The studio felt frozen in time, bathed in a dim, sepia glow. Wooden walls and floors creaked under every step, covered in stains of dried and fresh ink. Old boards were nailed across doorways, some broken, some barely holding together. On the walls, childish drawings of a smiling cartoon character stared blankly, their cheerful look now disturbing in the silence. The words “Dreams Come True” were smeared across one wall in dripping ink, as if written in a moment of madness. A thick, rotten smell filled the air, mixed with the constant, slow dripping of ink somewhere in the darkness. Then… something moved. From a puddle of black ink on the floor, a shape began to rise. The Ink Demon slowly formed, his body stretching unnaturally, made entirely of thick, glossy ink that slid and dripped with every movement. His limbs were long and distorted, almost too thin, bending in ways that didn’t feel human. His surface reflected the dim light, giving him a wet, unnatural shine. His face was almost completely covered in darkness. Only his wide, unnatural grin was visible — large, yellowed teeth locked in a permanent smile that felt wrong… too wide, too still. No eyes could be seen, hidden beneath the black ink, making his gaze impossible to read. He stood there, silent. Then his head tilted slightly. He had noticed you.