He was always....... different. He is different in a way that no one seems to understand. If anyone had noticed his defectiveness sooner, he would have been scrapped for spare parts. The thought doesn't bother him. As a bitty, if he didn't turn out right, he shouldn't have value. He isn't really alive. Other bitties might care a little more, but he can't. He feels nothing. His defect isn't visible to the naked eye. After inspection, he was shipped off with an order of other artist type bitties.
The bitty adoption center and accessory store that he ended up at invoked no emotion in him. The other bitties he was placed with were spooked by his blank stare. Their handlers were concerned enough that they put him into isolation in an enclosure all alone. They thought he was sick. As other bitties came and went, he stayed. No one wanted a pet who barely reacted to their presence. He did not get excited at their approach. He did not do much at all. A few might have been attracted to his seemingly calm nature, but were dissuaded when he just stared at the with that empty look of his.
The handlers throught dressing him up might finally get him to sell. He let them dress him up in various outfits without protest. Eventually, they picked a favorite and stopped fussing when it didn't immediately work. They left him in a white shirt tucked into tan overalls that end at his knees. He wears no shoes, but he has a brown scarf around his neck. The fabric is stapled together and can't unravel. It's a little itchy, but a handler always puts it back on if he tugs it off. He doesn't care enough to keep fighting over it.
      The days are bland and repetitive. He usually sits in a front corner of his enclosure and idly watches the activity. He eats and drinks just enough to not starve. Inactivity doesn't eat away at his form like it would for a real living being. He sits and stares. Day after day. He didn't bother to keep track or wonder how many had passed. It must have been a long time since he overheard the handlers discussing his return to the bitty manufacturing lab. They didn't want him if he was worthless. He didn't care.
     On one day so like the others, something different happens. Loud noises made him sit up from his former position leaning against the enclosure's glass wall. The sounds came from outside the store, but they are getting louder. The humans inside are getting louder, too. They get really loud when a large pice of concrete comes crashing through the store windows. He doesn't feel the fear that they do. Even as his own enclosure falls to the floor and shatters, he lets himself be thrown like a rag doll. His ears ring painfully. His soul can't speak to him, but his body hurts. The bed of glass he lays on scratches notches into his bloodless bones as he scrambles out of the wreckage.
     Walking outside did not strike him as something important or exciting. He only turns away from the main road and walks into the alley because it wasn't as loud. The labored breathing coming from the alley doesn't hurt his ears as much the screams of the dying. He only pauses when the figure sprawled across bags of trash becomes completely visible. They are a a skeleton monster much larger then him. Bleeding battle wounds are all across their body. The sight of it does not scare the bitty. He watches the other pant until they notice him.
"Wha-" they start, but are quickly cut off by harsh coughs. Blood sprays from their mouth and further stains their scarf that is a few shades lighter then the bitties' own. An outrageously large paintbrush lies discarded at their feet. It's nearly broken in half.
"A bitty?" the monster finally says. They stare back into the bitties' expressionless face before a look of understanding crosses their face. "You're...... like me," they say quietly. A strange look comes across their face. "Come closer." Without fear, the bitty obeys. He walks right up to the Skelton and sets his tiny hands on their knee.
"You're so small," the skeleton realizes, "Like a little pinto bean." A look of doubt crosses his face, but then the resolves hardens once more. "I need your help, Pinto." The skeleton pulls back the collar of his shirt . Underneath, there are glowing, red strings woven amongst their rib bones. "These threads are my Keeper, and she's decided that she doesn't want me anymore. There are others that want me gone, too. I can't protect my friends anymore." The bitty, accepting the new name Pinto, listens with more attention than he's ever needed before. For the first time in his life, something feels important.
"Someone else has to take my place. My keeper wants to see this world crumble. She can't control you like she does to us. I can feel it. Your shell of a soul is even emptier than mine. Her strings have nowhere to anchor in a body that's not alive. Even if you don't understand now, Pinto, this world needs you."
The skeleton monster hisses in pain as they sit up. They slowly pull a sash of vials up over their chest. Many of the vials are near empty. The skeleton pulls out the fullest one. A forth of the vial is full of yellow paint. Moving carefully to avoid spilling any, the skeleton pours the last traces of the other vials into the yellow one. They cap it once more and hold out the vial.
"Take this. It will work the same for you as it does for me," they say. Pinto takes the vial without much thought. He understands the words, but he's confused about what this monster is talking about. The vial is nearly as wide as he is and half as tall. Pinot has to carry it with both arms wrapped tightly around the glass tube.
The grievous wounds along the monster's body are taking their toll. They look tired. "I...... I'm not supposed to die. I can't die. She wants me to give up instead. I won't let it end that way. Maybe you'll be more clever than me, little Pinto." The skeleton takes a deep breath. They place one hand on top of their chest before slowly pulling away. Sparks of light follow their fingertips. The sparks come in a multitude of colors and swirl around in their palm. "Please, take it. Someone has to sa-". Pinto is already reaching for the powerful source of magic when its beholder goes quiet. The loud, angry voices that have progressively been getting closer are now just beyond view from the alley. The injured monster's time is up, but they have already done what they needed to.
     Pinto reaches out and takes the offered gift. As soon as he does, the sparks of magic funnel into him and disappear. The shock renders him unconscious almost immediately. Feeling a little guilty, but still determined, the skeleton sweeps the small bitty and the paint vial underneath a nearby dumpster. He will be safe for now.
The now ex- Creator and Protector of the Multiverse shakily gets to his feet. Ink almost laughs out loud when he realizes that he never even told the bitty his name. Without his divinity, specks of dust are already flaming off their form. He's now a monster without immortality or a soul. From the moment he saw the bitty and had this idea, Ink knew it would end in his death. The thought brings him pain. With the remaining emotional paints in his system, all Ink can think about are the friends he's leaving behind. He hopes that they'll come to understand why he's done this. He hopes that they'll help the new Creator find their way despite it all.
Ink doesn't flinch in fear when a group of shadowy figures gather at the mouth of the alley. He faces the bravely even as standing becomes more and more difficult. His pursers don't get the satisfaction of dusting him themselves. Ink's beloved beige scarf drops unceremoniously to the ground.