[They catch maybe one word in ten. None of it makes sense, and none of it - matters, really. Frisk is fine, and perfect, and untouchable. And if they're huddled here in a daze, dizzy with complete incomprehension, lying there like it isn't impossible to breathe, to breathe.
What's it matter? What's it matter? It's what Frisk wants! Frisk is fine with it, just like Asriel was fine with it! Why can't you just stop - doing this? Stop acting like it's about you!
Their laughter trails into a high, thin sound, like a wire being drawn taut.
cw panic
What's it matter? What's it matter? It's what Frisk wants! Frisk is fine with it, just like Asriel was fine with it! Why can't you just stop - doing this? Stop acting like it's about you!
Their laughter trails into a high, thin sound, like a wire being drawn taut.
And then the feed cuts.]