Dried paints.

"We're over. It's done. I don't feel how I used to; I really haven't in a long time. I'm sure you understand, don't you? You had to have sensed this coming. I've been so uneasy lately...". Even these words flowed beautifully out of her mouth, coupled with that accent that would beat a river of silk in a softness contest. Here he was, getting broken up with, and it was all he could do not to get lost in her voice. A problem he'd had since Vinyl had introduced him to the posh grey mare.

Words continued to flow from her mouth, no doubt conveying a message he had understood after the first four words. At this point, he was just drawing it out; giving him as much as possible in the end. She was right in saying that he had sensed this coming. In fact, he'd sensed it coming for a long while. The love making wasn't as passionate, the touches less frequent. But here, at the end of it all? The words were still just as sincere. That melodious voice that he had fallen for over a year ago hadn't changed. And yet, there wasn't a single part of him that was happy to hear it. Not like he usually was.

His hooves felt iced to the ground, unable to so much as shiver in the cold winter air as he watched his love trot away. She looked so confident, a slight cockiness ever-present in her strut. She moved softly, hooves barely audible on the frozen pathway. This was it, the end had come. Somehow, it had been expected to end like this. He was little more than a regular unicorn, whereas she was a virtuoso of the strings. Two worlds had come together for this one, and as it ended, his was the one that was left crumbling down.

His eyelids slid open, baby blues dilating and coming into to focus. He turned his attention to the clock on the other side of the room, a pale aura enveloping it as the hammer was stilled. Silence settled over the room, a blanket thicker than the ones he had taken place under. He lied for a while, thoroughly contemplating sliding back into the depths of dreams.

Against his better judgement, he slid silently from under his mass of coverings, his hooves clacking softly against the hardwood as he gained his bearings. He fidgeted uncomfortably in the cold room, trying to let his body adjust to the sudden change in temperature. He shook his mane out, sweeping it off to the side, failing horribly in his attempts to keep it out of his face; the thick black mess settling at it's own leisure .

His hoofsteps echoed quietly in the still room, a sense of sterility permeating in the air. He made his way to the mirror, a simple part of his routine. As usual, he was unpleased at the face staring back at him. His mane was the color of luna's sky, awkwardly framing his face, and contrasting heavily against his snow white fur. The parts he was happy about, took the form of the plethora of piercings that he wore. Stretched ears, pierced lips, pierced cartilage, and tri-pierced eyebrows; the few things that he was actually happy with on that face of his. He stuck his tongue out, grinning happily at the newly-pierced flesh starting back at him.

Realizing that he had been wasting time, he snapped back to focus, trotting quickly out of his room. His hooves were silenced on the rug that was laid outside, muffled trotting echoing quietly in the empty hall. He stopped a few doors down, happily entering his expansive washroom. The marble clicked loudly under his hooves, a sound that he greatly enjoyed. He had picked this marble for that specifically, remembering the lesson that she had taught him about the differences in stone.

He stiffened up, a slight groan escaping his lips as the memory came and left. His thoughts traveled back to the dream that he had reluctantly been subjected to. It had been almost eight months since that frosty winter day; a fact that mortified him. Even his friends had commented on his failure to move on, trying their damnedest to set him up with other mares (and even a stallion, after a long night of drinking!). Obviously, it had all been a big failure, and after a while, they stopped trying, content to let him work at his own pace.

He shook the thoughts off, stepping up to the huge basin that sat in the floor, his magic turning knobs and drawing water. Setting it to the same turns that he had for the two months that he had owned the house, he let the steaming water fill the tub. Content that the tub was adequately filled, he shut the valves, dipping a hoof into the water. He shifted into the water, filling quickly with bliss as the hot water embraced him. He felt the warm water work at his muscles and joints, phasing out pains and knots in his flesh. He simmered for a while, before eventually deciding to get to work at washing himself.

He stepped out of the steaming pool, drying his hooves on the towel laid out along the edge. He levitated another over, drying his fur with the expensive textile. He shook out his mane, content to let it dry further in the air. Making his way to the thick stone counter, he rushed a brush through his thick mane, gritting his teeth as the brush caught on snag after snag. He did the best he could, eventually left with a slick black mane that ran down to the middle of his fore-legs.

The carpet once again muffled the sound of his light hoofsteps as he made his way to the larger part of his home. While the back was pretty well done, the majority of the house was a large open space that was never finished during construction. The room now, however, was filled with a menagerie of art supplies, ranging from simple canvases, to paints made from multi-thousand bit materials. A small table sat in the middle of the room, a small pile of mail sitting atop.

"I guess Vee was already here this morning,", Ink said to himself, levitating a small knife, and opening one of the letters. Vee (commonly known as Vinyl Scratch), was the mare that was living in the lower levels of his expansive home. She spent most of her time in the sound-proof depths, coming up every once and a while to get the mail, or talk with record company affiliates. She hadn't found her "Big break" yet, but she hadn't given up yet, and for that, He was proud. She didn't pay rent, and that was just fine with him; She kept the lower level alive.

He unfolded the paper in front of him, setting the enclosed check to the side as he read the drull text; words that he had heard a hundred times over (and probably ten times already this week).

Dear Mr. Blotter,

We are pleased to inform you that your most recent piece of work has sold in our gallery, for the sum of 100,000 bits. We have taken off our 20% sales fee, and included the remainder in the enclosed check. We thank you for your business, and hope that you remember us when your next work is ready to be sold.

Sincerely,

Feather Pen, EAGA head

He looked to the check that he had set aside, noting the amount of "80,000 bits" that was printed. A part of him was disappointed; his works usually sold for much more. It was no matter to him, though. The name Ink Blotter was a household name in the art, classical music, and literature fields. Having over 300 paintings, 70 published books, and 24 symphonies written, it was no wonder how he had become such a highly regarded figure. And yet... It was nothing to him.

He decided against opening the rest of the mail, the emptiness already starting to set in. It was a pretty typical thing, but that didn't mean that he wasn't bothered by it. After all, his works had simply been done to distract him. He chuckled at the thought, dismissing it as quickly as it came. This was what he did, wasn't it? Art was the reason he had gotten his cutie mark when he was just a colt, so that certainly must be true.

The unicorn turned, gazing through his thick bangs at his newest "masterpiece". He scoffed at the word; nay, the very idea of it. Each painting of his was dark in concept, the bright colors vividly hiding the grim details below. People smiled and looked in awe at his marred canvases, not taking the time to digest the whole of it. The few who had, however, He had quickly become his most devoted followers. Though, those "Devoted followers" of his, were certainly an odd bunch.

Lurching back into reality, he absentmindedly levitated a small paintbrush. He filled his tray with paints, the chromatically aligned mediums shining in the light. He dipped his brush in, slowly beginning the soft waltz that was his art. His brush danced to the tempo, each gentle stroke adding more for the canvas to follow. He reveled in being the lead, the position simply empowering him to work more at finishing his off-kilter work.

When at last the dance had subsided, and he set his paintbrush to rest, he found himself in an almost blackened room, save for the effects of a candle or two. He rubbed his hooves together, regaining his bearings as he went about lighting the remainder of the room. A short while later, and the entire expanse had been lit; the hundreds of candles that lined the walls all burning with a bright light.

The clock on the wall sang the time, chiming eight continuous rings, before returning to it's quiet 'tick-tock'. He sighed, lamenting another day that had been lost to his art, and another day of things that he didn't end up getting done. He made his way towards the back of the house, hooves clicking on the wood in time to a faint thumping coming from the floor below. "Vee must have guests", he mused; completely apathetic to strangers being in his home.

The kitchen was situated just next to his room, purposely placed in the finished portion of the house. Hooves happily clicking along the tile, Ink made his way to one of the thick, black, counter tops. He fished around; finding, measuring, pouring, and mixing assorted herbs, spices, a dash of honey, and dark tea leaves. He set the kettle to the stove top, turning the dial with the precision of a royal sniper. He let the water heat, staring off into Luna's sky through his eyelet window.

When at last the water was heated, he introduced his earlier mixture; the two mixing harmoniously into the dark drink that he had so desired. A cup was already prepared as he tipped the kettle. He filled it half way before adding milk to the mixture; the thick black turning into a warm brown. He smiled fondly, sipping his heavenly mixture.

A few bliss filled minutes later, and Ink had finally finished his tea. He sat his cup into the wash basin, deciding to leave it to be washed later. He stretched himself, again trying (in vain) to pull the mess that was his mane into some kind of order. Huffing in frustration, he decided that he needed to distract himself. Becoming suddenly re-aware of the heartbeat tempo coming from underhoof. "Perfect", he muttered; quickly trotting to see what the shut-in mare was up to.