#ruby!tale

I'm lucky to have grown up in a joyful Au, where everyone is kind, cheerful, welcoming, and funny. My days consist of eating, having fun, and sleeping.

From a very young age, I was told that negative emotions had to be rejected, for the good of our world. I didn't really know what that meant. What did "for the good of our world" mean? What would happen if someone suddenly started crying? Or became afraid? I didn't know; I had never seen anyone express such emotions. There was no reason to feel them here.

I was once told, when Papyrus was born, that I should always appear happy, even if, in the worst-case scenario, it was not true. I should smile and play, even if it was just an illusion, and teach these values ​​to my brother. That was my symbol, play and illusion, which is why I like to wear this outfit that reminds me of the fox. The fox itself is the symbol of cunning, play, and illusion. But despite all that, my smile was never an illusion. It wasn't fake. I was always joyful.

I knew that smiling was the key to stability in the underground I lived in. That's why everyone here made sure everything went smoothly, that all the smiles were genuine.

And that's how we lived. Our routine was made of comfort and laughter. We were ALL happy. Except for one.

It all started when I was in the middle of my childhood. I'd say around seven years old. A skeleton, who looked very much like me, came to speak to our king and queen. He was carrying lots of multicolored vials. The king and queen seemed to know him. I watched them from a distance and thought I heard his name was Ink. With him were two children. One who looked like Papyrus, and another who, once again, looked like me.

The adults had told me about these people similar to us. That there were thousands of them. They told me they came from other Aus. Other worlds like ours, with different histories. But that I had to stay away from them, because in these worlds, though similar to mine, a lot of negative emotion often reigned.

I still remember Ink's words. He said he'd found these two children, completely disoriented after the destruction of their AU. And that for things to run smoothly, he couldn't leave two lost and disoriented children without a place to stay. Asgore, Toriel, and their hospitaller immediately took them in. Their names were Ruby and Papyrus.

Their old home was called RubyTale. To differentiate my brother from Ruby's, he was nicknamed RubyTale Papyrus.

RubyTale Papyrus seemed completely disoriented. We quickly started comforting him, and it worked. He very quickly became enthusiastic about our games. We often played together, him, me, and my brother.

Ruby, no. He was often off by himself, seemingly deep in thought. Something about him frightened me. It was as if he were plotting something very dark. I could see the hatred and danger in his eyes as he pondered things I knew nothing about.

Every time we asked him to play, he'd laugh coldly. A humorless laugh. I could sense the mockery in it. But of course, I quickly changed the subject. We couldn't let it affect anyone. So we played without him. Although he never wanted to join us, I could see the jealousy in his eyes. He was very possessive of his brother and didn't appreciate us spending time with him.

That's how we grew up. I always felt a tension between us. Yet I didn't hate him, but he did. Since his adolescence, he started leaving often, without saying a word to us, and coming back, without saying anything more.

Once, when I asked him why he was doing that, he got angry and raised his voice, hurling accusations at me. I remember the surroundings becoming blurry, or perhaps it was just my vision. It was the first time anyone had ever gotten so agitated here. The horizons had glitched slightly. Everything felt faint, but it was the first time I'd witnessed this phenomenon, and I found it frightening.

So I quickly smiled and told Ruby I respected his decision, trying to lighten the mood and calm things down. Ruby's expression changed with the glitch's appearance. It was as if the fragility of this world reminded him of something. His usually cold gaze had shifted to one of surprise, almost fear.