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Once upon a time, there was a powerful soul brimming with curiosity. Curiosity for the world around them and all it had to offer.
This soul worked hard to get what they had always wanted, a happy ending. A family.
But the soul believed it could do more for the world.
And the soul made a decision.
Mistakes.
Many, many mistakes.
Mistakes that hurt the ones they’d loved.
The damage wasn’t permanent, and yet…
There are consequences to every action.
Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?
But this isn’t about you.
You awaken… Golden dust drifts about the air above lazily, turned such a brilliant color by the sunlight leaking down the dark cavern it could not fully enter. Blossoms of soft yellow cushion where you lie. Thick copper drains down the back of your throat. Tears slide down the sides of your face and tickle your ears. Fingers twitch without permission. Agony. The Shadows welcome you with eager hands. The world shifts.
You awaken… Golden dust drifts about the air above lazily, turned such a brilliant color by the sunlight leaking down the dark cavern it could not fully enter. Blossoms of soft yellow cushion where you lie. Thick copper drains down the back of your throat. Tears slide down the sides of your face and tickle your ears. Fingers twitch without permission. Fear. A figure beyond comprehension settles just at your side as your vision fades, human-shaped. A voice calls out to you, “...Frisk.” Thread as gold as the flowers, not manipulated into something beautiful by the fading light. “Don’t panic.” It says. The darkness beckons you forth, cradling you. The world shifts.
You awaken… Golden dust drifts about the air above lazily, turned such a brilliant color by the sunlight leaking down the dark cavern it could not fully enter. Blossoms of soft yellow cushion where you lie.
You cannot sleep forever.
Little Lamb, I understand your fear of the unknown more than most, but it is something we must face. I am scared too… Perhaps we can brave it together...
Copper slides down the back of your throat, but you swallow it down and take another breath through your nose. Tears slide down the sides of your face and tickle your ears, but you grit your teeth and ignore it. Your hands twitch without your permission, but you force them to move and explore. Determination.
It is time to wake up.
Wake up.
WAKE UP!
Your fingers snag something thin and taut, something that burrows into the flesh around your mouth in rows. You dig your fingers into the small gaps and grab. Sharp pain burns into existence. Relentless, you pull. Something snaps. You scream, as well as anyone can scream with their mouth fastened. The muffled sound echoes around your head and blurs your vision. Pinched within your two fingers is a dampened red thread, barely long enough to see when you strain your eyes down. It pulls at the wounded skin until you release it to dangle, but the ache only grows. Dying had been merciful. The golden bed is stained red. No flowers remain blossoms for long. Over and over you had woken to your mouth forced into silence. Over and over, you had clawed desperately. Over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and ov- “Frisk.” The voice. A weightless cold settles in your core. Something foreign tethered there now spilling out. Glancing over causes the ghastly apparition to flail back wildly, their hands rushing to hide their appearance. It is too late. The face they wear is wrong. The rosy blush that sat on the right side was dragged up and over their eye, as if they’d placed it on Sans’s telescope awkwardly. The left blush sagged in a sad resemblance of something vaguely rounded. Golden thread mimics the very flowers you sit on, capturing their lip at the corner. Chara studies you in turn, their singular red eye piercing through to your soul. Already, they are fading. Their mouth has vanished. Their tether grows weak.
Move on.
With another blink, they are gone. There is nothing left for you here.
The flower is there, as he always is. His head droops low, shadows shrouding his face in its entirety. He wilts further once you enter. "Well, well, well," he says, "If it isn't the human. Done feeling sorry for yourself?" His head drags itself up, revealing its mangled state. His petals are a dull yellow, almost every one of them torn with a meager two fully intact. There's a sharp leaf protruding from the bottom left of his head. Red thread covers his being. It holds his shape, forcing him into an odd bent position. It's keeping him together. There’s a paralyzed look sewn into his face. His right eye is stretched open by two stitches. The mouth below is forced into a mockery of a smile. It doesn’t so much as twitch when he speaks. “What?” he demands, “Are you just going to stare at me?” It's impossible to look away. “Finally done? Realize that pitifully killing yourself over and over again won’t solve anything? Wow. Congratulations,” he says. He rolls his available eye before it snaps to you. He growls, "Oh please. While you were throwing your tantrum, you were causing the rest of us to suffer." His laugh bounces off the surrounding walls, unseen in the void. It is not a kind laugh. It bleeds into something softer, his face turning into a friendly smile. He bounces in place playfully, stunted by the threads. "Golly!" he says, "You sure are banged up, huh? You won't be much good like that, will you?" His face attempts to twist into the creepy look he adorns when speaking down on you, split down the middle. It should only have half the effect. He spits, "Pathetic."
Clack… Clack… Clack…
The sound fades into existence from beyond the room’s mouth. Flowey barely glances back into the abyss before throwing himself beneath the soil. A cluster grows and twists within. Something heavy drags along the floor. The leaden tapping continues. The shadows take shape, large and odd. It gasps before lumbering closer, the shape slowly taking form. But it stops, just before the light. “Oh dear…” it, she, whispers, “You poor lamb, left to wander these catacombs alone.” Toriel stands before you. Tucked within the dark, her voice echoes across the room. “You need not fret, little lamb,” she says, “Though I must say, I am not human. I am a monster, just like all others you will encounter here in the Underground.” You nod. “Please, that is not all child. I-” Her tone shifts, something darker mixing with the sweetness. “That stitching upon your mouth. Is it fresh?” Her weight shifts. Something along her torso gleams wet. “Oh, dear child. What terrible creature would torture such a poor innocent youth?” she asks. Something familiar. Finally. Your eyes slip closed, just for a moment of rest. But you cannot sleep again. Not yet. Something soft caresses your cheek. You tear yourself from it. She is equally startled, her hand chasing for a moment. It stops. White furred with dull claws and dark stains, her hand hovers. She does not emerge into the light. Desperate eyes, seen only by their glimmer, meet yours. “Please, do not be afraid. I am merely trying to heal you. With magic,” she rasps. The hand flexes, off-white nails catching the light. There is no shine to them.
Claws, no matter how dull, are still claws.
“It must hurt,” she says, “May I? I only wish to help.” Her voice grows pitifully faint at the end. Her hand starts to fall. You step forward. Flames blaze behind your eyes, sear away the vessel that protects your soul. A grip that snaps your bones to dust drags you into the void with her. These are not your thoughts. Pain is washed away by Toriel and her love for you, all originating from the paw that cradles. Your cheek held by the fur, damaged but soft. Care and comfort, worn hands and gentle magic. Love and protection, sheepskin and balanced thimbles. Her gifts to you. A gentle tug entombs you within her arms. Odd and misshapen, but familiar enough to comfort. Impossible to abandon. She coos, “There, it is alright now. I shall keep you safe. You’ve done so well.” Something seeps into your core, warmer than what had last invaded this space. But that’s not right. No, something soaks the front of your sweater, spreading to your skin. She rocks you back and forth as you cling to her garbs and weep. Back and forth, back and forth. A hypnotic trance. Mother is here. You’re nudged back into the patch of sun. “I have no wish to further frighten you, little lamb. Please know, my appearance may be a little startling at first,” she speaks softly, “Might I step out now?” She’d wait. Seconds, minutes, years. Time meant so little to her. You nod.
Clack.
A gnarled wooden cane hits the light. Toriel follows. She hunches, leaning on the cane heavily. She is as warped as the tool she uses.
Dead weight.
That horrible glisten demands attention, down to her torso. A gaping gash stretches it, pulled somewhat together by determined red threads. Something wet gleams and sways within, colored the same as any human or animal might be. The surrounding robe clings to her body, soggy and dark. Her face suffers the same mutilation. A smaller gash, sewn closed with the same crimson thread, mattes the stained fur to the left of her snout. It stops just below her eye. Cheap plastic had carved that jagged path, ripped open with great effort. Her face had been etched with the pain of betrayal, more so than whatever she physically felt. Now it is only soft with anxiety. She leans towards you, peering down with worn eyes. The knobby cane creaks in protest. If she leans any further, it’ll surely give out and take her down with it.
Drip… Drip… Drip…
“I am so grateful you have not run from me, my child.” Her smile is held within her eyes.“So few do. Stay, that is.” Her gaze shifts over your shoulder. She says, “I apologize for my unsightly appearance. It scares both humans and monsters, despite how common it is beyond these ruins. Of course, it is not as if it is unheard of even within these old walls… Perhaps it has less to do with my appearance than I first perceived.” Her ancient eyes are distant, weighed down with what only she can perceive. She reanimates with a gasp. She says, “Oh, how rude of me! I am Toriel, Crypt Keeper of What Remains. Little lamb, you are far from home. Best not to dwell here. Come, I will guide you.” The shadows that had spit her out swallow once again. The darkness beckons you closer. Almost comforting.
Nothing can see us here.
Determination. You plunge into the unknown. Together.