The Stage is Set

The Sweetest Suffering of a Parent pt. 5

Derniere Danse - Indila

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Color magic isn't the same as painting. Not when it comes to the colors of cores. To make a core from scratch... Ink's never learned how to do it. He's sure that he knows, he's sure it was something taught to him, regardless of whether the other creators knew it or not. He grips the pink vial. Love, he takes many shades of pink and red. Love, adoration. This will be a being made of love, full of love, and loved dearly by him. Yellow, many shades of yellow, they will be happy. A being of joy, someone who shines in the darkest times and thrives in the lightest. The brightest and deepest reds. For bravery and courage will flood their being. They will be strong and brave enough to choke down fear and continue to survive, to thrive. Red is also for confidence. May they never falter and have the confidence to do what is right. Blue, he grabs as many shades of blue as he can; calling for all of the shades he has.

His hand hesitates. He doesn't want to lose any more of Swap, but that shade. That shade means loyalty. He grabs the vial and pours the whole thing. Loyalty. May this being be loyal to whatever they put their heart into. Loyal until the end. His hands tremble. Oh, to be loyal and turn to make a creation from that loyalty. Ink can't help but think that he's crossing the line once again. His hands tingle, warm and almost burning, when some of the paint stains his hands. He reaches for another color. A blue for faith. A blue for wisdom. A blue for intelligence. His hand grips the blue that comes from Gin; a blue for trust. His hands shake when pouring it. May these shades of blue fill this being and fill them will all the good they mean. He prays that these traits will show and keep this creation alive. May the paint in his bones, the ink of his being will it so.

His hand grips the next vial, orange. May they be stubborn. To be too stubborn to stop. He pours a different orange, one more yellow than red for curiosity. He wants a being that will question, learn, and act upon their knowledge. To lead and not follow the mass. To question everything. To question him. He wants a being to exist where their curiosity leads to greatness. He wants all these beautiful and positive things. He wants all of them to be true. He prays that the other connotations don't rear their head with these colors.

A tall order to ask for.

Ink takes the ball of paint. Slowly twirling his hands to keep it in a sphere as the colors mingle and mix. He needs these colors to come together. He wonders what color will come of it. He wonders what color this being will have as its core. What will they be like? He watches as the colors finally fuse. He watches as the sphere softly starts to glow a bright cobalt. His breath catches as he stares at the color. Loyalty won. Oh, cobalt is beautiful. It's not the same color, but the same meaning; same calling. Their core will be loyalty, just like Swap's. He coos at the sphere, so shy. So sweet, so loving. He can feel everything the core does, the curiosity, the love, the wonder–everything. He can feel the connection between the two of them already. Is this what a creator feels when they create something? This connection...

He loves it.

He can feel how shy the being is. So sweet and shy. Ink pulls the core closer to him. He holds them gently and close. He watches in wonder as a new island starts to form above him. He watches as the island of this new UnderSwap is built from the ground up, empty and waiting. He watches, feeling the code fill with things from the original. All other codes are pouring in slowly. All except the Sans. All except the core of the AU. Ink watches as the core seems to whisper. A greeting. A meeting of someone it will be. He sinks to his knees, taking his time to listen. To learn and get to know this being. It feels like he has all the time in the world to learn about this being. He sets the core on the puddle in the center of the paint ring.

When he pulls away, he notices the paint on his hands. Swap's azure and Gin's frost blue linger and stick to his fingers. He quickly licks his fingers clean, feeling their magic spread through him. How it sticks to his code, his very core. He's never tasted, never drank his paints in his creator form. It makes him feel less alone as their feelings, their cores, fill him. It's the faint feeling of their hands on him. Feeling him, touching him. It feels like tight hugs, holding onto him as if to say 'We're still here.' And he finds himself so weak. He feels their magic coursing through him. It feels like kisses on his face. A last kiss, one of mourning, loss, grief, and love; sits on his lips. Something he never got to share at the altar. Something he'll never feel again. The reminder of what he's lost and what's led him here causes him to tear up, and the weight of what he's doing hits him. He nearly wails, the grief hitting him again. How he hates being able to feel such true emotions in this form. He wants to pretend that these feelings will fade without his vials.

He knows they won't.