The Obsidian Canvas was a stark contrast to the dusty charm of the antique store. Located in a dimly lit alleyway, its entrance was marked by a single, obsidian-colored door and a sign crafted from what looked like twisted metal. The air around it felt heavy, almost oppressive, a sense of hushed secrecy clinging to the very walls.
Inside, the gallery was dimly lit, casting long, eerie shadows across the unconventional artwork on display. Twisted sculptures of unknown materials, canvases depicting unsettling dreamscapes, and intricate clockwork mechanisms that seemed to whir with a life of their own filled the space. The scent of incense and something vaguely metallic hung in the air.