It comes nearer and nearer, and they shouldn't have touched it.
Maybe. Maybe. It doesn't hurt, it's just...there. Its noise, its music, it's resonating, reaching.
They think of Toriel's face on the bird's head, they notice the abyss beneath their feet, and they just listen and wait for their fate.
...No. Not fate. They're doing something. They're doing something, them and--and--(her?), together.
The squirming light, their own hands, they both guide the thing against their chest. The noise gets louder and louder and louder, through their skin, through their bones, through their everything, through something
here we go!
Maybe. Maybe. It doesn't hurt, it's just...there. Its noise, its music, it's resonating, reaching.
They think of Toriel's face on the bird's head, they notice the abyss beneath their feet, and they just listen and wait for their fate.
...No. Not fate. They're doing something. They're doing something, them and--and--(her?), together.
The squirming light, their own hands, they both guide the thing against their chest. The noise gets louder and louder and louder, through their skin, through their bones, through their everything, through something
(that reaches back)
red.
Frisk falls.
A shape wraps around their SOUL.