From dust to dust.
Dust on the floor to dust on the elixir container. Chalky and dusty - this was what the artist had been making during his final moments. Looking around, there wasn't a sign of a struggle - just a puddle of dried red burning lifeblood on the earthen floor. The dust covered floor that you watched the artist clean each day, even when it was recovered the next. Dusty, dusty blood.
Dusty, dusty world - it got in your lungs and stuck to them and stung like needles and threatened to drag you down into the cool, cool earth.