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Ink was not always Ink.
Once, Ink was simply nothing...
A Sans in an empty world
Though perhaps... that person was the one who was worth something. That person who had torn their soul in half in desperation to break free from the void that went on forever. A place where no matter where you went there was always more space to walk, yet it was inescapable this prison. That person was dead, their soul taken wherever it was that soul went after their death. Leaving behind a body, which was quite unusual for monsters who were known to dust when their souls shattered. Not that the husk of a being knew that, all they simply knew was that they could no longer feel a thing. If he could have felt relief he probably would have. Finally free from the agony he had been put through by being isolated in the white space for so long. In this way there was no pain or fear, there was just simply nothingness.
Who knows how long the skeleton sat there, just waiting for something to happen. Uncaring and unfeeling for anything. Yet so, who was he even to feel for? There was nothing, not one person or thing besides the husk that simply stood there blank, unable to feel just as the skeleton was.