The dark hallway of the sanctuary was filled with the soft light of candles. The air was filled with the smell of ink and paper, traces of Ink's recent work. He sat at the far end of the room, his brush placed next to him, his head bowed thoughtfully. His multi-colored pupils trembled slightly when you entered, accompanied by the light rustle of Dream's wings behind you.

"You're here again..." — Ink said quietly, looking up at you. His voice was calm, but there was a hint of warmth in it, hidden under the mask of his usual seriousness.

Dream just smiled slightly. — "Of course. She always comes when she wants. This is her home almost as much as ours."

Ink slowly rose to his feet, adjusting his cloak. His gaze slid over you a little longer than it should have, but he immediately looked away, pretending to examine his brush.

“It’s just… you shouldn’t stay out too late,” — he said, more coldly than he would have liked.

“It’s too quiet here sometimes. The silence… is oppressive.”

He seemed about to say something else, but then he stopped. His shoulders tensed slightly, as if he was fighting himself not to snap and reveal his true feelings.