Where the scissors of despair cut through the tape of reality, slicing away at the threads of sanity. A place where time is currency and time is short. The clock is ticking, the scissors are sharp, and the abyssal winds are howling.

But beware, for in the ScissorsOfDespair, the scissors are sharp, and the laughter is not.

Where art and despair blend in a beautiful, yet terrifying dance. Where the lines of reality are blurred, and the scissors cut through. The abyssal winds howl, and the clock ticks on.