Because you "never give up".

[dustless]

Colors--colors melt into shapes--shapes shift into objects--objects gain meaning.

They're staring at a wall. Squinting.

Blocks of stone all interlocked, half of it blocked off by another plane of slate color against their eye...because they're lying down on the floor, sideways. That's weird.

...Why is that weird?

Everything is too much. Too much to process. Frisk stays down for a while, letting sensation wash over them. Seeing things. Feeling the cool stone and slight drafts against their skin. The smell of dust. The taste of blood.

Wait. No there isn't, their mouth is perfectly clean.

Oh.

They died.

Right.

Frisk groans and rolls over. They contemplate lying there for a lot longer, especially since the light of the sun hurts their eyes and they just--are overstimulated, for some reason--but they really should go see what's been happening. How things are going. Hopefully they haven't been thrown all the way back to their first day at the castle. It certainly feels like they were out for a while. Working their way back to life was far more of a struggle than they remember it ever being before. Must be out of practice.

Slowly, they push themselves to their feet. 

They're aware the castle is different. Something feels off about it, heavy. And all their senses are heightened, as if they're trying to make sure everything they're seeing is real. Even the awareness of their clothes weighing on their skin seems like too much, if they don't focus on walking forward. 

(What they're not aware of, though, is the angry grey-red track across their throat.)

Maybe, they think as they start trudging, they can go lie down in the gardens before trying to find anyone else.

[set three days after their death; replies might be a little slow as other threads progress. couldn't resist.]