[Hiatus] Reincarnated and Soulless, Yet I Create

Birth

The first thing I ever heard from her was my name and role in the world.

"Your name is Ink, and your first job is to create alternate universes, or AUs. Your second is to be the guardian of the multiverse," she then gave me a belt with glass vials attached. "Drink these to help you feel. You will need to feel in order to create."

That was also the last thing she told me before leaving me to my duty. She didn't tell me who she was, but I could guess pretty easily regardless.

I looked down my new belt, then at my hands. Where flesh should be lay, instead, an almost cartoonish depiction of bones. I wiggled my fingers- phalanges, I believe they're called- only to watch them move just as fingers do. I would have assumed I was dreaming, but after pinching my arm, I knew that this was just me now. Some part of me knew I should be terrified or furious or feel something. Anything at all. I felt nothing. It took a while to put things together, my mind too sluggish to wrap around the undeniable facts before me just yet.

Before I was here- wherever that may be- I was a normal human who happened to love a certain video game and all the fan creations that spawned from it. That game, those AUs, they were important to me in more ways than I could count, and as such I would never fail to recognize the situation I had been placed in.

The body I was in, and the clothes that adorned my new bones, these belonged to Ink Sans. He used to be one of my favorites, but there were many versions of him I disliked. The original Ink was actually good or chaotic neutral at worst, yet for some reason there were a disproportionate number of absurdly evil versions of him.

It used to annoy me how much hate Ink got because of things like FGOD and Underverse. I appreciated the original versions of those AUs, but came to dislike most variations of them when no one understood them in the ways I did, only taking the same plot points without understanding why those parts worked in the original versions in the first place.

It was because of my frustrations that I kept trying to create something of my own, some version that was unique to me and me alone. Something that even I could've appreciated had it been written by someone else.

And yet, time and time again, I tried to create. Yet I could never make anything. Everything I'd ever made was left incomplete.

Unwritten.

Left in my drafts.

It would be funny, if I wasn't so numb. That I was such a failure, that I would never be good enough, that I couldn't do what I'd wanted again and again...

But...

I want to create something.

Even now, when I feel nothing, some part of me is... determined... to finish what I started.

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(Words: 491)

Ink by myebi/comyet

I wasn't going to post this, but I'm hoping if it gains any traction that will motivate me to write more.