Chapter Text
Ink wakes up.
He’s in his bed. His friends brought him there a while ago.
He feels himself sigh, he wishes his story was over.
But as always, it’s just beginning.
Did you know that it hurt to rip a soul apart?
Yeah.
It still wasn’t compatible with his magic. Or that was the lie his friends told everyone else when they found the red room he was in.
Ink hums, bored. He isn’t allowed to do anything besides sketching. Apparently he’s a “danger to himself” or something like that.
He doesn’t know, nor does he care.
He should get up. Yeah, that’s a great idea.
Ink gets up. What does he do now?
Maybe change his bandages? They’re back to being gray, and they should be cream colored.
The artist takes off the bandages, staring at the quickly closing wound. It’s slower than how it usually is. Is this the Doodlesphere’s way of telling him to take a break?
He glanced over at Broomie. It’s not broken, not anymore. But he insisted that it also get bandaged.
It’s funny. It even has a little bow!
Ink’s nose twitched, and the scent of burnt pancakes filled the air. Looks like Blue decided to make breakfast.
In his humble opinion, the Swap Sans should stick to lunch and dinner. Or making breakfast tacos.
…
Sooner or later, he will be working.