I wrote my story in first person as the artist. Each paragraph represents one or more answers to prompts from the Lampblack RPG. I later added dates to make the paragraphs seem like journal entries.
4/15/63 I have been researching the effects of different chemical compounds on mice--in search of a cure for the disease from which my son is dying. I am close to a breakthrough, but my research has become dangerous. The compounds were discovered to have lethal fumes. A vial broke at the lab and killed one of my colleagues. I was thrown out of the lab and can no longer experiment on lab animals or human subjects. This drug may have dangerous side effects, but my son has very few days left to live. I will do anything to save him, no matter how dangerous.
4/17/63 Without a lab, I am forced to use inkblots as test subjects. I am using the soot from my own hearth to create the ink because it is both accessible (I have to create a lot of them) and reminds me of all the times I spent with my son by the fire reading books. I hope the inkblots remember those stories and will help me with the tests. I moved to the city when I was young and after I sold my first formula, I bought this house. It's hundreds of years old, and so much of the house has been remodeled in that time, but the fireplace has been left untouched. The hearth is small and made of rounded stones. It bears the crest of an old family--I looked up the family and discovered they funded the building of the hospital and research lab where I was working. I think it's fate that I live here--finding cures is my calling. I will use my son's blood for the solvent in the ink. It carries the disease inside so I can test cures on the inkblots. It's necessary for me to use his blood--I no longer have access to the lab's supply. He's such a brave little boy. I know I'll be able to find a cure for him.
4/18/63 I have done it, painted my own inkblots. The inkblots are small, with large heads and eyes. They drip constantly and have a small pool of ink around them which they use to slide around in, moving like they have a heavy dress' train around them. They make little peeping noises like chicks and are quite warm to the touch, likely the fever caused by the disease. They like to huddle up together in a big cozy pile for warmth.
4/19/63 I believe the inkblots have acclimated to their new environment and seem stable. They drink a little ink from time to time, so they seem to be healthy. I injected the inkblots with a series of serums, each formulated to cure my son's disease. There are no visible effects yet.
4/20/63 One of the inkblots was missing when I came to check on them this morning. I also found a peculiar splatter of ink against the wall by their cage. Such a mess to clean up. It is possible that one of the serums caused too much internal pressure and the inkblot popped. I took them to the director at the lab in an effort to show my dedication and willingness to work for the cause. He sees my earnestness and has allowed me to come to the lab after hours and is letting me keep the inkblots there as well. I've been putting in overtime with this inkblot project and am starting to feel a little under the weather--even I must rest sometimes. I will return tomorrow to monitor my inkblots.
4/21/63 I have a fever and am showing signs of my son's disease. It's not contagious, but I confirmed at the lab that I have indeed contracted it. While I am worried, I am confident I can find a cure for both of us. I will have to investigate why I have such a latent case in a disease that has only previously affected children. Could it be genetic? There are pieces missing in this puzzle. A couple of the researchers were there when I arrived--they had stayed behind to clean up. Two more of my inkblots had burst. My theories about pressure were correct, unfortunately. I'm not sure if this strain of the cure was too strong or if it is the effect of the ink's magic. I fear this strain is a failure regardless.
4/22/63 The disease is progressing fast. I have made a terrible mistake. The inkblots are gone--their cage broken. The other researchers are home sick--they show signs of the disease. I fear the inkblots are carriers. I must find them before they burst and infect more people. But I am just so tired. This strain of the disease I've contracted is excessively aggressive. I fear I will not outlive my son. Now I must rest. Tomorrow I will find the strength to start my search.