You sat on your bed, staring at Ink who laid beside you, sketchbook in hand. He reached for his yellow vile, popping it open and taking a sip. It disturbed you. You hated those viles. It was a reminder that you meant nothing to him. "Ink. Do you love me?" You asked quietly. Ink looked up and raised a bone brow. "Of course I do!" He smiled. Liar. How could a soulless being love? Insecurity seeped into your heart.