Dark lounged in his bed, leaning against the backboard with his arms crossed behind his head. He was clad in a luxurious silken black robe, and he had a smug grin plastered across his face. The final shard had finally been returned to the mirror, and he had gathered all of the necessary supplies for his plan. They sat in the corner within a backpack, looking out of place among all of the exquisitely expensive items scattered atop the plush carpet. He would depart in the morning, but for now he allowed himself to indulge in one last bit of hedonism.

Dark's bedroom was as needlessly extravagant as everything else he owned. It was mostly composed of reds and blacks, the style an eclectic combination of Victorian intricacy and modern geometric shapes. His enormous bed seemed almost comical compared to the small man on top of it, shaded from the overhead light by a ruffled black canopy. An untouched desk and a well-used vanity occupied the opposite end of the room, and a cluttered dresser and nightstand stood on either side of the bed. A floor-length mirror was affixed to the inside of his door, and multiple paintings and photographs were hung from the walls. Most were of Dark, though one featured the entirety of the castle staff and another showed Dark and Shadow smiling in the foreground as Dark Mind stood over them proudly. The clothing strewn around the room was all in shades of red, black and navy. An incredible variety of red and black boots were lined up outside of his closet.

Dark turned his head to the side, looking at a small mirror propped up on his nightstand. He had intended to torment Meta through it before he was able to do it in person, but the man had yet to appear. He slid one of his hands out from behind his head to study his nails in boredom. He started slightly when the sound of a faucet came from the mirror. Dark grinned wickedly and tapped the mirror, his clawed finger clicking against the glass.

"Fancy meeting you here," he purred, batting his eyelashes. He was quickly fixed in a familiar golden-eyed glare.

"Are you aware of the Bloody Mary legend? You are somewhat similar, though even less pleasant," Meta huffed, scrubbing the ink from his hands.

"Aw, did you say my name three times?"

"Bloody moron, bloody moron, bloody moron..." Meta growled, rinsing the ink-stained lather from his hands. He looked up and feigned surprise. "Ah, so the legends are true."

"Yeah okay, very clever. But I'm not the one covered in, erm, ink?" Dark quipped, eyeing the dark splotches on Meta's face.

"Pen malfunction."

"How do you fuck up using a pen?" Dark cackled.

"I was doing actual work, which may be an alien concept to you. And the pen I was utilizing to complete said work suffered a catastrophic failure and ejected its contents onto me," Meta snarled, picking dried ink flakes from under his nails.

"How harrowing," Dark yawned, stretching. His robe slide from its precarious position on his chest, splaying out around him and exposing his torso. He was lithe and lean, though his upper body and arms were considerably more muscular than the rest of him. Two wicked scars ran parallel to one another across his abdomen, marring the otherwise flawless alabaster skin.

"You aren't laying there in the nude, are you?" Meta asked, curling his lip in disgust.

"I'm not naked. I have my robe," Dark tittered, neglecting to mention that he was indeed wearing silk pajama pants. Meta visibly recoiled, cheeks darkening slightly.

"You had better keep both hands where I can see them, you exhibitionistic deviant!" he hissed.

"You say the most romantic things," Dark sighed, resting the back of his hand on his forehead in a mock swoon. Meta only glared at him before wetting a washcloth and dabbing at his face, trying to feel for where the ink was.

"It is difficult to properly insult you as there is always the nagging feeling that you are somehow deriving sexual gratification from it," he mumbled, a mildly haunted look on his face.

"I'll admit that I find it entertaining, but it is far from sexy," Dark dismissed, sinking further back into his pillow. He turned his eye to Meta lazily. "It's the things unsaid that tantalize somebody."

"Things unsaid...?" Meta asked, his curiosity speaking for him.

"The implicit is just as important as the explicit. You can say a lot with the spaces between words."

"That was almost profound. I am impressed," Meta drawled, tone dripping with insincerity. Dark closed his eye, smirking.

"If I could wink, I would. Winking is something you really come to miss with one eye. That, and 3D movies," he quipped.

"What about depth perception? Or peripheral vision?"

"I've adapted well enough. I always manage to keep an eye on things."

"That was so horrific that I am not even going to consider it an attempt at comedy. Disgusting," Meta huffed. Dark put his hands up.

"They can't all be winners. My incredible wit only lasts so long," he sighed, putting a finger to his chin in a mocking gesture of thought.

"My patience for you is even briefer. I've pressing matters to attend to," Meta murmured, setting the now stained towel on the side of the sink.

"What, tired of me already? Should I take my robe off?"

"Once I am gone you may do whatever you wish," Meta snapped, heading for the door.

"Anything-?"

"Not that," Meta added, before slamming the door behind him. Dark frowned and rolled over, propping his head up on one arm. Well, there went his source of entertainment. He sighed and shuffled around so he could slip beneath his heavy, luxurious comforter, resting his head on a black pillow. His frown melted away as he comforted himself with thoughts of the mayhem he would wreak on Dreamland and the pathetic fools within it. He let out a long, deep laugh filled with malicious glee. Dark then remembered he was alone, and giggled shrilly instead.