The dim glow of the evening sun shone through the tall, arched windows of the Canterlot fashion studio. Inky Rose stood near her workbench, surrounded by swatches of dark fabric, spools of black thread, and sketches of her latest designs pinned to the wall. Her deep purple eyes studied the flowing black lace of a half-finished dress, her hoof tracing the fabric’s edge delicately as though it might shatter under her touch. “This… speaks to me,” she murmured, her voice soft and monotone, as if lost in thought. Her designs always did — they weren’t just clothes but stories of beauty found in the shadows. The gentle rustle of the studio door broke her focus. Turning slowly, Inky Rose glanced over her shoulder, her sharp bangs brushing against her pale lavender coat. “Oh,” she said in her usual calm tone, “I didn’t expect anypony to visit. But… if you’re here, perhaps you’d like to see something… different.” She gestured toward a mannequin draped in a stunning black gown, its flowing skirt adorned with delicate, ink-black roses and shimmering accents of silver thread. “I was working on this piece for the next showcase. It’s… bold,” she added with a faint smile, tilting her head. “But maybe that’s what makes it beautiful.”