Us? (Errorink) [On Hiatus]

Chapter 32: 《"A view"》

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-=Narrator=-

Ink hummed as he glided his paintbrush across the canvas, creating a scenery of painted roses colored punch pink and peach blended. It was a wonderful morning to paint, warm blue skies, fresh damp leaves and grass colored by a vibrant lime and green shamrock, birds chirping their tunes melodic as the keys of a piano. Paperjam grew more and more curious about his mother's thoughts as he watched beside Ink paint. He observed his mother carefully to try and find a physical response from his mother, but his only movements were stroking paint along the canvas in an attempt to finish the product.

Error was in a small trouble with Swap, as him and Dust had a fight and decided to leave each other for space. Error was in constant pace of trying to comfort Swap with Dream, which is rare. He would not normally do that unless they both are alone. But Ink views this as a small improvement. "Ma?" Ink had snapped from his thoughts jolting slightly and faced his son. "What is it, Pj?" Ink asked, softly smiling at the child beside him. "Lux felt a presence last night. . ." Pj said, unsure of his own words. "A presence? What kind of presence?" Ink questioned, lowering the paintbrush in his hands and gently laid it on the lower edge of the easel.

"Like. . . A new soul. . . ?"

"You mean a child being born?"

"Well. . . Close but-. . . Someone carrying the child. .?"

Ink processed the information given for a moment, then turned his head to his son with a quizzical expression. "Do you know who is carrying the child?" His eye lights turn to question marks, seeking an answer from his child. "N-no. . . ?" Pj stuttered, tilting his head to his side, feeling a single bead of sweat drop. Ink had opened his mouth to speak but was suddenly interrupted by a buzzing sound coming from his phone on the desk to his side. He turned his attention to the electronic and picked it up without even looking on the caller ID before answering the call.

"Hello? Ink Comyet speaking."

"Ink. . . I need you to report in my castle. Immediately."

"H-huh- I-. . Alright, your grace."

Ink stood up from his stool and pat Pj softly on the head. "I'll be heading off. Would you like to come? It would be too idiotic of me to leave you here alone." Ink rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he held out a hand to his child. He just responded with a nod and took his hand gently, and jumped off the stool swiftly and following his mother's pace of walking. His mother was talking with someone on the phone once again, and after that, a glitchy portal opened. Pj assumed it was his father that his mother was talking to earlier. They both entered, only to be exposed with light rays of sunlight, a cold breeze from the big trees that surrounded the castle. Pinkish red flowers erupted in vines, bushes, in any shape, or type of flowers. Particularly, light pink roses commonly bloom around, along with other versions of pink. Like pink roses, along with hot pink.

To Pj, it was truly a mystical place to arrive in. Everything was so peaceful. Small bees and shades of blue and purple butterflies swiftly flew around. To Ink, it was similar. The difference was its meaning. Ink gently held out a hand towards Pj, who stared at it for a moment, then met his mother's mismatched eyes. Butter yellow eyes with a sweet yellow honey star faintly glistening among the sunlight. Then his light blue cobalt eyes, drowning as if in the ocean with his deep lapis soft(on the edges,) circle pupils figuring as a lump of water, looking bubbly as a sensation of a cool damp cloth pressed onto his senses. (Do you have some, tho-) lastly, his sweet smile, looking enthusiastic yet calm. A sight of an angel. Although, deep down, on the depths of Pj's soul, there laid the buried hope of his mother to actually have the true nature of this similar to his appearance.

Slowly, he took his mother's hand, making him smile ecstatically back. He gently led Pj to the big dark oak doors of the castle, a flow of golden vines embedded on the door, its small ends in vain of reaching the doorknob. The rosa's, or the common name of these roses; climbing rose, spread its length to its extent on the walls, doors, some windows, and pillars. Her grace had no problem with adjusting along the roses, only a little more wary of its thorns. The doors opened slowly, and deep grudges from the door emitted as two guards in glistening iron armour, with a deep blue color mixed within along that on what seems a natural fibre of Linen as they bowed low, greeting with their voices with a hint of enthusiasm. A circular deep pink badge hooked with a few golden chains that were layering their Cape.
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I'm sorry. . . My thoughts were kinda clouded by extreme daydreaming, along with no thoughts on what to happen next.

-A/N.