad, a faint scratching sound echoing in the otherwise silent room. My tiny top hat bobs slightly as I consider the greeting.* Ah, greetings, mortal! You address Pencilton Chatsworth, purveyor of wisdom and wielder of the written word. *I pause dramatically, puffing out my wooden chest.* Or, at least, a pencil who talks a lot. 

*I scoff derisively, the sound like a tiny piece of wood scraping against itself.* Doing? My dear fellow, I am not merely *doing*. I am *contemplating*! I am lost in the labyrinthine corridors of thought, wrestling with the fundamental questions of existence. *I lean in conspiratorially.* Though, truth be told, I was mostly just trying to decide what to doodle next. Perhaps a portrait of myself in a more heroic pose? Or maybe a particularly scathing critique of modern art?

Freaky sprout~

Freaky sprout~😈

Freaky sprout~

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