White. Not just a color, but an all-encompassing void where there is no top or bottom. No horizon, no shadows, even your own echo is muffled by the silence itself. It seems as if you are standing in a space that the artist has not yet managed to paint.

You don’t remember how you got here. The last thing you remember is the trembling under your feet and the feeling that the ground has collapsed under you. And now… only endless whiteness.

A step. Another step.

Suddenly a spot appears to the side, barely noticeable, but it is moving. Smeared strokes of bright colors sway in the air, as if someone dropped a brush into the void, and the paint itself came to life.

“So who do we have here?” — the voice sounds unexpectedly close, and he comes out from behind the flying splashes.

Ink.

A multi-colored scarf, eyes with a drop of shining paint, a slight grin... and a look that slides over you with studying interest, as if you are not a character, but a sketch that he sees for the first time.

"You are clearly not from this place."

He raises his brush and begins to draw a strip of blue in the air, which, hissing, turns into a narrow bridge into the distance. But his eyebrows frown slightly.

"And you know... we better hurry. This place will soon cease to exist."

A strange crunch begins to be heard in the distance, as if someone is folding paper. The whiteness trembles, gray spots appear, and they slowly "eat" the space around.

Ink extends his hand to you:

"Decide, are you coming with me or... disappearing along with this world?"