living skyward

Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

Not being able to talk really sucks. Not being able to sign or write is even worse. 'Cause they can't even do that much, they've already tried.

Frisk doesn't give up that easy, though.

No pen, no paint, nothing like that. There is, however, dust. Normal dust, not death dust.

No hand to drag a finger through to draw stuff that way. Just concentration, a shifting--

With no visible influence, a patch of dust parts from the glass in a near-perfect square.