feels like a year every minute (forward dated a bit)

[voidster]

He'd settled in, with an extra blanket, a comfortable plush chair and plenty of canned supplies for one average height skeleton who tends not to each much. The cans remind him of the sort that floated down the Waterfall when he was young: nuts, vegetables, various fruits and other things, something he doesn't realize is baby food.

And when he was done, he simply stopped leaving the room. It feels like he's aging five years per day, which adds up even for a long-lived skeleton monster. He sits in his chair, hobbling up to eat occasionally before that was taken from him, always wrapped in a thick blanket to hide what's happening to his bones underneath. Discolored, pink-tinged twisted mess he's becoming. No one needs to see, and he can't say he wants to know himself.

And when he can no longer do that, he uses his magic hands to bring food or whatever else he needs to him. He hasn't left his room in a month...

Visitors are always welcome, of course. There are sure to be some, just as he's sure to downplay it all. People don't change overnight.



((Tag in for now like normal, I think I'll add top levels updating things later on though!))

Comments

cw suicidal ideation

[voidster]

I wish I did have an ending. he speaks, only inside his own head, only to her. It doesn't seem like he can be honest about that very often. Not around people who would actually be upset about him wanting to rest. Forever.

Plenty. But I did this to teach you about the world... not learn from you, really. I only wanted to see what you were and if it was dangerous.

Remember that?

And this is only a small interruption. You'll still be with me, I think.

[lyseandpurge]

that depends on where you go
on what devours you
dust becomes soil
what do you become?

The light of her expands and expands, filling up the ground with her shining.

i can't see it
your past your future
like a drop of water
splitting up all in different directions dissolving
a moment of impact stretching out into being
you?

The air seems heavy, thick, clogged with feverish smoke.

but
you have been
faithful?

you bore my death
you shone with my light
and you showed me what i wanted to see
and i
i'm sorry...

She takes a while to find the cage of her final words. She searches through thousands, millions of memories for a single example.

It is as if Frisk is buried somewhere in the ground, and their voice comes clear through the timbers of the floor.

"i don't want to kill you."

[voidster]

Doesn't it help that he's not afraid or angry or anything more than vaguely sad? He'll fall asleep. He'll crumble. And like Frisk did, he'll return in three days right back here. Three days of nothing. Not just nonexistence: for once he won't be aware and thinking.

It'll be nice. Obviously he won't feel anything--but he'll know afterwards that he wasn't for three whole days. And he thinks he'll enjoy the thought. So it isn't difficult, really, to try and comfort her.

You're not doing it deliberately. You're not committing an act of violence...

No LOVE for Judgement, but he doesn't think that specific word at her. It's one he hates.

Think of it as... something that is happening, not something you're doing. An act of nature. And tell yourself it will all be alright soon. And it won't happen again.

i am so sorry this took for ever

[lyseandpurge]

If she has some sense of how he feels, it does not console her; few things ever seem to console her.

i am nature
my nature
destroys you.

The cell pulses, the ground bucks like the back of a giant animal, a burst of heat and pressure. She is close, pressing on the walls.

my nature is JUDGEMENT; violence;
and it is not
for you.
why then? why have you died?
i was born cruel so that the cruel would perish
from you
innocents.

There is a terrific clap of thunder; something gives in and a howling wind admits a geyser of pink light through the shuddering floorboards.

you are tired—
tired—
and i am too much,
and i must find my enemies
i have transgressed too much
i too can see my end
i am hurtling towards it
when i am dead
you will be free.

i'm sorry.
you tired thing...
you cannot survive
but you will survive me.

A massive geyser of black oil bursts up through the floor, the entire room floods with it, it bursts open, and beyond is light, light, the abyss of light,

and there is nothing; the room is empty; she is gone.

The fragment of the cell buried within him hums faintly, and seems to settle.