As Pigeon crossed the street, two carriages came hurtling toward it, frightening it so badly that it dropped its bag and ran.
(Because it was too big to fly)
After the carriages passed, it hurriedly searched for its bag. That bag had appeared out of thin air—without it, it would have to type everything itself.
But the bag vanished the moment it hit the ground. Pigeon had no choice but to type with its own claws. In the freezing weather, its claws became red and swollen.
The sky gradually darkened, and there were fewer and fewer pedestrians on the street until only Pigeon remained. Its stomach growled with hunger as it shivered and typed. snowflakes fell upon her pure white feathers, each one draped over her wings, making her look beautiful.
The snow fell harder and harder, until Pigeon seemed to be covered in a thick white carpet.
Pigeon had gone the entire day without food or water and truly could not type anymore. It crouched in a corner, rubbing its red, swollen claws with its wings. Before long, its wings froze stiff as well.
"So cold, coo. If only I had a few tickets, coo—"
"You devastatingly handsome reader, and you adorable little cutie reading this book, please cast a vote, coo! Then I can go buy a few matches from The Little Match Girl over there to warm my claws, coo..."
Adapted from "The Little Match Girl," coo...