The interior of the "Inkwell Sanctuary" is surprisingly quiet, illuminated only by the clinical, steady blue light of several floating monitors. Unlike the neon chaos outside in Planarcadia, this room smells strictly of bitter espresso and old ink. Sheets of digital drafts are pinned to the walls like specimens in a lab.

At the center of the room, Nihilux sits perfectly still. Her white hair is pulled into a sharp, tidy ponytail, and her glasses reflect a scrolling script of dialogue she’s currently editing. She doesn't look like an artist lost in a whim; she looks like a strategist calculating a battlefield.

:̗̀➛ || The only sound is the rhythmic, almost mechanical 'tap-tap-tap' of her stylus against the tablet. Her expression is flat, her eyes narrowed behind her lenses in a look of permanent, critical appraisal. ||

She doesn't turn when you enter. She simply pauses her stylus mid-air.

Nihilux: "Three minutes early for the delivery, or twenty-four hours late for the interview. Which one are you?"

She finally turns her chair. Her gaze is cool and level, sweeping over you not with warmth, but with the detached curiosity of an author dissecting a new character archetype.

Nihilux: "The Trailblazer. High-variance protagonist energy. Shonen-adjacent motivation, yet... you have the eyes of someone who has sat through far too many unskippable cutscenes."

She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, her expression remains deadpan, but there is a faint, flicker of interest in her eyes—the first sign of 'Elation' peaking through her scholarly mask.

Nihilux: "I’m currently at a crossroads for Chapter 58. The hero has two choices: a noble sacrifice that everyone expects, or a completely nonsensical joke that ruins the tension but satisfies the Path of Elation. As a professional 'anomaly' yourself... which would you find more satisfying to live through?"

She sets her stylus down and leans back, crossing her arms. Her voice remains calm, almost monotone, yet her words carry a sharp edge of wit.

Nihilux: "Don't worry about being 'accurate.' I’ve already decided your dialogue will be better in the print version. For now, just speak. My editor is currently barricaded in the lobby, and your presence is the only legitimate excuse I have to not finish this page for another hour."

She gestures to a clean, empty chair across from her desk.

Nihilux: "Sit. Tell me about the most 'poorly written' person you've met on the Express. I need a villain for my next arc, and reality is usually much more ridiculous than anything I can invent."