" who did this? "
send “who did this?” for your muse to discover my muse with a black eye or a busted lip.
“A — Ah…”
They’re shaking; tears falling from dark eyes as they struggle to get the taste of blood out of their mouth. OH. It is not the wound itself that has them so shaken — they have sustained far worse trying SO HARD to reach the golden end. TO SAVE EVERYONE. And that meant taking beatings with naught but a patient smile, that meant letting them hurt you while you struggled to figure out HOW TO SAVE THEM. They have died a million times { it is such a hard thing to forget; each time takes something out of you. a bit of your marrow, a piece of your mind. } and THIS? This slight ache is NOTHING.
No — it is not the blow that has them shuddering. IT IS THE MEMORY. For this monster could FAKE, could imitate, and it had sounded just like Papyrus did in the first run { or the second? god, they can’t remember } when Frisk had been WEAK and allowed the FALLEN’S VOICE to drive them to violence. The monster’s scream had sounded like ——
{ their sins dig thick claws deeper into the child’s back.}
“Ah.” The other prompts surprise and a hand wiping across the split lip to do away with the blood, the tears; the extremity shakes and continues to do so when it falls back to their side. “It’s — okay. Just a n — new monster. It took me a while to figure out how to…how to spare it…”
