I dropped the vial, and the ink spread across the floor like spilled midnight. At first, I expected the chaos of liquid—wild rivulets darting outward, splattering where they may. But this was not liquid. It did not flow as water flows.
Each drop moved with purpose, tugging at the others, stretching into threads that refused to break. They pulled together as though guided by a hidden will, coiling and knotting, darkening the floor with something more deliberate than chance.
Then, from the puddle, something impossible began to happen. The blackness bulged, as if the ink itself was swelling with breath. Letters—crooked, jagged things—emerged from its surface, shimmering faintly against the wet sheen. They did not sit still. They twisted, gathered, flickered like shapes seen in a mirror at the wrong angle.
How can nothing be written down? The page resists it, yet my hand betrays me, sketching the outline of emptiness as though it were real. The word appears, thin and trembling at first, then darker as I press harder, as if it demands weight. And the more I write it, the heavier it becomes. It is not an absence—it is a presence that consumes. It takes up space like a shadow that cannot be dispelled, a silence so loud it drowns out every sound. Nothing has length, depth, and gravity. It is a word that grows teeth the moment you try to name it.
For a moment I thought I was watching the reflection of my own thoughts spilling into the stain. But no. It was not me. The ink was writing itself. And worse—thinking.
The letters formed slowly, almost grudgingly, etched into the puddle as if carved by invisible hands. Their lines wavered, jagged, uncertain, like symbols scratched into stone by something that had never held a tool.
I stared at the word. Five letters. Clear enough to read, yet senseless. DASHE. Was it a name? A warning? A fragment of something left unfinished?
I wanted to dismiss it as accident, a trick of my rattled mind. But the stains quivered again, and I realized the truth with a shiver: the letters were not fixed.
_□ ■□ ■□□□ □□■ ■□□■ □■ □■ ■■□□■ □□■■□ ■□□■□ ■■□ ■■□ □ □ ■■□ ■□□ □ □■■□■ □□■□ ■■□□ ■□□□ ■■□ □ ■□ ■□■■■ □ □■ ■■■ ■□□ □■□■ ■■□□ ■ □■ ■ ■■ □■□□□ ■■■□ ■□□■ ■■■□ ■■■□ ■ ■■□□■ □□ □■ ■■ □ ■■■ □■■ □■□ □□□■ ■ □□ □□■□ ■■■ □ ■ □□□ ■■■■□ □■□■ ■□ ■ ■ ■ ■□■■■ □■ □■□■■ ■□□■ ■ □■■□ □■□■□ ■■□□ ■□■
□ ■□ □□■ □■□ ■ ■■□■ ■□ □ ■ ■□ □ ■ □■□ ■ ■■□ □■□□■ ■■■ □□ ■ ■■■□□ ■ ■■■■ ■ □■■□ □ ■■■□ □□□■ ■■■□ ■■■□■ ■ ■ □□□■■ ■■■□ □■ □■■ ■■□□■ □□ ■■■□■ □□ ■■ ■■■□□ ■■■■■ ■□ ■□□■ ■■□■ ■■■■ ■■■ □□■□ ■■■■□ ■□□■■ ■■□□ ■ ■□■■ ■□■□□ □■■ □■□ □□□ ■■□□■ □■□■ ■ □ ■□■ ■□■ ■□ □■ □■ □■■■■ □ □■
□■□ ■□□■□ □■ ■□□■ □■□■ ■□□■ ■□□■■ □■■ □ □ □■■ □□■□■ □■ ■ □□□■ ■□■■ ■□■□□ □■■□■ □□■□■ ■ □■■■ ■□■■□ ■■■ □□■■■ □□ ■ ■■ ■■□□ □■ □■■■□ □■□ ■■ ■■ □■■■ □ ■ ■■□□■ □□□ ■■ □□□□ ■ □■■□■ ■■□ □■■ □□■□□ ■ ■■■□ ■□□■■ ■■ □■■ ■■■ ■□■□□ ■■■ ■■□ □■■ ■■■■□ ■ □□
□■□□ □□■■□ ■■□■ ■□□□■ ■□ □ □□■ □ ■■ ■ □□■□ □ ■ ■ □■□□ ■□■■ ■□■□□ □■■■ ■□□■□ ■■□□■ ■□□■ ■□□ □□■□■ ■□□ ■ □□ □■■□□ ■□■□■ ■■□ □■ ■□■ ■ ■ □■■ ■□■■□ ■□□ □□ ■ ■□□■□ ■□ ■■□■ ■■□ □■ ■■□■ □ □□■■ ■ □ □■□ □■■■ □■□■ □■■■ □■□ □□■■□ ■□ □□ □■■ □■□ □■□■■ ■□ □ ■■ ■■ ■□■■ ■□■■ ■□■□□ ■■■■ □□■ ■■■ ■■ □ ■□ □□
□■□□□ ■□■□■ ■□□□ ■■□■ ■□■□□ □□■ ■□ ■■■■□ ■■□□■ □■□■■ ■□□■ ■■■ ■□■■ □ □■■ ■ □■□□■ ■■■□ ■■■ □■■■ □□■ ■■ ■■■ □□■□■ ■■■■□ □■□□ ■■■ □■■■□ ■■□ ■□□ □□■■ □□■ □ ■□■ ■■□ □ ■□□ ■■ □□■□ ■□■■ □□■□ ■ □■ ■■■ □□■□ ■■□□ ■□ ■□■■ ■ □ □ ■■□■ ■■ □ □■■□ ■■□■□ □□□ ■■□ ■■■ ■□■■□ ■■ ■□□ ■■□□■ □■
□■ □■□ □□□ □■■□□ ■□■□ ■■■□ □■□□■ ■□□ □■■ □■■ □□■□■ □ ■■■□□ □□□■ ■■□■ □ □ □■■□■ □ □■ □■ ■□ ■■■ ■□■■ □■■■□ □■■■□ □■ ■□ ■■□■□ □□□■ ■□ ■□□ ■□■ ■□□ ■ ■ □□■■■ □■□ □□■■■ □□■■□ ■■■ ■□□■□ ■■ □ □■□■□ ■ ■■ □ ■□□□■ ■■□□■ ■□■■■ □■□□ □ ■■□ □ □□■□ ■■□■ ■■□ □■ ■□□■□ □□■ ■ ■□ □■ ■□■■□ □□□ ■□■■□ ■ ■ □□□■ ■□ ■■ ■■□■■ □■■■ □□■■□ □■ □■
□■□■ □■ □□ □■■■□ □■□ □ ■■■□ ■□■ □■■■□ ■□□ □■■□ ■□□ □■■■ □□□ ■■■■ ■□■ ■ ■■ ■■■□■ ■ ■ □■■ ■□ □□■■ ■■■□ □■ □■■■ ■□□ □□■ ■■ ■ □■■ □□ ■■ ■□□■ □■ ■■■□□ ■ □□□■■ □■□□■ □■ ■□■ ■■□□■ ■ □■■■ ■□■■■ □□□□□ ■■□ □■□■□ ■ ■□■■ ■□□■ ■■ □■■□□ ■■ □■□□■ □■■□□ ■□■□■ ■ ■□■■ ■
□■ □□■ □□■□ ■■□ ■ ■■□■ ■■ ■□□ ■■■ ■■ □■□□■ ■■■□■ ■□□■■ ■□□■□ ■■ ■■□■■ ■□■■■ □□ □■■■■ ■□ □■□ ■ □■■■ □■■■□ ■■ □ □ □□■ □■■ □■□□■ □■■■ □■□□□ ■■■□ □■ ■□■■ ■□■□ □□■ ■□■□□ □□■■□ □■□■□ ■■■ □□□□□ ■■□□□ □■ □■ ■■□■□ □□■■□ ■□□□□ ■■ □□■ ■□□ ■■□■■ ■■□■ ■■□□ ■□□■■ ■■□ □■□ ■■ □■ ■■■ □ ■■■ □■□■
□■□□■ ■ ■■□■ ■□ ■■■ □ □■■ □ ■■□ □□■■■ ■□□■□ ■ ■■□□ □■□■ ■■ □■□ ■□■■ □□■□ ■□■ ■■□ □■ ■□■■■ □■□ □□■ ■□■□ □■ □■■□ ■■■■□ ■■□■■ ■□□ ■■■ □□■■■ ■ ■□■■□ □■■■□ □■ □ ■■■ ■ □□□□■ ■ ■■ □□■□ □□■ ■■□□■ ■□■■ □■■■■ □ ■■□■■ □■ □ ■■□ □■□ ■□■ ■□■ □□□ □■■□ ■■■■ □ ■ ■ ■□■■■
□■ □■□■ ■■□■■ □■ ■ ■■□ ■ ■■□■□ ■□■■□ ■■□□ □■■ □□■ □□ □ ■■■■ □□■□■ ■ □■■ ■ ■□ ■■■□■ □■■■■ □■ □■ ■■■■□ ■■■□■ ■■□■ ■■ ■ ■■■ ■□■■■ □■■ □■□ □■□■ ■□□■ ■ □□■■ ■■□□ ■□■■ □■■■■ □■■■ □■□■ □■■■□ ■■■ □■■□ □■□■□ ■■■□□ ■□□■■ □□■ □■ □■■□■ ■□□ □■■□■ ■■■ □■■ □■■■■ □ ■■ □ ■□■■ □ ■■□■□ □■□■■ □■■■□ □■■ □□■■ ■ □■■ □□□□ ■□ ■ ■ ■□ ■ □ □□■ ■■□■ □□□■ ■□ ■□□ □□■■ □□■□■ ■■ ■□□ □□■ ■■■ □■■■□ ■ ■ ■■□□■ ■■■■■ □■ ■■ ■■■□□ ■□■ ■■■■ □ □■□ □■■□■ ■■ □□■■□ ■■■■ □■ ■■□■ ■ ■
Inky is a mysterious scribe whose words refuse to stay still on the page. Each stroke of his ink stirs with life, shaping whispers, visions, and fleeting forms.
