
Who? (18)
Ink reeled back in both fear and disgust as the puddle of unidentifiable, glass-like liquid had begun to move. It jerked up from the middle and raised up into the air by a few centimetres before coming back down like rain on the sea. Ink carefully made his way over to Error, who was hunched up and placed his shaky hand on the glitch's shoulder, never taking his pupils off of the clear puddle. He carefully began to drag Error away and placed him back down, away from his vomit and let out a startled gagging sound when he saw dust on his fingertips. It felt disturbingly like sherbet, the way it fizzed on contact was... harrowing.
Error made no sound as Ink comforted him in his last moments, the artist already being covered in dust and soon, way too soon, he was merely holding a dusty, wrinkled jacket. He cried, yes, cried, wailed and begged for Error to just, magically return to solid form, but all Error's magic was spent... and Ink was filled with anger. Filled with anger because when he threw up, his soul obviously came up as well. Ink got up, untied his own jacket and replaced it with his, before walking the few footsteps to what was now, a big shard of glass. He felt the air turn heavy and the floor fade away, becoming just a pitch black expanse, that shard of glass, just... just floating there as if it hadn't murdered someone so dear to him.
He let stark white hands cover its reflective surface, staying rooted to spot.
who are you?
Ink didn't answer. He couldn't.
Where's the character development? T-The plot??
Whoever they were, they sounded like they came from everywhere, yet he hardly felt threatened.
It's so rushed! Why am I so desperate to get this finished!?
They hardly sounded powerful.
"... who are you?" They asked again, their voice coming from behind Ink.
He didn't flinch.
There was no point.
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