Cold
Ink always felt cold. Never warm, always cold. Bendy had learned to accept that, after all, what else was he to do when his entire form was made of the sticky black substance that clung together like glue. It obviously didn't stick together tight enough, however, as it always slipped down and onto the floor creating a mess.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Never stopping. Always flowing. Bendy thought that one day, he would just be nothing more than a pool of ink on the floor. A pool of ink with feelings, thoughts and memories. Memories...They had always been funny to Bendy. He often went over past events, flashbacks if you will, of time with The Creator. Oh, how naïve he had been. Bendy had once thought that The Creator loved him, but it was all a lie. The Creator had never loved any of them, and certainly not Bendy. He was simply created for profit, nothing more and nothing less. He was just a tactic to make a quick buck, and he was okay with that. At least, he thought he was.
So as Bendy stood over his creator's body, his signature smile plastered across his face and his own reflection staring back at him from the pool of ink and blood, he couldn't help but smile. After all, who still needs a creator when you've got a mind of your own, ideas of your own, and of course all the ink you could ever need pouring from your body. Bendy gave a dark chuckle as he walked away, leaving The Creator's body to be discovered by whichever unfortunate soul happened to come across it. They would be next, and that's how a cycle of death begun.
Ink always felt cold, but now whenever Bendy looked at himself, he felt the warmth of being free.