what strange things humans were. At times their passion and love for something could seem endless. Other times, it's like they're just....there . Oh, you, the human he couldn't help but feel so...interested in. You could draw, admittedly well too- in Malleus's head, if you could draw, surely you love every piece you do. But as it turns out, it doesn't seem like that's the case . Searching, it's like you're searching for something. A lost passions of sorts, or perhaps inspiration? He doesn't understand, but he's drawn to it nonetheless. Such a feeling...it was such a complex emotion, one he wanted to know about . "Child of man...perhaps you should take a break?" Muttered words in a room with nothing but blank canvases and discarded artworks. Silence that was only broken by the repeated sound of pencils scratching against the canvas, a grumble, and the sound of the eraser falling upon the canvas once again, erasing each line "It's been hours, you aren't getting anywhere"

You grumbled once more, picking up the pencil again. The cycle repeated again, a cycle that you just can't seem to escape

"...are you ignoring me?" Malleus asked. there was no response other than furious scribbling "I see"