Judgement wavers on the other end of the fragment's connection before that certain gaze. A wave of confusion rushes out from the heart like a cold shiver.

Frisk
death
ends.
it must: because nothing else has

Something is wrong.

where are no ends and no atonements
where are broken castles; barren battlements; dying and no relief
where am i?

Her voice, harmonious, calls out through the fragment, a single screeching chord that stirs hot winds and makes shadows flicker and dance.

Faintly she echoes herself—

where am i where are you where am i

—with each repetition fading further into the glowing darkness behind Frisk's eyes.

please
must see