She will create when the time comes.

But I still see, nearly nightly, only you consuming my dreams

I always wonder how my sister handled this kind of medical treatment. It always hurts when they check everything on me. She was so brave to go through it for such a long time. I hope I can be as strong as she was if I stay in this position much longer.

But hey, she doesn’t feel pain anymore. It has already passed, and she’s in a better place now. And I might join her soon. But no hard feelings, sissy—I hope I don’t join you anytime soon. I still want to live. I don’t want to leave Mama and Papa all alone after losing you so quickly.

They still miss you every day, sissy.

When I leave behind something of mine, I stop to go and find

“Knock, knock.” I opened my eyes, and like every day, the first thing I saw was the white ceiling with its fancy hanging lights, the kind you’d expect in a presidential suite. Slowly, I turned my head to the left toward the big glass window, feeling the sting of pain in my neck.

“You again,” I said, rolling my eyes, trying to sound annoyed when in truth I felt amused.

“Hey, that’s not how ya do da joke,” Sans the Reaper replied, leaning against the glass with his usual amused grin.

“You’re too old for jokes, Mr. Fossil,” I teased, glaring at him playfully.

“No one’s too old for a joke. Now, may I come in?” he asked, knocking twice on the glass again, as if asking permission in two different ways just to enter.

“If I let you in, will you give me one more life?” I asked jokingly.

“Nah, I’m already dead,” he quipped back.

“So you’re here to collect my deadt?” I joke while raising  an eyebrow.

He hummed, tapping his mandible before shaking his head. “Nah, you don’t have any debt.”

It made me pause for a second, but then I burst into giggles as I realized what he meant—debt, dead, you know.

I shut my mouth, rolled my eyes, and finally told him he could come in

Brushing dust from memories of you and i put on rewind

“How are ya doing, kid?” Sans asked, sitting on the chair beside my bed and lifting his bony legs to rest on the railing.

“Like shit.”

“Like shit.”

I shut my mouth and glared at him.

“Don’t copy me.”

“Don’t copy me.”

I gasped dramatically, huffing in annoyance, and rolled my eyes.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

He got me with that one. I clicked my tongue and pushed his legs off the bed, making him stumble and almost fall to the floor—he only saved himself by grabbing the chair for support.

I laughed a little too hard at the scene, but stopped as soon as pain shot through my head. I hissed, gripping the bedsheet tightly.

“Karma’s a bitch, huh?” he said, already sitting back down, this time resting his skull against the bed railing.

“You started it first,” I muttered.

“But karma likes ya more,” he teased, poking at my hand as my grip slowly loosened.

I sighed, reached for the railing, and slowly gathered my strength to sit up. The pain was there, the stiffness too, but I pushed them aside with a few hisses and grumbles until I managed to sit upright.

Opening my eyes, which had snapped shut automatically from the pain, I looked at him. “What a gentleman.” I glared playfully. It wasn’t an insult—I appreciated that he didn’t treat me like fragile glass, letting me do what I could on my own.

“Ehhh, ya still got it,” he shrugged, lifting his head and sitting straighter.

I huffed and stared ahead. I didn’t know when I started zoning out, but the sound of Sans’s voice pulled me back.

“Ya seem to have skale a ton of thoughts, eh?”

I gasped at his pun, but he didn’t even let me recover before throwing in, “A dollar for your thoughts?”

“Ten.”

“Five?”

“Eight.”

“Seven?”

“Deal.” I shook his hand as he handed me the dollars. I snorted but took the money anyway.

But then I stopped and stared at the money “… how I could know that you wouldn’t tell anyone?” I eye him with suspicion

“Eh, ya know what they said. The dead can keep a secret,” he winked at me. Somehow, I found this joke funny because I snorted unconsciously.

“right” I roll my eyes before sighing.

“I Just wondering about my parents… and remembering my sissy. I miss her.” I admitted. Even though I tried to sound casual, I knew he caught the sadness in my voice—his playful expression shifted just a little.

Learning happiness is easy spent, but cannot be returned

“Bet she misses you too,” he said casually, reaching for my hair. He took a strand of my long hair between his phalanges and began twirling it absentmindedly.

“Why? Did you meet her?” I asked, trying to sound normal as I looked at him—but my voice still carried more hope than I wanted.

“…Nah, just know it. Everyone’s bound to miss someone sweet like you,” he said. The words were kind, though his grin looked annoyingly smug, almost shit-eating.

But still… “Do you think so?” My grip on the railing tightened as I stared at him. He glanced sideways at me, and then his grin softened into something genuine.

“Of course they will.” His voice now carried sincerity. A small bloom of happiness stirred in my chest. It felt dirty, like I was happy because of someone else’s misery. But then I remembered what my sissy always taught me—that there’s nothing dirty about my happiness.

You had taught me what I now see, as I look back and learn

“You know, Mr. Fossil, looking back, I felt stupid,” I admitted, closing my eyes and relaxing as he continued to caress and play with my long hair. When was the last time I cut it? Six years ago? Seven? I couldn’t really remember.

“Why’s that?” he asked, his other hand joining in to comb my hair more thoroughly as he scooted the chair closer to the bed.

“I always felt bad whenever I experienced even the slightest happiness. Because I thought I didn’t deserve it. So many people deserved it more than me. Sometimes, I let people use me just so they could feel happy. Like…” I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling, lips pressed into a thin line as I hummed, remembering.

“Like?” he prompted after a few seconds, his fingers working through a small section of my hair. A sting of pain came from a tug when he accidentally caught a knot while braiding—it was partly my fault, since I’d forgotten to comb my hair today.

“Like… using me for money by pretending to be my friend. Or when I obeyed whatever they told me to do. Or, you know, doing someone else’s homework. Literally anything, just to make them feel happy,” I explained, feeling myself grow more relaxed under the rhythm of his hands in my hair.

“But then I learned… I don’t need to think about other people’s happiness if they don’t think about mine!”

With a hidden past too dark to cast away all on my own

“Heh, didn’t take ya for a people-pleaser,” he said jokingly, poking my cheek with his gloved hand. I smacked his hand and glared at him in annoyance, but he only chuckled before returning to his work on my hair.

“Well, that’s good ta hear ya don’t do that anymore. How did ya learn that?” he asked, barely glancing at me as he spoke, his focus still on the braid.

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused, shifting my head. He paused his work but didn’t let go of the braid.

He looked at me and clarified, “Ya know… learning that ya don’t need to please people who don’t care ‘bout ya.”

“Erm, of course I didn’t figure that out by myself. My sister knew about this and…” My voice trailed off as I looked down, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of my hospital gown.

And without you, maybe that too would have never turned to hope

“Bet she didn’t like it.”

“Of course she didn’t! Who would like it when their sister becomes a people-pleaser?” I deadpanned, staring at him.

He shrugged and continued braiding. Somehow, I felt like I was forgetting something, but my mind was already too relaxed, and sleepiness began to creep in.

“And… that’s what I love about my sister,” I murmured, feeling even sleepier. My body slowly lowered itself back onto the bed. I winced a little at the movement, but finally managed to settle against the soft pillow supporting my head.

“She gives me hope and lessons that I will never forget, I miss her so much,” I mumble, my eyes slowly closing itself.

“… you’ll meet her soon.” just 4 of those words make me jolt awake and snap my head towards him, ignoring the pain it causes.

I look at him with horror and fear before it slowly turns into sadness, now it clicks, he told me on the other of days he visits me that a death touch will kill.

And he just didn’t touch me, he poked my cheek, caressed, even played and braided my hair.

All the hurt and the pain I found

I stared at him with disbelief and sadness. He only stood there, looking down at me, the hood of his Grim Reaper cloak casting a dark shadow across his bony face. For once, I felt everything—the pain in my body crashing down on me all at once.

The beeping of my heartbeat grew faster on the machine, and even faster inside my chest. It pounded wildly against my ribs, pain blooming so quickly that my hands trembled.

My fingers shook as they gripped the bedsheet, clinging to it like it was my last lifeline. My body temperature spiked, triggering another machine to shriek with its piercing alarm.

My head felt like it was going to explode from the pressure. Tears gathered in my eyes and fell drop by drop onto the sheet. My skull throbbed as though something was tugging hard inside it, and my ears rang so badly I could barely hear the sobs and whimpers and cries escaping my own throat.

Every breath I dragged in felt like hot lava pouring into my lungs, burning me bit by bit. The pain was unbearable, and I began coughing uncontrollably.

The faint sound of the emergency siren echoed across the room—maybe even across the hospital. I could feel hands touching me, white shapes moving in my blurred vision.

But the only thing I could see clearly was him.

Sans the Reaper.

 Sinking into me, deeply now

But there's another pain, despite the physical pain in my body.

My tears are flowing faster, and my cries of pain are mixing with the fear and sadness.

The pain isn’t just from my physical heart and body. But on my soul too, I can't die now, I have so many things to do, so much thing to protect.

And I don’t wanna leave now.

“mama” I can hear myself whisper softly between the sobs.

“Don’t wanna leave mama,” I hear myself once again mumble the words. My sobs become mor deeper, like it was reaching my very soul.

On the truth, I am afraid of death, but on the real and deep honest truth.

I don’t wanna leave mama. She has already been through so much pain. A lot of pain more than I endure right now.

The pain that I am sure no one can pass, but mama did, mama did pass all of it because of me.

Found that nothing could hurt me more than what I feel now

Mama already lost my sissy, I don’t want her to lose me, too. I don’t want her to go through another grief, too.

She already endured so much. I don’t wanna leave mama, I don’t wanna see mama go through the same loss again.

I promise sissy to protect her and not make her feel sad because of me.

I want to keep my promise.

But the pain in my body, these weak pathetic bodies keep making it hard for me to keep it.

Why? Why now?? Why can’t I make my mama happy for once?

Why do I need to have this pathetic little body?

Why I cant be a perfect little girl for my mama?

I don’t want to leave her.

I want to make her happy.

She already endured so much grief, sadness, and she already went through so much depression because of the loss of sissy.

I want to make her happy, please.

Don’t take me away from her.

I don’t wanna leave, I don’t wanna die.

All of my bodily hurts have become forgotten, but the worst of the pain has emerged.

Even all the heartache, all that crying

I stared into his empty sockets, my cries and sobs spilling out.

I don’t want to leave her. I don’t want to leave her.

She’s going to blame herself all over again. But it’s not her fault.

“Mama…” I cried once more.

I wanted to reach out, to beg him to let me live. To plead that I couldn’t leave yet. To tell him I wasn’t afraid of death itself, not afraid of losing my life—but terrified of leaving Mama and Papa alone.

But death is never one of the waits

“…Mama,” I whimpered through clenched teeth, fighting to keep my eyes open just to stare at the skeleton.

“Mama.” It was a soft whisper.

“Ma…ma?” This time it was a question. A question of whether I would ever meet her again.

“Mama.” That was hope. Hope that, for once—for the last and least—I could tell her how much I love her and Papa, and that none of this was their fault.

Even all the hurting, like I’m dying

“Mama…” I sobbed quietly, my eyelids failing to stay open.

“Mama…” I whispered again, hoping she was here, hoping she was with me right now.

“Mama… Papa…” I called them both, my soul clinging to empty hope.

“Mama… Papa…” I repeated, wishing they were here, wishing I could say goodbye.

“Papa…” I breathed, but now it was barely a sound at all.

Mama… I could feel it. My vision was swallowed by blackness. I had already failed to keep my eyes open.

My body still hurts. I wanted to cry, but nothing came out of my throat. I could still feel hands on me, people trying to do something, trying to keep me here.

But I’m dying… amn’t I?

I remember every second with you, and I loved it, everything

But the longer the darkness stayed, the more my body began to forget the pain. For once, I felt peace…

…..

They say when someone is dying, they see seven minutes of the happiest parts of their life.

Is that why I’m here?

“Y/N!” my sister called from behind. She looked so healthy, giggling like the child she was.

“Yes?” I asked innocently, my voice sounding younger, filled with curiosity.

“Wanna see something cute?” Sissy said, coming closer, her smile stretched wide as she struggled to hold back laughter.

I tilted my head to the side before smiling and nodding.

Then I shrieked as my sister shoved a big bullfrog in my face. I fell back onto my butt, dirtying my blue dress.

Looking up at her laughing, I pouted and glared.

She let the bullfrog go, wiping tears from her eyes after a few seconds of laughter. Staring down at me, she wore a mischievous smirk.

And like the great sister I was, I opened my mouth and shouted, “MAMA! SISSY’S BEING MEAN TO ME!” at the top of my lungs, startling her.

She quickly covered my mouth with the same hand that had just held the bullfrog. I squirmed, trying to break free.

“Shhh! Please don’t tell Mom! She’ll be mad if she knows,” Sissy pleaded, her big eyes begging me.

I glared at her, stopped squirming, grabbed her hand, and pushed it down. “Fine. But I get your lemon cake for dinner tonight.”

She stared at me with starry eyes and snorted. “Yeah, sure. I don’t really like lemon anyway.”

“Yay!” I shouted excitedly before grabbing her neck and pushing her down.

Now we were both dirty with mud.

Staring at each other, we snorted and burst into loud laughter.

Even now remaining is that bitter Scent of lemon, that’ll never leave

Now I remember how my sister used to hate lemonade so much.

“Eww, you drink that?” My sister stared at my lemonade glass, her face twisted in disgust as I took a sip.

“It’s good! Better than that apple juice of yours,” I shot back, glaring as I clenched my glass tighter.

She gasped and glared back. “No, it’s not! Who likes the bitterness of lemon?” she asked, eyeing my lemonade with disdain.

I taunted her by taking a long sip, almost laughing when her face turned even more sour. But she refused to lose, so she slurped her apple juice loudly in retaliation.

The exaggerated sipping filled the room as we glared hotly at each other.

“Y/N, Fiola, stop taunting each other and finish your drinks. It’s not good to play with them like that,” Mama said as she entered the room, holding a perfectly warm baked pie in her hands.

“She started it!” I threw her under the bus immediately.

“Oh, I just stated a fact,” she said proudly, puffing her chest as if she’d stopped the bus herself.

I snapped my head toward her, glaring. “But you’re wrong! Lemonade is better than apple juice.” I hugged my glass protectively to my chest.

“No, it’s not!”

“It is!”

“N—hey!” Papa suddenly grabbed Sissy’s apple juice and lifted it, then reached for my lemonade and did the same.

“If you both won’t listen to your mother and keep insisting on which is better, why don’t you…” He switched the glasses and placed them in our hands. “Try each other’s drink.” His sentence ended with that unmistakable dad stare.

I was ready to protest, but stopped when I saw Sissy already sipping my lemonade.

Shutting my mouth, I hesitantly brought the apple juice closer and took a sip.

It tasted… fine, actually.

“It’s not that bad,” I mumbled.

“Yeah… this one isn’t bitter,” my sister admitted beside me.

We looked at each other, then at our drinks.

Before either of us could say more, two plates of sliced pie were set on the table.

I looked up at Mama, who smiled softly at us. Her eyes were full of affection, adoration, and life—so different from the future, when they would become lifeless and dim after the loss of my sister.

“Since you both finally agreed, why doesn’t Mama give you a gift? Come on, dig into the pies before they flies away!” she joked with a pun that made us groan, though Papa laughed heartily.

We looked at each other, smiled, and scooted closer to grab our plates.

Waiting out the rain, I can’t go home until it’s clears away

Mama is a disciplined person, Papa is a bit of the opposite, but that's why I love him.

I pouted and stared at the sky. It was pouring heavily outside, and Papa was late. Again. Late to pick me up.

I couldn’t go home walking like this! Mama would be furious if she saw me drenched, and I was sure she’d punish Papa afterward.

So I stayed, waiting at the school entrance. One by one, my friends were picked up by their parents. A few offered me a ride, but I politely declined, insisting I’d wait for Papa.

And slowly, I regretted it. He was late—one hour and fifty-five minutes late!

I was about to say “Forget it” and walk through the pouring rain when I heard footsteps. I snapped my head toward the sound.

“Papa!” I shouted, relief mixing with annoyance.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, dear. The roads were slippery, and Papa had to be extra careful,” he said, closing the umbrella he carried.

“It’s okay, Papa, but… where’s my raincoat?” I asked, looking at his hands. He was holding fast food—I could smell it—but there wasn’t a hint of a raincoat.

I slowly glared at him. “Papa. You forgot my coat.”

He looked away nervously. “Sorry, sweetheart.. Papa forgot to bring your coat,” he admitted, making me huff in annoyance.

I pouted and turned away, giving him attitude.

But not for long. Papa nudged my shoulder and revealed my favorite snack—and lemonade!

I gasped and reached for it, but Papa lifted it out of my reach.

“How about… we eat at your cafeteria while we wait for the rain to slow down?” he offered.

I made a show of thinking, tapping my chin dramatically, though I was already nodding excitedly.

With one strong arm, Papa lifted me onto his shoulder, and together we walked down the hallway toward the cafeteria.

Even now, you’re still inside, you are my light that never fades

I used to be scared of the dark and thunder.

“Dear?” Mama’s voice came from outside my blankets, muffled by the heavy rain pounding against the rooftop. I slowly lifted the blanket and peeked out. Mama stood in the doorway, holding her phone up for light.

“Mama?” I sobbed softly, my voice hesitant.

Carefully, Mama made her way toward me. She lowered her phone when she reached my bed, crouching to my level. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Her gentle voice felt like safety wrapping around my skull.

“Bad dream?” she asked, brushing my cheek and wiping away the tears.

I nodded. “And thunder… and dark,” I mumbled, curling deeper into the blanket as I leaned against her hand.

“Thought you were a big girl now, no?” she teased, sitting on the bed. Her weight dipped the mattress.

“I am!” I shouted, offended. But when thunder growled across the sky, I squeaked and wrapped my arms around Mama, whimpering.

“…Or not,” I mumbled sadly, burying my face against her side.

Mama chuckled softly, then lifted me up, breaking my hug. I whined, but it faded when she lay down beside me, wrapping the blanket around us both. Her arm curled around me as I buried my face against her chest, inhaling her scent. It calmed me instantly.

“Y/N,” she whispered my name. I answered with a small hum.

“It’s okay to be scared of something, even if you’re a big girl,” she said, her hand stroking my hair.

“Big girls are allowed to be scared?” I asked curiously, looking up at her.

“Of course. Mama, Sissy, and Papa all have things we’re scared of. And it’s not weakness—it’s strength. Because facing it is what makes us big and strong.” She leaned down and kissed my forehead softly.

“What’s going on here?” Papa’s voice rang from the doorway. I lifted myself to look past Mama, and she turned her head toward him.

A small gasp came from behind Papa. “You guys are having a sleepover without us!” Sissy accused, pointing her finger.

“What?? No!” I shouted with a pout.

Mama chuckled and sat up. “We weren’t having a sleepover at first. My big girl here was scared of the dark and thunder.” She patted my head. I snapped my gaze toward her, feeling betrayed.

Sissy hummed, then grabbed Papa’s hand and dragged him to the bed. “Well, since we’re all here, let’s have a sleepover!” she said excitedly.

And soon enough, we were all cuddled together. My bed was small, so we had to squeeze close to fit—but that was what made it perfect. The thunder became just a passing sound, and the darkness didn’t exist anymore.

And I know, they all the lights I need, and they were my lights that will never fades

Tracing out the lines, your back, inside a dark so deep and blind

The sound of a deep sob of pain and grief filled the small room of Y/N's bedroom. All of her belongings are still there, its go untouched even after a full month of their death, she can't do it. She can't touch anything that came from her beloved daughter; she has already lost one and already packed one. even though it need then 2 years to get it done.

She promise to herself she would keep strong for her, but if her the one that go so fast, they who she need to be strong for?

She already lost one of her little angel, and now they take two.

Two of her little angels are gone, she felt empty inside, its all her fault.

Why them?

Not her?

Clutching Y/N favorites doll close to her chest she can still the smell of her pafume on it. Her sweet favorite parfume.

she can barely sleep pass these week, everytime she close her eyes, she still can see those peacfull like sleep faces of them, she can still hear their laughters.

Every last edge of your shape then, I can still see in my mind

She could still trace the outline of their backs as if it were etched deep into her soul. She could still see their small smiles, their little pouts that looked so much like hers, their beautiful eyes inherited from their father.

She could still see them perfectly. Her angels.

Why did it have to be them who were taken? They still had so much left to do.

Her angels didn’t deserve this. She wished she could have taken all their pain instead. She wasn’t young anymore—there would be no loss in her place.

Oh, how she wished they were still here.

Fiola still had so many drawings left unfinished. She had promised she would complete them all once she recovered. Mama had promised to buy her all the supplies she wanted once she left the hospital.

She had already bought them.

She had already set them neatly on the new drawing table she purchased, arranged carefully so Fiola could use them the moment she was healthy again.

But that moment would never come.

It took two years for her to stand again, to vow to herself that she would protect her only remaining daughter.

But who was she to stop fate?

Now, all she could do was close her eyes, clutch Y/N’s favorite doll tightly, and cry alone in the dark room.

When I’m by myself and overwhelmed with what I can’t accept

She just couldn’t accept it. Both of her little angels were gone—in such a short time. They hadn’t even let her fully recover from her first loss before fate tore her other baby away.

Anger built inside her as she bit down hard on her lips until they bled. But deep down, she blamed herself.

It was her fault for not knowing. Her fault for letting the same cause that took her first daughter take her last.

Her fault. All of it.

It should have been her. Not them.

Her babies. Her little angels.

She didn’t know how long she had been crying, but eventually she noticed—the sounds of life outside the house had stopped.

She glanced at the watch on her wrist, still clutching Y/N’s doll tightly. The hands of the clock had stopped.

“Heya.” The unfamiliar voice made her jolt upright, spinning around so fast she nearly lost her balance.

There, standing in the doorway, was a stranger cloaked in shadow. Their hood was pulled low, hiding their face beneath the darkness.

“Who…?” she whispered, her voice hoarse from all the crying.

Falling down fast, from my eyes at last, my tears are all that’s left

“Yer can call me Sans. May I come in?” The stranger’s voice was so direct it made her wonder if she had finally gone mad. And honestly, madness sounded kinder than reality after all of this.

She stared at the cloaked figure, unconsciously hugging the doll tighter. “Go ahead,” she said, surprising herself as she sat back down. Maybe she really was crazy. What if this stranger killed her?

That… surprisingly sounded nice.

“Don’t touch anything,” she snapped venomously, somehow knowing he would lay a finger on something that belonged to Y/N.

“Okay, Mama. I won’t,” the stranger replied, raising his hands in surrender.

Silence filled the room as Y/N’s mother curled into herself, hugging her knees tightly, the doll squeezed between them.

“Been a month, huh?” Sans spoke first. His voice sounded closer than she expected—he had moved without her hearing a single step.

She should have been afraid. But instead, the tears returned, heavier than she thought she had left. They soaked her cheeks, dripping onto the doll, absorbed into its tiny clothes.

Her sobs filled the room again, raw and painful.

And Sans just let her.

He let her cry her soul out. He would wait. He could wait.

What are you even doing now?

He eventually sat down on the floor as the woman cried for three hours straight. Eventually, her sobs softened, and Sans decided this was the time to deliver his message.

“Ya know… it ain’t wrong to grieve someone ya love.”

The woman stayed silent, still sobbing in her place.

“But have ya thought about what they’re doin’ right now?” he asked without hesitation. The words stabbed at Y/N’s mother like a blade, and she snapped her head toward him, glaring with venom.

“Why do you keep bringing my babies into your conversation? Who. Are. You?” Her voice dripped with fury.

“I’m Sans. Already told ya, didn’t I? And as for why… let’s just say I might have somethin’ ya wanna know. Related to yer daughters, of course.” He spoke casually, looking up at her.

She tried desperately to see beneath the hood of his cloak, but all she found was darkness.

What are you seeing all around?

She ground her teeth, scanning the room for some kind of camera—or maybe another person who could explain all of this. But there were no cameras, no one else. Just her, and the figure who called himself Sans.

“What’re ya lookin’ around for?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Cameras. In case you’re pulling some cruel, evil prank,” she spat, glaring down at him, her jaw clenched tight.

Why couldn’t this universe just leave her alone?

“Eh, I’m a punny man,” he said with a shrug, “but I know the time.”

He rose slowly to his feet, and she noticed—he wasn’t tall at all. In fact, he was short.

“So what are you planning, punny man?” she asked, ignoring his joke entirely. Her voice dripped with sarcasm, too tired and too broken to play along with his wordplay.

Faces that I will never see

“I’m here ta help,” he said, looking up at her. Even though they were close enough that she should have seen at least part of his face, there was nothing beneath the cloak—only shadow.

“Help? With what? Are you one of those cult people, planning to recruit me and offer to bring my babies back to life?” Her voice dripped with hatred. It was unlike her—if her children were still alive, she would never have spoken with such venom.

She wished they were still here.

Sans just stared at her, baffled by her answer. “That sounds… awful and stupid,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Trust me, nothin’ will bring back the dead.”

“I know. I’m not stupid,” she snapped, irritation flaring.

“In fact,” he said, his tone shifting, “I’m here to help you erase the face.” He sounded almost cheerful, but he knew she wasn’t.

“W. H. A. T.” Her grieving rage erupted, her voice sharp enough to send shivers down the bones of the dead.

He had expected this. Calmly, he pulled an envelope from his cloak and held it out to her. “Here,” he said, careful not to let her hand touch his.

I won’t know a thing

“What is this?” Y/N’s mother asked, eyeing the envelope suspiciously as she took it from Sans’s hand.

“Open it. See what’s inside,” he said with a shrug, dropping his hand too quickly for her liking.

“You’re really not pulling some trick right now, are you?” she pressed, her arms stretched out, keeping the envelope at a distance.

“Nope,” Sans replied, shaking his head.

“There’s somethin’ inside that explains why I offered ya the chance to erase the memories of them,” he added. But his words were ignored the moment her eyes caught the drawing on the envelope.

It was her face—or what she assumed was hers—sketched alongside two other faces she knew instantly. Her daughters. She recognized the art style. It was Fiola’s.

On the edge of the envelope, written in Y/N’s handwriting, were the words: For Mama.

Her hands trembled as she carefully tore open the envelope, pulling out the letter inside.

Even if you’re somewhere out there, hiding

‘Dear Mama,

We miss you so much! Sissy and I have been together again since I arrived. She showed me around, and this place is absolutely beautiful. There are endless fruit trees, and the people here are so kind. They told me their stories, and I made so many friends. In fact, Sissy and I have befriended everyone here.

There’s a river that always flows with fresh water, so elegant and peaceful. It feels like what people call heaven. We feel no pain here, no discomfort, only joy.

I know you won’t believe this, but there are people here who look different than humans. Some are monsters, like one who calls herself Toriel. She plays with us and gives us flowers from her garden. Sissy made me a flower crown, and I made one for her too. Mine wasn’t very good, but she loved it anyway. Toriel said it was perfect for a beginner. I was so happy.

Her throat tightened as she swallowed hard, her hands trembling more violently. Her grip on the letter tightened as her knees buckled, forcing her to lower herself slowly to the floor.

She took a deep breath before continuing, eyes blurring with tears.

‘I was so happy here! But Mama, we miss you so much. We wish you were here with us… but we don’t want you here either. We still want Mama to live. Mama has so many dreams, don’t you? But you gave them up for us. We know that.

Mama, I don’t want to make you sadder, but we see you when you hide to cry.’

The words struck her like a blade. Her breath caught, her chest heaving as she struggled to hold back the sobs. She wiped at her tears desperately, fighting to keep reading, though every word felt heavier than the last.

Even if you’re lonely, maybe crying

‘Mama, it’s never been your fault that I left. It’s never been your fault that we died. In fact, Mama, you are the reason we live. We are so proud and happy to have you as our mother.

We’re sorry to leave you alone. But do you know, Mama? You’re never truly alone. Papa is still there with you. He loves you so much—just as much as he loves us. Papa has been lonely since you started avoiding him. He cries too, just like you do. And we don’t like seeing you both cry like that. But we can’t stop you either. To be honest, we felt it was our fault, because we are the reason you cry.’

Her hands tightened around the paper, trembling as though the words themselves were burning her skin. She shook her head violently, whispering, “No… no, it’s not your fault.” Her voice cracked, breaking into sobs.

Drowning in the pain, is it still hurting you just like it’s hurting me?

‘Mama, when I say I’m happy here, I really mean it. But it still hurts to see you alone, crying over and over again. Sissy and I share the same pain when we see you and Papa drowning in sorrow. It hurts you, and it hurts us too. We don’t want Mama and Papa to grow distant because of us—we want you together.

I know the memories of us make you and Papa ache. So… I used my last wish.’

Her sobbing stopped instantly at those words. Her breath caught in her throat, her chest tightening as though the paper itself had struck her.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze toward Sans, staring into the darkness beneath his hood.

Then, with trembling hands, she flipped the page to the next one.

But I’m really hoping you forget me

‘Mama, my last wish is for you and Papa to forget about me and Sissy, so you both can move on with your lives. We don’t want the memories of us to burden you anymore.

We love you, but we don’t want Mama and Papa to keep being pulled back into the past. You both deserve so much better.’

Her breath quickened as her eyes dragged slowly to the next line. The paper trembled in her grip, her knuckles white as though she were holding onto the last thread of her soul.

Every word felt like a blade that was stabbing again and again into her soul

Please just forget it, everything

‘So, Mama, please just forget it, everything. I told Sans to use my wishes to make you both forget all about us.

Or at least until the day we meet again.

Sans will help you with his magic to make you forget us. So Mama and Papa can move on and live your life, and reach Mama’s dreams. Mama deserves it. Mama can do it. I know Mama can. But the memories of us will slow Mama down, just like they do now. It’s not because I hate Mama, but because we know Mama loves us so much until it hurts, just like how we love Mama and Papa too.’

From the bottom of my empty heart, I’m hoping every day

‘Please don’t hate me for wishing this, Mama, but I don’t want Mama to keep hurting. I watch Mama every day since I left, and not a single day goes by without Mama shedding tears. I know Y/N is being selfish right now, but I hope Mama doesn’t cry that much.

I keep hoping every day that you’ll eventually forget about me, but it’s been a month and there is no sign of stopping. It hurts to see Mama and Papa crying over and over again. I don’t want that. Please, Mama, I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I want you to be happy, to live your life. You don’t deserve all of this. Mama, we are still with you even though you can’t see us.

And we are hoping and praying for you every day, so please… forget us.’

The letter wasn’t just a letter—it was her daughters begging her to be better, to forget them. It broke her heart more and more the longer she thought about it.

But it wasn’t all.

Even now, you’re still inside, you are my light that never fades

‘Mama, papa, you are our light, so please don't dim.

With all of our love, Y/N and Fiola, for mama and papa.’

The last line wasn’t Y/N’s handwriting, but Fiola’s.

She felt miserable now, knowing that her daughter understood how weak their mother was—how pathetic she seemed, crying day and night. They think I’m pathetic, don’t they? she whispered to herself.

Sans felt the emotion radiating from her.

He cleared his non-existent throat, making the woman look at him with tired eyes. “Umm… I don’t know whatcha thinking, but… whatever negative thoughts yer having, they’re not true. Bet yer children would never think like that about their dear mother.”

Y/N’s mother just stared silently at Sans, her eyes dim, before looking back at the letter still in her hand. She reread every part of it over and over again. And he was right. Nowhere did her daughters say they were disappointed in her grieving.

In fact, they felt the same.

“What should I do?” she whispered, mostly to herself.

“Ya have two choices,” Sans said casually. “Let me grant yer daughters’ wishes and let my magic do its work. Or… keep their memories and keep grieving.” He glanced at the grieving mother as she shook harder. “But then—healing. Because that’s what yer children want. For ya to heal.”

Until now, I never knew, I was so in love with you

She ground her teeth, glaring holes into Sans. “You say all of that like you know my pain,” she hissed.

“You don’t know how deep a mother’s love is—how I love my children.” She lowered the letter from her chest to her side, never breaking eye contact with the figure before her. Her hand clenched so tightly it hurt, but she ignored the pain.

“Yeah, I don’t,” Sans admitted. “But don’t ya think yer children felt the same? That they thought about their grieving mother? They did—every day, just like ya. And every day they were hoping for ya to heal, to stop.”

Then, with a flicker of magic, he let her see his eyelights—only that, glowing faintly beneath the hood.

“What do ya think of their feelings? Seeing their mother crumble like this?” he asked, striking her in the most painful place imaginable.

Since you had to go and leave

“I-I… I don’t know…” she whispered, lowering her head to stare at the floor in shame.

Sans just watched her. Even though he wasn’t tall enough to look down on her, she could feel the weight of his gaze pressing against her.

“Since they’re gone… since they left, I don’t know what to do. I don’t have anything to do. I just feel—” Her words broke into sobs as she gripped her chest, twisting the fabric of her clothes so hard it hurt. The sobs tore out of her, deeper than she thought possible.

Sans remained silent, simply watching. He let her build her own words, let her shape her own choice.

It’s been hard for me to breathe

“I-I… I don’t know…” she whispered, lowering her head to the floor in shame.

Sans stared at her. Though he wasn’t tall enough to tower over her, she felt the weight of his gaze pressing down.

“Since they’re gone… since they left, I don’t know what to do. I don’t have anything to do. I just feel—” Her words broke into sobs as she clutched her chest, twisting the fabric of her clothes so hard it hurt.

“I don’t feel like I want to breathe. It’s hard to inhale any oxygen. I… I feel like I don’t want to live anymore.”

Her knees finally gave out, and she collapsed to the floor, kneeling. She gasped for air, each breath sharp as needles piercing her lungs, stabbing deeper with every inhale. Whimpers and cries escaped her, raw and broken.

“Again, you have two choices,” Sans said, his voice colder this time.

Slowly, Y/N’s mother lifted her head to look at him.

She had two choices. She needed to choose.

But then again…

Would she be willing to forget her daughters? Her half of heart, her own flesh and blood?

Like I thought, those days you stood by me

Can she forget them and heal perfectly like they want  if she says no to his offer?

But If she says yes, it means all of the memories—all the feelings—would be locked away, or worse, erased.

Was she truly that desperate? That pathetic? Did she really need his magic to heal and live her life?

Did she need his magic to erase the memories of her daughters?

The precious memories she had built with them for years?

Forgetting their first cries.

Forgetting their first laugh.

Their first word.

Their first step.

Their first day of school.

How they lovingly teased each other.

How sometimes Fiola made Y/N cry, only to cry herself afterward because she felt guilty.

Forgetting their first drawing for her.

Forgetting how they fought over who was her favorite, even though they were both her very breath.

Would she be willing to forget their laughter?

Now they seem just like a dream

“after ‘m done with ‘da magic. What ya felt, all of this will become a dream”

“but they aren’t,” she said quietly, didn’t meet Sans' gaze as she kept them on her lap.

“Yes, they aren’t.”

But they’re not, and I hope I won’t forget

“They are real… they aren’t a dream,” she mumbled, opening the letter again to read it once more.

Her daughters had told her they wished for her to forget them, to live her life without the burden of loss.

But then again, she was the mother of two of the most loving and beautiful children anyone could ask for.

And she would never, ever be willing to forget them.

The silence filled the room, heavy enough to suffocate them both.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to Sans, staring at him as she drew in a deep breath.

Sans, misreading her resolve, let his magic gather in his hand, thinking she was about to agree to let him erase her memories.

That one truth, since it’s all I have left

“No.”

The answer echoed through the silent room.

Sans’s magic flickered out instantly, his sockets widening in surprise. He was about to ask if she was sure of her choice, but her voice cut through before he could speak.

“No. I don’t want to forget about them. I want to remember them with every breath I take, with every smile I flash, and with every step I go. I am not willing to let the memories go—even if death threatens to torture me with them.”

Sans stopped at her words. He would never do that, but he knew she wasn’t speaking about him. There was a small but bright fire of determination in her eyes now—not the dull, lifeless gaze he had seen earlier.

“I’m going to treasure every second of the memories. So my answer is no. And I will heal, and I will be happy.” She promised herself, then sighed deeply, looking down at the letter before glancing around Y/N’s room.

“It will take a lot of time, but I will. I promise. Because it’s the only truth I have left.”

Finally, she met his gaze again after scanning the room, a small smile on her face.

“Can you tell them that? I want them to watch me happy. I want them to know—I will heal without the need to forget about them.” She said softly, hugging the sheets of paper close to her chest.

Sans stared at her, almost in awe, before snorting and shrugging. “Heh, a’ight then.”

Even all the heartache, all that crying

It had been a month since his youngest child was laid to rest forever, and years since his first. Not a single day passed without him visiting their graves.

He always brought flowers, gifts for their tombs. He tried to appear tough each time, but it was almost impossible not to shed tears when he stood before their final resting place.

He felt he had failed in his duty as a husband and father. Both of his beloved daughters were gone, and though he knew it wasn’t truly his fault, he always blamed himself. If he could, he would fight death itself to stop this tragedy.

But in his heart, he believed it was his fault. He couldn’t comfort his wife properly. He felt he had failed as a good husband, letting her mourn over and over again. Yet he was the same—just not as obvious for others to see.

Now he stood between his children’s graves. Their resting place was spotless, covered in flowers.

He carefully placed a fresh bouquet on their tomb, but first gathered the flowers that had begun to dry, putting them gently into a bag. He would never waste the flowers he gave his daughters. It seemed ridiculous, but he planned to turn them into compost for the flower bed he had tended for years in their backyard.

He continued tidying the graves, decorating them with the bouquet until everything looked perfectly beautiful—just like them both.

When he was finished, he stepped back and admired the sight. With a small smile, he slowly lowered himself to sit between the tombs, just like he did every day.

But this time, he didn’t speak. He didn’t tell them about his day, or what he had done.

He simply sat there, staring into the space between the stones, imagining what life would be if they were still here. He was sure that if they were alive, he would be home now, playing with them until his dear wife called them for dinner.

Then they would gather on the couch, his daughters’ voices overlapping as they told him about their day. He would remind them to slow down, to speak one at a time, while his wife giggled softly at their silly behavior. He always adored her laugh—even the ones she called “ugly.”

Even all the hurting, like I’m dying

His daydream was cut short by the vibration of his phone. The smile that had slowly graced his lips fell away as reality forced itself back into his world—a reality he didn’t want to face.

With a sigh, he glanced at Fiola’s grave, his oldest daughter, before turning his eyes to Y/N’s, his youngest.

Slowly, he rose to his knees and reached out to pat the tombstones with his hand. “Sorry, girls. Papa needs to go home now. Papa has to do some overtime work tonight, so I need to be home early. We’ll meet again tomorrow. Papa promises to bring you both gifts.” He smiled faintly, then leaned down to kiss the top of each stone before rising to his feet.

Dragging himself to the car parked in the cemetery lot, he opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and shut it firmly. He buckled his seatbelt and reached to start the engine—but a single tear fell onto his hand, stopping him.

And then, his tough façade crumbled into dust.

The only sound that reached his ears was his own deep sobbing as he pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, gripping its edge until his knuckles turned white. His body trembled violently. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, or how he could possibly face his wife at home.

His soul ached with the weight of failure.

The sobs grew deeper with every breath, tearing at his throat until it burned. By the time he was done, his eyes were swollen and heavy, his throat raw. An hour and a half had passed—far beyond the time he was supposed to be home.

With a heavy heart and an aching soul, he forced himself to drive away from the cemetery.

I remember every second with you, and I loved it, everything

He parked in the exact spot he always did. As he reached to unbuckle his seatbelt, something colorful caught his attention.

His eyes focused on the backseat, and shock washed over him. A familiar bouquet of flowers.

The very same kind from the day of his wedding ceremony. The only difference was how impossibly fresh they looked—almost glowing. Or perhaps it was just a trick of the light.

For a moment, he was pulled back into the past. He saw his wife in her gown, radiant as she walked down the aisle. He remembered the perfection of her smile when they stood before the pastor. And the sweetness—the addictive warmth—of kissing her deeply in front of everyone.

He would never stop cherishing those memories.

Slowly, he reached for the bouquet, lifting it closer, staring deeply at the flowers she had chosen. They looked exactly like the ones she carried on their wedding day.

But the question lingered. How did they get here?

…

He pushed the building thought aside, convincing himself he must have unconsciously bought them while purchasing flowers for their daughters.

Opening the car door, he shut it with his leg and walked down the path to the porch. Taking out the spare house key, he unlocked the door.

Immediately, he was greeted by the warm, delicious scent of food filling the air. Only then did he notice—all the house lights were on. The scent was coming from the kitchen.

Even now remaining is that bitter Scent of lemon, that’ll never leave

His feet carried him into the kitchen, and he nearly choked on his breath, almost dropping the bouquet to the floor at the sight before him.

His love was there—standing in front of the stove, stirring something inside a pot that smelled heavenly even from where he stood.

Slowly, carefully, he walked toward her, terrified that if he moved too quickly or breathed too hard, the scene would vanish, leaving him alone in an empty, dark kitchen.

But the warmth and the scent of food only grew stronger. He knew then—it wasn’t a dream.

“Love?” he called softly.

She stopped stirring and turned, startled for a moment by how close he was. Then she smiled—so softly,  oh so beautifully.

“Welcome home, darling.”

At those words, his knees buckled. He wrapped his arms around her smaller frame, trembling as she hugged him back and gently patted his back.

That simple gesture shattered the bitterness inside him. He let his emotions take control, crying into her shoulder, trembling like a child, sobbing so deeply it shook him.

She felt her freshly pressed shirt dampen against her shoulder, but she didn’t mind. She let him cry his eyes out, her own tears falling quietly as she pressed her face into his neck, sobbing softly while continuing to pat her big baby’s back.

Waiting out the rain, I can’t go home until it’s clears away

His feet carried him into the kitchen, and he nearly lost his breath, almost dropping the flowers at the sight before him.

His love was there—standing in front of the stove, stirring something inside a pot that smelled heavenly.

Slowly, carefully, he walked toward her, afraid that if he moved too quickly or breathed too hard, the scene would vanish, leaving him alone in an empty kitchen.

But the warmth and scent of food only grew stronger. It was real.

“Love?” he called softly.

She stopped stirring, turned, and startled for a moment at how close he was. Then she smiled—softly, beautifully.

“Welcome home, darling.”

His knees buckled. He wrapped his arms around her smaller frame, trembling as she hugged him back and gently patted his back.

That simple gesture shattered the bitterness inside him. He cried into her shoulder, trembling like a child, sobbing so deeply it shook him.

She felt her shirt dampen against her shoulder, but she didn’t mind. She let him cry his eyes out, her own tears falling quietly as she pressed her face into his neck, sobbing softly while continuing to pat her big baby’s back.

When he was done, his eyes were puffier than before. He sat at the dining table while his love placed food in front of him, then sat across from him.

The whole time, he couldn’t take his eyes off her, glued to her face, afraid even to blink. Still not believing.

The only thing that pulled him back to reality was her question. “Are those…?” she asked, staring at the flowers in his hand.

He looked down. The bouquet was messy now, crushed from how tightly he had gripped it while crying.

“Oh, umm… it’s a bouquet for you,” he said, handing them over, suddenly shy and self-conscious.

She giggled softly, taking the bouquet from his hand and cradling it against her chest. “They’re… beautiful. Just like the ones from our wedding.” She grazed the petals with her fingers before looking back at him with a smile.

“Thank you.”

That soft thank-you made him blush. He cleared his throat and blurted, “Will you go on a date with me?”

The words stunned them both.

“I-I mean—” he stammered, but she burst into laughter, loud and unrestrained, not even bothering to cover her mouth.

He felt embarrassed, yet happy, because he had made her laugh that hard.

Soon, her laughter softened into shy giggles. She realized her “ugly laugh” only made him stare at her with awe and admiration.

This time, she was the one to respond shyly. “Yeah, sure.”

“How about ton—” he began, but the sudden grumble of thunder and the patter of rain on the rooftop cut him off.

“Well… that means tomorrow,” she giggled again, setting the flowers gently aside.

Like a single half of fruit, split into pieces where they lay

Dinner was finished, and they had changed into their sleeping clothes. But before resting, she had something to do.

She left the room, her love quietly following behind, as she picked up an empty vase from its place. She washed it carefully, dried it with a cloth, then filled it with water. From the fridge, she took a lemon, cut it in half, and placed one half back inside. She squeezed the other into the vase and stirred the water with a wooden spoon.

Grabbing scissors, she began trimming each flower from the bouquet, carefully arranging them in the vase.

Behind her, her husband watched silently, resting his head gently on her shoulder.

When all the flowers were placed, she lifted the vase and carried it to the living room. She set it beside the photo frame of their children, placing the envelope on the other side.

Turning back, she found him staring at the photo, his eyes dark and heavy with sadness. The sight made her soul ache.

It made her feel miserable—realizing how much she had been ignoring the love of her life, the only person who had stayed through her ups and downs.

Slowly, she approached him and kissed his cheek, pulling him back from the depths of his thoughts. He looked down at her, startled, then softened at the sight of his wife.

Even now, you’re still remain,  you are my light that never fades

“Are you done?” he asked, staring down at his wife with love in his eyes. She gave a small nod. That was all the signal he needed. He lifted her in a bridal style, earning a startled yelp followed by a soft giggle as he carried her to the bed.

Laying her down gently, he didn’t break contact. He lay beside her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close. How he had missed this—being so near to the love of his life.

And for her, the feeling was the same. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face against his neck.

The sound of raindrops on the roof lulled them toward sleep.

And together, they hoped to the stars that this was the new beginning.

Yes, they had lost their lights.

But they still had each other—to shine again, just as their daughters would have wanted them to.

The bitterness lingered, sharp like the scent of lemon.

But they believed they could turn it into sweetness. Just like lemonade.

And they knew, for forever—from now until the end—they would be each other’s light.

And they would show their daughters that they were worthy parents.

Even if their daughters were no longer with them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~THE END~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

inspired by: Do it again. by Hnalianot @haanaeh my new friends mwehehehe

more oneshot by me! Au's One-shot Gunna be a hot shot by Missh3h3

art by me!

song same is LEMON

cover by jubyphonic

song by Kenshi Yonezu

words count : 10.152