Chapter Text
When Kris and Noelle were younger, they loved horror.
Eh… that's misleading; they both still adore the genre. But back then, after Dess got Noelle into it, they were fanatics. Every sleepover — which was Saturday every other week, they would huddle under the covers of the couch or Noelle's bed.
clamping their mouths shut so as not to wake their parents and siblings. Kris dreams fondly of those days when they feared the slightest jump scare. Where the tune of “I want a girl, just like the girl~” would freeze their blood.
Eventually, when you consume enough horror, you teeter into its sub-genres. Along with that, Kris and Noelle had been exposed to anime and manga at an even younger age. As long as they can remember, Dess and Asriel would watch Two Peace on the TV.
Which is how they both ended up learning about yanderes. Love sickness. Themes of want, desires, care so strong it oozed like filth and rot, dripping from a starved dog's mouth. possession, entitlement, ownership so deep it clung and tied its victim in a tight cage.
Otherwise known as that girl from past journal.
Kris liked it enough. Sometimes they'd go on binges, and at other times they hardly felt interested. Noticeably, they never read any human ones. There's always been one problem with yandere media for Kris: the self-inserting aspect.
Kris isn’t an idiot; they know most people use it as escapism or fantasy. A person so awed by you that they'd do anything for you. But why would Kris want to be them? There's nothing fun about it. To Kris, it's no different than any ol’ horror trope. And the romanticising of psychopaths was always a turn-off for them.
What do you mean you forgive him because he fed your cat? He killed your brother! Where's your fight? Your rage! Dont give in! It's your life!
But Noelle…. She loved them.
First of all, Noelle was a sucker for bad girl tropes. Motorcycle, evil queen, thief, literal demons. For a churchgoer, she was totally entranced by the unholy. Maybe that’s why she developed the fattest crush on that new girl in town- Susie, was it? Kris never sat down to know her name. But it was a small town, so information got around easily.
The point is, it was a natural progression she fell in love with the trope. Kris still remembers stumbling upon her toxic yuri blog. Seeing her list of concerningly dubious content, as the trope inherently leans on the controversial side. Still, she had boundaries, which Kris could respect, but it would've been funny to see something crazy.
But that’s not a Noelle thing to do, is it?
Kris sighs into their hands; never had they thought they, of all people, would be the object of twisted affection.
People like this idolise kind, perfect, inspiring people. the kind of person they wanted to be, the kind of person they dreamed would accept them for the freak they are. Not Kris who couldn't do anything right, not Kris who only caused trouble, not Kris who was different.
The bed beneath them is cold; they could've swaddled themselves beneath the blanket, but they'd be damned if they gave in to the trap. Stockholm syndrome always pissed them off as a trope.
Yesterday, they banged against the door until their hands pulsed with creeping soreness. And they cursed themself for not being able to fight until they bled like in the comics. weak, they reprimanded.
Kris tried their hardest to stay awake, to not to let their guard down. But even as the sun never set in this impossible land, it still darkened. Somehow, the night increasingly grew closer. And with the inevitable dusk came the dainty feather of fatigue.
Kris was exhausted. Somehow the day- er, evening, felt longer than several. They can't give in though! If they sleep, who knows what Flowery would do? Kris shivered, imagining the flower playing with their hair. Suddenly, they felt the urge to cut it short. Well, shorter.
But dinner came, and they begrudingly ate the food tray slipped through the door. And along the meal came a brand new wave of drowse. Struggling to keep their eyes open, Kris nearly fell asleep where they stood. It got so bad they assumed there were sleeping pills in that veggie burger. (there wasn't)
Okay- fine! They give up; they’ll sleep. But if you think they're fully throwing the towel in, you don’t know a thing about Kris. They sat their nonexistent ass down and prepared to snooze on the ground. No way they use any of this fake stuff. Kris’s love isn't something you can buy! So they laid on the cold, hard floor and closed their tired eyes.
.
..
….
It's freezing, and the harsh tile cuts into their shoulder.
Kris doesn't immediately retreat to the soft oasis that is a mattress. Give them some slack. It takes about five minutes for them to spring up and rush to the blue monarch bed. And the embrace of slumber claims them in less than one.
That's how they got here, ready to go home right this instant, but unready to face Flowery’s mania. For the barrage of questions they could not answer.
Breakfast hadn't been delivered yet, but they didn't want to wait and find out. It was highly possible they’d be invited to some royal feast, keeping with the imperial theme. No way is Kris sitting at another awkward dinner table, but this time they were the disturbance.
Packing up greens complementary room cookies— they were the only trustworthy ‘human’, Kris scanned their room for escape tools. Yes, they know every yandere victim tries this. They get love-bombed, kidnapped, attempt escape, and finally punished. Repeat cycle with random love rivals.
But literally what choice did Kris have? Whatever was going on through Flowery's head was bat shit insane! And if Kris flunked the group project, their mom would cook their ass! So, as hopeless and repetitive as it is, Kris planned to run.
To be precise, the idea is to jump out the window and run for the hills.
Should be easy enough, right? Everyone's seen a character escape through a window once or twice. Those scenes had to be based on some reality! Kris grabbed the huge pile of blankets and sheets laid atop their bed. Throwing them out the window, the fluff ball hit the ground with a soft splat.
And right behind it came Kris. As they fell, the wind whipped and lashed around their head. It came to them as a passing thought — isn't their room a few stories up? They glanced downward at the fast-approaching floor. Hm… fuck…
Coming into contact with the floor, Kris reached their arm out, replicating a zombie. There's a hundred percent chance they just broke every bone in their body. They crawl away from the pile of hopes and dreams, spine shrieking in pain.
They are greeted with the sight of chocolate chips on the ground. Why is there- OH SHIT. GREENS COOKIES!! Kris checks the bag they kept them in. Seeing most of them remain intact from the fall (somehow).
Only one or two had slipped out from the container, crumbling apart as they hit the ground. Pieces split apart like dismembered guts on a crime scene.
Thank angel they're safe. Kris would be doomed without the mental support. Unable to resist the sight of perfectly baked goods, they indulge in their voracious hunger. Devouring the assorted treats in one handful. Sadly, they left around half the box untouched. They can't eat it all now, what would they have for later when they get hungry again?
Well, on they go. What's odd is- remember when they fell and complained about spinal pain like a old grumpy man approximately three to four paragraphs ago? Yeah, they feel fit as a fiddle now (holy unc phrase).
So that's like super weird, right? They are fully percent certain they should be “blegh” dead on the ground right now. Maybe Green put some energizing drugs in there to trick you into feeling healthier? It would explain why Kris is so addicted to the delicacies. And green is the color of health, but also jealousy and addiction, so they might be cooking.
Satisfied with their drug dealer theory, Kris continues on their mission of getting the fuck out of here.
The area they found themself in is… expansive to put it in short terms. It's kinda like a courtroom? No, not like in Grace Attorney, they mean those park things in rich people's structures. But it's not… logical. Kris doesn't know shit about architecture or botany, but they do know the bounds of reality, and this place doesn't follow them.
Another file for the “Am I dreaming or have I lost my mind?” folder.
They walk in silence, taking in sights, avoiding servants. And oh boy, there's a butt ton of dudes, dudettes, and dude-betweens serving around here. Kris starts to wonder where they're coming from, where this place is, if they somehow got done like the protagonist in Souled Away.
It's so quiet, except for the faint traditional Japanese music playing at all times in the background. And the small chitter chatter of a barely heard voice squeaking behind dozens of paper walls. Kris's thoughts and concerns echo off the chambers of their mind without restraint.
There's no end to this place, no exit. Where did flowery bring them from? Where's the entrance? They should've traced their steps; they should've known it was a trap.
Kris knows all about obsession.
Maybe the halls are shifting? Maybe they can solve a puzzle and find a perfectly set exit? Maybe they should ask for help- no. How would that go? “Hey, I know I'm a prisoner here, but can you let me go? I really miss my mom”.
Flowery would have them nice and wrapped up in their room in minutes! Stupid, stupid, stupid.
They wanna go home.
The next room required a key. Thankfully, Kris had spent hours combing through the palace earlier until they finally found it. The door clicks with a gentle twist, opening up to a decently sized stage. They were expecting something more grand, like a Great hall.
Soft lights bathed the polished wooden floor in a warm glow. Scattered equipment rested in the corners, abandoned in neat silence. Rows of audience seats stretched out before the stage.
Empty and useless this whole thing was. They would leave and set course for the next way forward. If it weren't for the sole object of interest in the room.
A piano.
Specifically, a full-sized version of the little mobile keyboard Ms. Carol had given them for their birthday. The same instrument they only ever played at home—or out in the forest, whenever they wanted to feel connected to Dess. She's out there, somewhere.
Kris's fingers twitched. Wouldn't hurt to play a little, right? They've been walking for so long; they deserve a treat.
Kris hesitantly approaches the seat, as if it would bite. Their hands trace the polished outer wood of the piano, no dust. It looks well loved, but completely new. Colored with care.
A moment of silence.
They play.
The first notes spilled into the barren theater, delicate at first, before gathering confidence. Music poured through them as naturally as breathing.
Tunes they played loudly for others, rehearsals that fell alone on their ears. A show, just for them. Piano keys feel like second limbs, told to wiggle and move and speak the same way you command nerves subconsciously to guide your fingers. Fingers that press and shape and give music life.
They love the piano, it sucked to learn it. Control, and memorisation. Practice, practice, practice. But once you know, intrinsic in your soul, in your flesh, above all, something no one can take from you. Your true self, your expression, your choices, your tale, your determination, your music. It's all worth it.
The symphony arrives at it’s final destination. Not on a high note, but a low and solitary one. It sounds tragic to the nude eye, but it's played in happy notes. To Kris, this is the very culmination of their being.
…
Clapping
“What a beautiful melody!”
Who-
“Kris, you truly are magnificent.” A royal blue man, wearing a ballerina's attire, his braids are pulled back into a ponytail. “I am blue, the owner of this stage.” Another human?
Kris quickly stands up, poised to flee if need be. They don't know if all of these humans are involved with Flowerys’ little stunt, but they can't trust them- they can't trust anyone. What if they alert Flowery of their location!? They can't take that risk- they have to go home.
“No need to fret, my dear; I only wish to bask in the poem of your heart.”
Kris didn't doubt that. That was the problem; they know that's what these people want. “hm, are you already finished? Even when it's so patent your heart covets an encore?” The blue man inquires. “Why resist what your being yearns for?”
They debate rewarding him with an answer, deciding not to. No need to encourage this behavior. More importantly, they seek a door leading out of this room, one that isn't blocked by the man.
“Flowery told me you ran from your conversation”
Kris's eyes snapped onto them.
“There's no need to be false with yourself here; we will accept you for your true essence.” Blue smiles, so maternal in nature; are they trying to copy their mom? Kris feels sick to their stomach… “You can live in reality, it's not your fault your parents-”
“Shut up.” They don't need another lecture about their home life, family. Yes it’s messy, yes it’s irksome, but Kris is getting through it. Are they saying they should just… give up? Stop trying when life pushes? While also saying to give in to them, into this fabricated love.
A liar preaches about honesty, how quaint.
“...I know it's strenuous, coming into a new life. But we will accommodate the best we can.” Does he think they'll just sit there and believe his delirium? All of them, maniacs.
They've got a kid around here, and they're incorporating this psychosis into their minds. Undyne's gonna have a field trip with these pieces of work (if she can find them).
“Let me go.” Kris doesn't waste another breath here. ”I wanna go home.”
Blue looks contemplative- slight hurt? No, he’s pitying them. Go ahead, cry them a river jack-ass “leaving so soon?”
“Yes,” isn't it obvious why? Seriously, who the fuck kidnaps a kid and wonders why they would want to escape?
“Sweetie, you can’t.”
Their brow twitches. Fake endearment, fake truths. “I already went through this with Flowery”
“And I presume he didn't explain as to why it's impossible to leave?”
“He did, and I would rather not endure another spat about my life”
“...that's not what I…” Blue takes a step close; Kris raises up their fist in response. Not again, they won't do it again. Blue, unlike Flowery, retreats, not so stubborn in his goal.
“We are in what's called a dark fountain.” He narrates in a pacifying manner, it irates kris. Infantilising them, like they can’t handle the truth.
“When darkness consumes light, it changes reality, creating a pocket dimension seen through the lenses of a lightener- one of your people.” He points to the teen, lone, residing across him.
“A dark fountain can only be closed if the hero and their party seal it. But the hero is only prophecy, and we have no way of sending you back on our own”
That's…
Never setting sun
But…
Multicolored humans
How…
Nonsensical architect
No…
Cookies
…
The void
Kris clenched their fist. “Stop lying,” they snarled.
“Lying- what?” Blue gasps, exaggerated. Kris can now see how talented an actor they are. They almost sound genuine: “I'm not lying, why would I lie about the working of my very existence-?”
“Do you really expect me to believe we're in a pocket dimension of all things!?” Kris shot back. Their face burned a furious red, heat rushing to their cheeks. It was ridiculous. Doing all this, just to keep Kris here.
“Kris, my child, I am not lying”
“I'm not your child!” The words tore from their throat before they spun on their heel and bolted. Blue raises a hand to stop them, but Kris just bursts through.
“Wait!”
Lapis-blue flowers, the same grating shade as the man himself, erupted across the floor. Vines curled around Kris's ankles, blossoms unfurling, eager to cradle them. They twisted sharply, barely slipping free before the flowers could close around their legs.
Run
Run
Run
Until your home safe.
run until your problems no longer chase.
Their lungs burned, heartbeat thundering in their ears. Hallways blurred together into streaks of red pillars until they finally slammed through the first door they found.
It's tiny, a cradle-sized bed sat tucked into one corner beneath a neatly folded quilt. Shelves held boxer gloces untouched by time, and soft blankets were stacked with meticulous care. Its a infants bedroom. Right now, Kris felt small enough to belong in it.
They slid down the wall until they hit the floor, burying their face in their knees. Hiding their tears behind closed doors. Crying but not asking for anything more than normalcy. What a baby. Weak, small, pathetic. Kris is human, not a monster.
Their blue, white, and yellow robes darkened where tears soaked into the fabric. They stared at the damp patches spreading across the cloth. Wallowing in self-pity again, aren't we, Kris?
They want to curl up and forget. Ignore the troubles. If they ball into themself enough, will they wrap around back to reality? Does eternal fantasy lead to inevitable reality?
Why aren't they lying? Why do they have to be honest? Kris is stuck, with no way home.
Why are they even here? In a dark world. What's the point? Who did this?
They want to go home.
A sob caught in their throat, breaking apart into ragged wheezes. Sniveling and hiccuping fill out the micro space, carving a place in it for Kris. They bury their head further into their lap.
A small tap brushes against their ankle. It was so light they almost mistook it for one of the flowers creeping beneath the door. “Uhm, excuse me.”
Kris lends the remains of their fastly depleting energy to turn to their interloper. Every muscle in their body protested as they forced enough of their rapidly draining energy into lifting their head. Their neck felt heavy and their eyes stung from crying.
An orange mouse, that's it. No other descriptors. Orange fur, tiny paws clasped together, oversized ears flicking nervously. “uhm, are you okay, Kris?” And she knows their name, just like every living soul in here. It's so cool being famous.
Kris doesn't audibly reply, shaking their head no. “Do you want comfort?”
Kris glares at the little mouse. How dare she? So entitled, all of them! Yes, Kris wants help, but not theirs! They want their mom's butterscotch pie. They want their dad's big yet annoying hugs. They want their brothers' silly ramblings about age-inappropriate games! They want their family- not replacements.
Without a word, Kris scooted another foot away until their shoulder pressed against the wall. They curled tighter into themselves, silently hoping the message was obvious. The asshole doesn't take the hint, and presses forward,. “You look like you need help to me”
Kris let out a dry, humorless scoff “You look like you need to mind your own business.” side-eyeing the mouse. Seeing the pattern of names so far, with the exclusion of Flowery and Seth, her name’s probably Orange. Or something equally on-the-nose.
Orange squeeked “Hey, that’s rude, Kris!” they have a right to be pissed at their kidnappers. As far as they were concerned, every single person in this castle had a hand in trapping them here.
There wasn't much point in saying any of that. She'd probably ignore it like everyone else had ignored everything they'd said. “Why do you all know my name?”
Orange switches from one foot to the other in what Kris could only name as a nervous tic. “You really don’t know?”
Peeved once more, they grasp their hair (Why is it tinted blue?). curling their hand into the strands so tightly they nearly ripped a few free. "If I knew," Kris hissed through clenched teeth, "why would I be asking?"
"W-woah!" the mouse chirped, stumbling back. "Calm down, Kris!"
Their eye twitches, but they won’t cry, not while someone's watching. “I will NOT calm down.”
"I-I was just asking!" she said quickly, throwing her paws up. "I thought Flowery would've..."
Their hands slipped from their hair and landed limply in their lap. Breathing in and out. It didn't work; their heart’s still beating a mile per hour. “He didn't…” They pause. “I was hoping you would.”
“Oh,” they can hear Orange sigh in relief. “Why didn't you just say that?” Holy rage bait. The moment they got a handle on themself, they were going to punt this little jerk across the kingdom.
“Because I'm not…” searching for a word that doesn't sound extremely annoyed (it doesn't exist, but Kris still tries their best) “...lenient right now.”
Orange sounds almost offended. Kris will never understand why these guys are so obsessed with them. “Huh! Well, why not-”
“Can you just tell me why you all know me!?” Their fist slammed into the stone wall with a dull crack. "I'm not in the mood to be analyzed," Kris growled, breathing hard. "I don't need comfort. I don't need you asking if I'm okay."
Their shoulders trembled. "...I just want to know why I'm here."
Don’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcryDon’tcry-
“W-well…” She audibly gulps, like a cartoon. “...we’re flowers.” it was barely a mutter. What's the point of saying it if Kris can't hear it?
“Say that again? You're too quiet”
“I said!” Orange bolsters up, but an embarrassed blush covers her face. “We’re the seven flowers!”
She doesn't mean- How is that even- no… y’know what, weirder things have been said. And this makes alot more sense than Kris living in a j-rpg. “Is this because of the… dark fountain?”
Orange nodded her head, proud to have said it.
Kris doesn't want to think about this, or the implications. The seven flowers their father gave them are alive. Well, they're flowers; they always were. But now they can talk, walk, and eat.
Angel, Kris told them so much. That explains why Flowery knows everything about them. Didn't Kris also read one of their fics-
THIS IS THE WORSE.
Okay, it still doesn't explain all the obsession bullshit. Sure, Kris cared for them for a few years, but a normal person wouldn't kidnap them for it. And it's not like they have some traumatic backstory that led to this.
Their dad planted and maintained them for years, and then they took them in when he didn't want them anymore. It's no different than moving out of your parents' house and in with a roommate.
““He never looked at us the same way you do..” he had said.
Kris didn't… they didn't care about the flowers. Just what they represented, their parents' marriage, a happier time, a shoulder to lean on. Not… companions. They’re flowers! What sort of ‘look’ does he think they have?
“kris, your kinda quiet…?”
“Shush, I'm tryna think”
The mouse's ears folded back. “Sorry.”
Kris's heart gave an uncomfortable little pang. Ughhh, why do they have to be such a good person? Before they could overthink it, they reached out and rested a hand on top of Orange's head. Her fur was softer than they expected. Their fingers moved almost absentmindedly, giving her a few hesitant pats between the ears.
Kris had fully expected resistance. Maybe Orange would swat their hand away, or puff up and complain. Then Kris could tease her for being dramatic, and everything would go back to being comfortably antagonistic.
But going against the more maintainable route, Orange leans into Kris’s hand.
The problem was that she’s tiny, far tinier than Kris had realized. With one enthusiastic nuzzle, her entire center of gravity shifted. "Eep!" She toppled sideways, Kris's instincts took over before they could think. Their other hand darted out, catching the mouse before she could smack face first onto the floor.
Kris nearly threw her by sheer shock at what had happened. However, it would most likely kill her small body, so they begrudgingly bundle her up. Orange, meanwhile, had somehow ended up sitting neatly in the middle of Kris's palm. Both of her tiny paws rested against their thumb as if this was the most cushy couch in the world. “This is nice.” she cooed contentedly.
Kris flushes. “Shut it.”
Still standing in Kris's palm, she puffed out her chest with all the dignity a mouse barely bigger than Kris's hand could manage. “My name's Orange! It wouldn't hurt to say it!”
“I know.” They gathered just why they were named so when the identity of the humans was revealed. Kris had always called the flowers by their colors. Everyone but Flowery.
He'd been almost the exact same shade as Yellow — a buttercup instead of whatever Yellow actually was, and calling them both Yellow had been confusing. They still had absolutely no idea why Purple was named Seth.
“Then you should use it.” Orange insisted, folding her arms.
Kris rolled their eyes.
“Hey, can you promise me something?”
Her ears perked straight up. “What's up, boss?”
“Please don’t tell Flowery I'm here; I'm gonna stay a while”
The little mouse's cheerful expression faltered. "...Er..." She scratched awkwardly behind one ear. “I don’t know; he’s been looking for you all day.”.
Kris glanced away, how surprising “I’ll… see him later’ they aren’t exactly exicted for that interaction “for now, you keep your mouth shut.” One itsy moral dilemma versus one very upset human. But they had a get out of jail free card. Kris silently reached into their cookie container, having remained intact since the fall.
Orange's nose twitched, her eyes locked onto it instantly. "...You drive a hard bargain, boss." Kris couldn't help the faintest ghost of a smile.
