She struggles for a little longer, but her motions grow smaller and looser, like a fraying knot, as they spread through Frisk's head and become a buzzing mass of numb, futile irritation.

no no wasn't lying she babbles, i don't get it i don't get it not lying and not dying and i am still here— the sound of her words rips open inside their head and a starburst of screaming static spills out, flooding into every sense for the horrible second it takes Judgement to suppress it into silence.

The bubbles of darkness surrounding Frisk pop, one by one, and the air becomes thick and cold. Something rumbles: Judgement draws closer.

you should be dead she enunciates, word by word, much more slowly and carefully. what will become of you if you don't die? A strange ringing rises in the room, shrill and faint.

The wood of the furniture groans gently. how badly will i hurt you if you don't die?

Judgement pleads. magic! why is this happening?