It's chirped, almost brightly, but definitely not duchenne as they clap their hands together, the noise echoing off the stone. It sends a sharp spike of pain up their arm but do they care? No, they do not.
"I am not here to satisfy your curiosity, Frisk."
There's always a reason. Shall they tell them, then, of being forced to be someone you were, someone you hate as much as you hate yourself, of being a skin you shed and thought burned?
Shall they tell them that it was actually somewhat pleasant sometimes, which furthers the ire tire fire, because that terrifies more than anything else?
Haha, that self sure would have! Handing people knives in the hope they don't dig them in, the hope of controlling the harm, the hope that maybe someone would ask 'who gave you this' and see the wound in their back.
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It's chirped, almost brightly, but definitely not duchenne as they clap their hands together, the noise echoing off the stone. It sends a sharp spike of pain up their arm but do they care? No, they do not.
"I am not here to satisfy your curiosity, Frisk."
There's always a reason. Shall they tell them, then, of being forced to be someone you were, someone you hate as much as you hate yourself, of being a skin you shed and thought burned?
Shall they tell them that it was actually somewhat pleasant sometimes, which furthers the ire tire fire, because that terrifies more than anything else?
Haha, that self sure would have! Handing people knives in the hope they don't dig them in, the hope of controlling the harm,
the hope that maybe someone would ask 'who gave you this' and see the wound in their back.That's not who they are any more.