"It's important," they repeat, sounding just a little strained.

The stitches are tight, but her nails are up to the task. Frisk's lips pull back, teeth glittering in a grimace. The glove starts to loosen around the wrists, exposing something red.

Do something? "Like what," Frisk asks the air.

They rip their hand back. Literally. There's a tearing noise, and a bit more of the glove comes off, and that weird red is poking out like a flap of loose skin.