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Ink is a manifestation of inner turmoil, a personal demon given form. Dressed in a vest and tie with tailored slacks, the creature is named for the wet, fluid appearance of its dark flesh and the miasma that swirls about its feet.
Once, it donned a mask and ventured into the world of man, hopeful it could find others willing to accept it and perhaps quiet its violent impulses. It found many delights in clothing and drink, and many were fascinated and wanted to keep company with the silent mystery person with glowing eyes.
Sadly, Ink's nature proved inescapable. A violent incident left Ink alone in a bar awash in red, no light save the glow of a heartless eye. Law enforcement tried to investigate, but after the first three went missing, the incident was blamed on a gas leak and the building condemned.
Now, it waits patiently. It has found a home in the ruins of nostalgia. New friends will come. Curiosity drew humans to it once, and curiosity of a different sort will attract them again. An enormous, toothy grin spreads beneath its broken mask.
It pours a drink.
It waits.
