It started as something to do.
Alone in a cave, with only the sea for company, a hobby keeps you sane. At least, that was the theory.
As the hours passed, watching the cursed substance carve abstract shapes into the rock walls was soothing. Changing direction seemingly at random, constantly self-intersecting, it was a perfect representation of the feeling of loneliness.
They gradually became more complex, gaining structure, depth, and intent. No longer just watching, but creating. And it became an exercise.
Fine control came next. Not only images, but full carvings. Perfect likenesses of the plants and flowers, growing in number day by day, indistinguishable in all but colour. Even molding the substance itself into models, forgoing the rocky canvas and forming animated replicas that danced as their real counterparts did.
The scale grew. More permanent formations, whole landscapes contained on a shelf. An artificial world to get lost in.
And then the grandest project began.
It was slow, at first. Every detail painstakingly reproduced. Days would pass with seemingly no progress, but time was irrelevant. Attention was made to colours, minerals found with hues that matched the subject's. All in a daze, a fever dream of creation. This distraction, this obsession an escape from reality.
It was only as the last mint-green tuft of hair was completed, that Cinnabar began to cry.