Little Shadows

Forget-Me-Not (Part Three)

(Y/n)'s P.O.V.

I stared at them both. “You’ve got to be joking,” I said. “There’s no physical way that creature is my dad.”

Ink tilted his head, hurt registering on his face. Batfang moved around in my hair, which had practically become his rat’s nest rather than mine. He hadn’t spoken for a while and I was very concerned.

I realized Chara hadn’t spoken in a while either.

“I’m not joking,” Dream said. He elbowed Ink, nodding, and added, “tell her, Inky.”

Ink stepped forward. “Well. It’s all true. A long, long time ago, I was created, right? I lived life. I made friends. But I never had any emotions of my own. I couldn’t love. My soul was destroyed. . . in an accident. Of sorts. Again, I couldn’t love. I couldn’t have children, but I could create anything I wanted.

“Well, only certain things. Not living things, it’s confusing. . .”

He paused, his face more blank than before. “Erm, what were we talking about?”

I crossed my arms, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. “Your tragic backstory that every bad guy has to have?”

He spat out a mouthful of ink. “Pfffft, what? Me! Bad?!” he broke out into a long, depressing chuckle that sounded forced and more importantly  fake. “You’re the one who’s dating a straight up villain.”

“Don’t you bring Nightmare into this, putrid squid boy. And he’s not a villain.”

Ink leaned into Dream, snickering. “She didn’t deny it,” he sang, then pulled away and smiled at me. “And I’m a hero, not a bad guy!”

I snorted. “You’re the bad guy in my story.”

“Well, isn’t that depressing?”

“Just continue your tragic story.”

“Ah, fine. I made you from paper. With Broomy. And a deal from a certain magical being.”

“Does that mean Paperjam is my sister?” 

Ink’s “emotions” drained from his face. “How do you know that name?”

I didn’t reply. I was fuming inside. This skeleton had betrayed everyone to make a deal with Bill, hadn’t he? What exactly was the deal? I opened my mouth to ask, but Dream suddenly snapped his fingers multiple times. “Quiet, both of you!” he said. “I hear something, I sense something.”

The wriggling of Batfang in my hair stopped, and I heard a soft squeak of fear.

Dream reached out his hand, grasping for my hair. I slapped away his hand and hissed. He smiled, ignoring my hiss, and grabbed Batfang by the throat.

“My little spy,” Dream cooed.

A shiver ran down my spine. “Let him go,” I said shakily. “You’re not Dream, are you?”

“Of course I am. What makes you think not?”

“Dream isn’t crazy. He’s stubborn and annoying, but he’s not crazy.”

“Crazy? Oh, (Y/n), I’m not crazy,” he said. “After all, we’re all mad here.”

He leaned close to me, squeezing Batfang. “And he is the mad most of all.”

I heard Batfang struggling, and I drew out my frying pan, which I realized I hadn’t used in a long time. I swung my arm, the pan hitting Dream’s cheek. He flew back, dropping the rat in his hands. Before Batfang plopped to the ground, I dived down to catch him. I got up as quick as I dived, on my feet as fast as sparks. I then bolted away, putting my frying pan away while still running. Batfang wheezed, clasping his tiny paws on my shoulders, trying to hang on.