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Chapter Text

Rain. It spilled out onto the street in torrents, shattering upon the ground in a cacophony. Calming. The continuous drone of water on the pavement was a monotone flat note, though she couldn't identify it's key. Oh well.

The glazed over eyes stared out of the alley into the street, glistening in the greyed light of the clouds, heavy with moisture. Perhaps if she sat still for long enough, no one would find her; but then again, who would care to look? No one with any self respect, it would be unseemly. They'd prefer to call out the dogs than assist a grimy urchin like her. The orange light in her chest remained constant, a flame without a flicker, roaring, but gentle. Let them come, she would not falter; she never had.

Chapter Text

It had always been the name that made her. The first word of address she had, after her father’s of course. Acquaintances would at times ask why she was named as such, not the most interesting topic, but you'd be surprised how a name can influence.

Viola: quiet green eyes, evenly spaced. Unassuming yet delicate and pronounced features, her ivory skin mottled with freckles. The curve of her nose was gentle, and her mouth was small and cherry in colour. Her hair was well kept, dark chestnut, and her fringe was plaited back behind her ear. At 20 years of age, she was quite small, long fingered hands, skinny and unblemished arms; her appearance was vulnerable, but undeniably elegant. A basic ankle length dress shrouded her, dyed in blue, and a ribbon tied tight around her neck. 

As described, it was the name that inspired her. The viola, a wooden instrument similar in looks to a violin, being slightly larger, and emitting a deeper sound. She had never learned to play one, but the sentiment had instead allowed her passion for music to grow, the piano being the main basis on which those dreams were formed. Her mother had many times voiced her approval of the skill, but in equal measure voiced her distaste at the girl's lack of motivation for anything else. Yes, to be sure, Viola had many a time heard the same line: "There is more to life that your wants. Responsibility is your duty." But she didn't care much for such things.

Her mother, however, was the prime example of a lady. Lilliane, sturdy, straight-faced, a look of 'no nonsense' that demanded respect from even the most unruly of men in her presence. If her daughter was a viola, she was the violin, small in appearance, but powerful in sound; and perhaps in some cases, a little prone to shrieking. A headdress of ringlets framed her face, caught and tied in an up-do, delicate golden curls of absolute perfection, the envy of many friends, including Viola herself. She seldom laughed, but when she did it was resounding, heavy, but harmonious in tone. 

Currently, there was no such look about the woman, her arms folded in exasperation, and eyebrows raised. The object of her expression was justified, as once again Viola was proving to be the most difficult girl of the century. The two stood in a high end clothiers shop, Lilliane holding a garish and loudly coloured dress made of fine silk, with many furling layers and a fan to match. In the other hand she held a long evening-wear dress, black in colour, with long sleeves, ruffled edges, and a silk sash laid horizontally at the waist, tied into a bow. "Viola." Lilliane was using her 'firm motherly advice' voice, but it fell on deaf ears as Viola gazed absently at the dresses before her, her head filled with nothing but the blank keys of a piano. "Viola! Make up your mind, I can't wait here forever." Her eyes snapped back into focus, and she let out a quiet sigh.
"I mean, they're both lovely..." She knew she was only delaying the inevitable. They were shopping for a suitable dress for a social gathering, a formal party of sorts. It was important for her family, many figures of rank would be present; and even more importantly than that, most of those figures had young single men as sons. Viola didn't really have an opinion when it came to courtship, it wasn't as though she disliked it, she simply didn't know what to expect; the faffing around with outfits didn't make it much easier.

Lilliane wanted the loud dress, the one that said: "Hello, yes, I’m ready for your advances!" But Viola was the type to wear something less shouty, the elegance of the black dress was nothing to sniff at. Oh my, why did it all have to be so difficult?

She sighed again. "I...I'm sorry mother. Can I think on it?" Lilliane rolled her eyes.
"You silly girl. Do you realise how important this is? You must look dignified!"
"I know, mother, I do. It's just..." Okay, time to play the sympathy card. "This is all so new to me, I'm a little bewildered by it all. What if the uppers dislike me for my choice?" Lilliane's eyes slowly dropped, losing their violent spark. Thank goodness.
"Oh very well. I'll take both and return one later. Come along my girl." 

Strolling briskly from the store, she made her way back down the high street, Viola meekly walking in tow. The sky was bright today, and the cobbles underfoot were pristine. This was the richer part of the city, and every building in sight was perfectly painted in the traditional gothic black, grey and wooden grain, not a hint of brick showing through. Carriages passed them as they walked, the stuttering engines ticking over, and funnels belching smoke into the air. The street itself was made of brick, perfectly flattened with cement, and displaying a patchwork of pattern along the ground, reddish hues and cracked orange. Looking up, Viola allowed her eyes to wander, taking in the array of shops lining the sidewalk. A general goods store, the window packed with shelves containing vegetables and meats in variety. A high end dress makers, fabrics and designs of all types hanging in rolls on the walls, and a selection of finely crafted gloves sitting in the window. A sweet shop: the windows lovingly decorated with purple lace bunting, and a display of tiny yet sophisticated chocolates, stood out to her. She paused as she gazed through the pristine glass, her nose almost pressed against it. It looked very quaint inside, oak panelled walls, and rich wood boards on the floor. A thin lavender carpet had been laid out across the length of the parlour, and four circular tables had been placed inside, covered with the same style of lacy fabric. It was beautiful, the enticing smell permeating the air around the shop, and relaxing Viola's heart. She lost herself in the scene for a moment, before catching the eyes of Lilliane reflected through the glass, the sour look pulling her away. "Indulging ourselves are we? Where is your restraint girl?" She huffed, taking hold of Viola's hand and dragging her away, her elegance and dignity being spared no expense, even in such an act. Viola let her eyes roll to the sky, very much aware of the scolding she would receive for being 'childish.' Her mother gave her a steely glance, but knew she couldn't risk a full blown shouting match in the middle of the high street, that was below her. "Your father will not be pleased." She muttered simply, causing a rock to burrow into Viola's gut. Ah, but she knew exactly how to hit where it hurt.

She stopped being difficult after that. It wasn't as though she could blame her mother for her position, all of her family was this way. Although being an only daughter weighed heavily, she didn't resent the role. So long as she could continue her music, she would be happy. The smoke layered up as they continued onward, hanging over the train station at the edge of the city limits in a muggy cloud. Huffs of steam rose from the pipes lining the rails, and the trains rattled as they shot past, throwing billowing white clouds into the air, and causing Viola's hair to wrap tightly around her face. She struggled with it in a desperate attempt to make it behave, but that wasn't happening; and as she stepped forward to follow Lilliane, she blundered close to the edge of the platform. Her hand was firmly clamped however, and she felt herself being led blindly onto the train. Lilliane tutted, but she could only repeat herself if she wanted to complain. Carefully correcting her hair, Viola glanced around the crowded carriage in the hopes of finding a spare seat, but there was none. As she looked, she caught eyes with a young man sitting across the way from her; he gave her a polite smile, and got to his feet, gesturing for her to sit. Her mother obliged, and the two sat pressed together in the space. "Manners these days. What is the world coming to? Addressing a lady without acknowledging her status, honestly." Viola nodded vaguely as Lilliane continued her chatter, but she wasn't really paying attention. 

She gazed up through the soot riddled glass at the scenery, the brass panels reflecting the pale light outside. She seldom saw it, the Outplain. A vast stretch of land between each of the bordering towns and cities, empty country landscapes, crisis-crossed by rails, and ignored. Ebott City was a central hub in this land, a massive stretch of twisting streets and sectors of usage: the dwellings sector, the shopping sector, and the manufacturing sector, to name a few. Outside this hub was a great wall; a solid grey structure reaching five storeys into the sky, impossible to climb, with a massive set of gates that stood closed at all times. Trains were the only way to and from the city, and an ID was needed to even access them, as well as money. And then, beyond the city lay the slums, like a shadow crouching to the crest of a hill; a place for the poor, unable to make their way through the rich and prosperous Ebott lifestyle, a large span of grime and discomfort. She had never seen it herself, but it was a little sad to think this finely tuned system had such an understated flaw. A complicated transaction indeed, the wall, the money, Viola often mused. What is it that we need protecting from? She was about to receive one such answer for herself.

There was a flicker of movement outside the carriage, and Viola squinted to view it properly, the glass made it very difficult to see. The train was moving slowly, chugging through the slum's main dwelling; it couldn't gain speed until it pulled clear. There was a glimmer through the dust, and she started as a figure pushed their form up to the window. She couldn't see them too well, but they had strangely flattened features, and fiery red hair. After a moment they moved off, seeming to clamber onto the roof of the carriage. Lilliane droned on beside her, seemingly oblivious of this appearance. Viola stared blankly, and was just about to second guess herself, when there was a shudder from above. The sound of shrieking metal and torn machinery echoed through the train, and it squealed on its tracks. Lilliane was alert in a second, clutching Viola's shoulder and pulling her close, her eyes darting warily. The carriage went into uproar, a ripple of screams and shouting, people began flooding down towards the front of the train, or huddled together in their seats. What was going on? Viola gazed up at the ceiling, and saw a tiny chink was visible in the metal, a dent bending the sheets in on themselves. The train shook once again, rocking back and forth as it continued forward, and Viola's eyes grew wide as she saw something glimmer blue through the crack above her. It sizzled with some kind of energy, ripping free through the roof into the room, lodging itself in the floor; it appeared as some kind of blade in the few seconds she saw it, a sharply defined edge, glowing a rich aqua. There was a horrific tearing sound, and she felt a sickening jolt as the entire carriage was wrenched in half, shattering off the rails to the ground, and sending her flying. Lilliane's hand fumbled at her shoulder as she fell, but slipped away before she could reach for it. She let out a cry as she went tumbling onto the earth, ripping her clothes on the rocks. A flash of light filled her eyes, and the entire train bust into flames, the shriek of protesting metal and roar of flame filling her senses. 

Viola slowly dragged herself to her knees, her head pounding in her ears, and her wounded ribs springing tears to her eyes. She let out a tiny moan of effort, and pulled herself out of the dirt. A hand flew to her mouth as she looked upon the burning wreckage before her. "Mother!" she croaked, stumbling upright, but the elements were faster than she. There was another unbearable crack as the train fuel ignited itself, forcing Viola back. She gasped, her lungs burning in the smoke, stomach falling away at the realisation that she couldn't do anything.  

Scrunching up her nose, she forced herself not to cry; she didn’t have time to contemplate Lilliane’s situation now. She let out a deep breath, and gripped her shaking arms as the adrenaline simmered away. She cast a look over her surroundings, and took a step toward the shadow of the wall above her. She didn't know anything about the slums, but, what choice did she really have? She needed help.

Chapter Text

They found her. Of course they did. As soon as the weather cleared they were on her like flies on a corpse. The corpse analogy was a fitting one, for she was so thin and malnourished, her cheeks and eye sockets sagged deep into her skin. Her clothes were tattered and stained, simple shorts and a  t-shirt, layered up with filth and soot, her body much the same. The beautiful hair she once possessed had been crudely cut short, for the sake of convenience, and looked almost black from the grime; though she had gone so long without a shower, it had begun to clean itself.

There was a group of four policemen stood before her in the alley, trimmed black suits, the gold buttons glinting in the quiet light; the boots glossy with shine, the girl saw her own ghostly eyes staring back through the surface. She wanted to scoff. Four grown men disposing of a single orphan girl? What did they take her for? Slowly, she was dragged to her feet, her arms falling limply as the cold leather-gloved hands gripped them. The light was still muggy as it filtered down through the darkened clouds, and she stared up towards it in a daze. It was going to be a sunny day. The brisk walk of the policemen was too fast for her frail limbs to keep up with, so she simply let her bare feet drag across the bricks, scuffing upon scars. She could barely feel any kind of pain, the twist in her stomach overrode it all, and she let out a tiny sigh. The whistle of air through her mouth was a high G#, and wailed slightly as it came through. Pathetic.

The gate to the city stood tall before her, impenetrable unless you knew where to look. There were two sets of smaller doors either side of the structure, and in a moment the girl found herself violently thrown through, the metal hinge slamming behind her. "And stay out, filth!" one of them shouted, his voice wavering on a high F#, the coward. The girl spat the dust from her mouth as she pushed on the ground with her hands, lifting her head to stare into the empty streets. Although the city was beautiful, it was still fake, a fresh layer of paint covering the rot is bound to flake eventually; no, the Ebott slums were real, sharp, the bitter taste of soot wrenching her back to her senses in seconds. The euphoric stupor she felt within the city was all well and good, but it was here that she felt truly alive.

The girl hopped up onto the balls of her feet, her posture bent with caution. Stood before the collapsed husk of a street, she took a moment to correct her frayed thoughts, running to catch herself up. Ah, that was it, of course. Brushing the scraggly fridge out of her eyes, she stepped forward, her bare feet stirring the dust into gritty clouds behind her. Time to go home.

Chapter Text

The air was silent. Viola kept her steps steady as she walked, trying her best to remain inconspicuous. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed through the streets, a mound of grey and half-collapsed buildings jumbled together, coated in soot and plant matter. She had been told once that the slums were part of the original city, left to rot when the wall was built in the war. Now, it was completely cut off from safety. 

There was a cough, and Viola glanced up in alarm, realising there had been people watching her for some time. The skeletons of buildings overhung makeshift shelters, made of rusted metal sheets and raggedy blankets. She shivered a little, seeing the misted eyes of people staring back at her, huddled in their dwellings against the cold. The gazes were sharp, and prickled her skin. She wasn't sure whether it was because they knew her to be a city dweller, or simply because she was a stranger, but her heart quivered in alarm. Gritting her teeth, she kept walking, knowing she simply couldn't afford to be stopped here. She needed to find help, she needed to go home.

A dry breeze rustled her skirt, biting at her ears. A hollow, droning wail weaved its way through the crannies, melancholic in its passage. Melodramatic actually, the scene was straight out of a post-apocalyptic film. That helped, the tension lifting from her shoulders somewhat. Yeah, this was okay. Suddenly she caught the edge of her foot on a large rock lodged in the road, and tumbled to her knees, her ankle crackling. "Cripes!" Viola clamped a hand over her mouth at the involuntary rudeness, and tutted to herself. Her ankle was twisted sharply, not broken, but heavily strained. She sighed, the limp slowing her stride considerably. And who thought today could get any worse?

The streets became more lively as she traveled closer to the city wall, if you could call it that. More of the buildings were intact, and lights filtered through the grimy windows here and there. Peering around the corner, Viola looked on with interest at the scene, a multitude of hollowed-out buildings adapted into market stands. There were many people here, all dressed in similarly bedraggled attire, looking very tired and frail. Why were there so many people in a place like this? But the thing that concerned Viola most was the lack of conversation. As she made her way carefully through the street, she glanced at the people around her; a lot of them were simply walking by, directionless and hollow, a few pausing to inspect the stalls. None of them made eye contact, or muttered a word, they were little more than ghosts. The hair prickled on the back of Viola's neck, but she shifted her shoulders and continued forward. She happened to glance up when she saw a stall that caught her eye. There were handcrafted badges and charms hanging from the rafters, ranging from feathers to cogs, and scraps of dyed fabric. Not the most elegant of items, but they were intriguing to her, and she paused, stepping up to the table. Then something caught her eye; there was a fabric flower sitting on the tabletop, made from stained but sunny yellow cotton, black lace in the centre. Picking it up, Viola cleared her throat, and gave a little wave to the old man sitting in the building behind the counter. "Um...how much, sir?" Her chest fluttered at using such a respectful term to a man beneath her, but, her mother wasn't there to scold her. The milky gaze turned to her, staring in surprise from the recesses of his ancient face. His eyes raked over her for a moment, scrutinising her attire, and he gestured without a word: five fingers. She reached for her purse pocket, and pulled out a 10G sum, handing it over the counter. She flashed a genuine smile at the, frankly, alarmed expression, and pinned the flower to the rim of her collar, just above her chest. "Have a lovely day." She was rewarded with a toothy grin, and turned back towards the city.

Unbeknownst to her, this display had caught the attention of two men, sitting idly by the side of the road not far away; and as she moved, they got to their feet and followed. The sky was darkening quickly now, and the clouds receded, showing the first hint of stars. Viola would have to hurry; she wasn't afraid of the dark, but she knew many a danger lurked beneath its shroud. Her steps echoed with a dull thud on the dirt, and her breath began to cloud the air in repetitive bursts. Another gust of wind shook through the area, battering her hair around her head, and she clutched her hands to her shoulders to prevent the cold seeping in, spitting the hair from her mouth. She shivered, pressing a hand to her nose.

There was the sound of footsteps on the path behind her, a slight crunch of gravel, and heavy boots. The breathing was shallow, they were trying to stay unnoticed. The breath hitched in Viola's throat, but she didn't stop walking, keeping her stride level. Okay...how to handle this? She glanced over her shoulder, giving herself enough time to identify the two men, heavily built, brutish even. Keeping her head still, Viola allowed her eyes to scan the area, before she spied a darkened alley to her left; it was about ten metres off, but she knew she didn't have a choice. She took a breath, allowing the air to fill her chest for a few seconds before she let it go, stilling her hammering heart. Thank god she hadn't worn heels today. Sucking the air back into her lungs, she spun on her feet and broke into a run, causing a shout to go up behind her. Screeching into the alley, Viola gasped in alarm as she almost tripped over the rubbish piled up inside, stepping wide to avoid it. "Hey, get back here!" The voice chased her out into the street, rough and grating in her ears. She had intended to shout back, but it was becoming difficult to breathe, so she saved it; it would only aggravate them anyway. Looking back, Viola turned to inspect her next route, when she ran right into someone. The breath was pushed from her on impact, and she looked up in surprise; this person was extremely boney, with hardly a cushiony feel of skin. "I...sorry! Excuse me," she gasped, before rushing past them, the footsteps closing in at an alarming rate. 

The next alley she entered was slick with mud, and after a few steps she let out a yelp as she fell, slamming her back against the hard edge of a dumpster. Pushing a hand over her mouth, she clutched at her back, trying not to cry out. Her ankle wasn't doing well either, and both her injuries throbbed painfully. Then, the two men came into the alley. Casting around wildly, Viola happened to notice a wooden pole sticking out of a bin bag beside her, much like the handle of a broom; she yanked it out and clutched it to her back. There was a twist of fear in her stomach, this was not going to end well for her, but she was in no shape to run anymore. The alley was dark, and even though it was two metres wide, no light seeped through. Viola squinted up at the two men, solid, even in their abject poverty. "Hello, little lady." This voice sickened her, his intentions slathered thick, and the tone cracked. "Why'd you run from us, huh? A little girl like you shouldn't be alone at a time like this, don't you know that?" Viola locked eyes with the speaker, his eyes glinting with moisture in the dark. She remained silent. The man tutted. "Aw, c'mon now, not gonna be any fun?" 
"I am not here for your amusement," she replied, polite, concise, unthreatening. Both men scoffed.
"Course you are. We saw you got some money on you. You give us that, and we'll let you go."
"I used it all." She wasn't even lying. The man's friend grimaced.
"Told you didn't I? Fucking waste of time," he snarled. Viola bit her lip at his language. This one did not have a good state of mind, though, could she really blame him for his situation? The speaker looked back at her, and she saw a smile crease his lips; it was not a nice smile. "Well, that's not all we could do." He reached out for her with a large grimy hand, and her fingers twitched around the broom handle. She pushed herself back against the stone wall of the alley and knocked his hand away, resulting in a satisfyingly hollow 'thunk' as the wood connected with his knuckles. "Ow!" he exclaimed in protest, violently striking out and catching hold of Viola's hair, yanking her to her knees; she shrieked pitifully, and clawed at his hand. "Let go of me!" she shouted.
"You shut your mouth brat!" the man bellowed, his breath all too close to her face. Her fingers scrabbled for a hold on her weapon when she felt her wrists being tugged away, and pinned to the wall. For a few seconds, Viola’s brain ticked over in horror, thoughts flying to the worst place imaginable.

There was a small sound, like a cough. The two men froze as they looked up, eyes scouring the walls. Viola glanced up to see what they were looking at, and saw the silhouette of a man standing just inside the alley, framed by the light from the street. The thug dropped her hair suddenly, and she staggered to the ground, breathless, but still clutching her weapon. "What is it buddy? Want some of this? There's plenty to go round." The speaker snickered, but he was tense, aware of the threat this man posed. The voice that spoke next was unlike anything Viola had heard, rather, one that could be felt; it rumbled softly over the words, low and comforting like a lullaby, yet edged with a dose of humour. "Not interested." It sounded like mockery, distasteful, but fun. There was tension in the mens’ shoulders, but they both advanced upon this new speaker, bristling. "Then what do you want, huh?! Get lost!" The thug clenched his fists, spitting his words out into the dirt. The figure shook his head a little. "I want you vultures gone." He snapped his fingers in the darkness, producing a flicker of dark blue light to spark. Viola watched in amazement as the thug tripped on his own feet, knocking his friend off balance and causing them both to topple to the ground. Scrabbling to their feet, the two men took one last look at the figure before turning tail and racing from the alley. "Shit! It's one of them!" The alley became suddenly silent. 

The footsteps that followed were slow, cautious, and much lighter than the two men. The breath rasped out of Viola's mouth, and she clutched the broom handle to her chest. Whoever this person was, he was far stronger than her, and she was exhausted. Slowly, she edged herself up the wall until she was standing, and stepped out; she thrust her weapon forward, towards the figure in front of her. 

She was temporarily taken aback as the man moved closer, for he was about a head shorter than she was, but she stood her ground. This person was definitely male, she could tell that much, and the outline of a trilby was perched neatly over his head. Her hands shook a little, and she barked out a warning, her voice threatening to falter. "S-stay back! Please..." He froze at once, obliging to her demand without question. The two stood facing each other for a moment, only the outline of their features visible. The figure gave a tiny nod, and promptly turned away from her, heading back out into the street. For a moment Viola stood motionless, before carefully following suit. She gathered that if he was willing to turn his back on her, he either didn't perceive her as a danger, or he didn't mean her any harm. She suspected a bit of both. For a moment she stayed still, collecting her thoughts. This man was a magician.

They were rare in her world, but she knew they existed: humans that were capable of using magic, an art all but erased. Her mother had once told her of the magicians, a small group of people whose magic defined their status as those worthy of the upmost respect and power. A precious commodity, most of whom ruled the government, and the entire city itself, at least in these lands. If it had been any other situation, she would have minded her own business, but in this instance she had practically had a brush with royalty. "Hey, wait!" Breaking out into the shadowed street, she trotted down the road towards her quickly retreating savour, and reached out a hand to stop him. Without a moments pause he flinched away from her touch, not even glancing to see its position. He hesitated for a moment, before slowing turning to face her, and her breathing slowed as she took in his appearance. His body was stocky, and slightly strange in proportion, he wore entirely black. There was a waistcoat covering his torso, embroidered with little red patterns, baggy, with shiny silver buttons and coattails hanging down behind him; simple black suit trousers and a long sleeved shirt, leather gloves covering his hands. There was a single red ribbon looped around his upper forearm, tied into a bow, and oddly out of place. The trilby was also black, with a length of red ribbon lining it; it was a little too big, and the brim came down low over his eyes. His face was the most intriguing however, for underneath the hat he wore a black length of fabric, stopping at the bridge of his nose, and folding neatly into his collar and around his neck. His eyes were surprisingly dark, and a fleck of light danced in each, quivering slightly. As she looked closer, Viola's attention was drawn to the dent of his nose. The bridge seemed far too high, and there was a sharp cut off where the mask was pulled tight. It seemed that he almost had no nose at all, like the tip had been sliced away. It was a little unnerving, but perhaps because of his height, or his endearingly podgy proportions, she wasn't afraid. 

"Thank you sir." She smiled politely, and curtseyed, as meaningful as that was with the state of her clothes, ripped and splattered with mud. The use of 'sir' felt more comfortable too, because whoever he was, this one was a man of class. He glanced away from her, his soft voice monotone, with an uncomfortable air. "That's okay." She was picking up a slight accent, New Yorker? It only came through with certain syllables, causing his voice to drop expressively. She felt like it was the kind of voice she could listen to for hours. "Viola Thompson." She held out a hand, and he hesitated for a moment before taking it.
"Sans." For a while they both just stood there, awkwardly, for Viola wasn't sure exactly where to begin. Sans uttered a small sound, kind of like a 'heh', and turned to leave.
"Wait a moment! You, you're a magician, right?" He looked at her curiously, but said nothing. "What is someone like you doing here? You should be in the high quarter of the city, shouldn't you?" A flicker of knowing regret passed through his eyes, but he didn't reply, exactly.
"Mm." 
"Oh, I get it!" Viola's eyes glittered expressively. "You must be undercover, it explains the disguise. How terribly rude of me." Her next words were whispered. "I hope I didn't give away your position." 
"Heh, no. Lucky." He closed one eye. "If you had, I'd have to kill ya." Viola grinned, now feeling quite pleased with herself for discovering such a secret. Sans seemed to match her giddy smile through his mask, though it did not reach his eyes. "Actually, would it be possible to ask your assistance?"
"With what?"
"With your...particular heritage, I expect you know a way back into the city don't you? Could you be so kind as to accompany me back there?" He glanced up, and his eyes were oddly suspicious.
"Why?" he asked, simply.
"I'm from inside. My train crashed, and my mother, I'm not sure where she is. Would it be possible for you to help me?" She was anxious entrusting a stranger, a man at that, with her safety. But even if she didn't trust him, he was a magician. She just, wasn't afraid.

"Find your own way," he replied bluntly. 
"Oh...well, okay. I suppose you must be very busy. Thank you again." He nodded, and turned away once again. Viola just stood there. She didn't want to impose, but really, he was being very uncourteous. As she watched, it occurred to her that he seemed oddly relaxed letting her go with the knowledge she now had. Honestly, would it really be that difficult for a person such as you to help one woman? She found herself glaring as his back, despite herself. "Would it really be that difficult for you? It's not like you appear to be in a hurry," she called out, a little snarkily. Sans turned once again, and slowly made his way back towards her, a bout of exasperation running through him. "You don't get it, I have..." His eyes flashed in recognition as he looked her up and down. Her dirty blue dress, the unkept but relatively straight brown hair, the broom handle still clutched in her hands. Raising a hand to his forehead, he massaged his brow with a sigh. "Please? I'll be stuck out here if you don't. Do you really want me following you around?" She could hardly believe the words she voiced, a lady traipsing around after a man? Unthinkable. But, it was for her own safety, she could be excused for that. Sans heaved another sigh. "Fine. Follow me, kid."

Chapter Text

Viola shuffled nervously on her feet as she followed after Sans. She couldn't help feeling anxious, but she tried her best to remain calm, it wouldn't do to appear vulnerable. As gracious as Sans was, at least after some coaxing, the lack of trust between them, as well as his overall appearance, worried her. But, it was fine. She would be grateful once the ordeal was over, and that would be the end of it. Although, the fact that he was a magician, and that she knew he was, complicated matters. She let out a huff, and straightened out her tattered dress. Head high Viola, you are a lady.

Sans remained silent, eyes ahead, posture fixed, the atmosphere steely. Viola wished he would say something, break the tension between them, reassure her, anything. But then again, he didn't have to do any of that, their situations were the same, and she had dragged him into this. If anything, she should repay him. "Thank you, for this." 
"You can thank me when we're safe," he replied bluntly, ouch. He wasn't making it any easier, that was for sure.
"Gratitude goes a long way," she answered, trying to keep a cheerful note in her voice.
"Does it?" Is he trying to avoid conversation, or does he simply not like me?
"Of course! It's a gift. It, inspires positive feelings, and it's friendly."  He didn't respond to that, resorting to the same uncommitted noise of accent. "Heh." 

The two finally approached the wall of the city, the colossal gates stretching high out of sight. Glancing around for a moment, Sans moved up to the side door and gave it a gentle knock. The panel on the front of the structure flipped open, revealing a pair of eyes. "What's your business?" he asked, a rough tone to his voice. Sans pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and passed it through the gap. The eyes turned to Viola questioningly. "This one's with me," Sans added.
“Mn, well, make sure she gets herself presentable ASAP alright? Can’t have her scaring people.” 
“Of course.” Viola cast her eyes to the ground uncomfortably. Could someone like her scare people? After a moment the door swung back, and the two continued on into the city. Sans tipped his hat to the officer, and a dark look came over his face as he turned away. "Two left." 
"Pardon?" Viola asked.
"Two passes left for the city." He tapped his pocket. "After that..." He pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a sigh. "Guess I'll have t'visit her again. Crud." Viola didn't pry; she gathered she already knew too much. 
"I'm sorry. I must be causing you so much trouble." He gently shook his head, in dismissal or agreement, she couldn't tell. Falling back into step behind him, she glanced around in interest. The common quarter: where the working class set up shop, and also where a lot of them lived. Viola had never seen this part of the city, big as it was, in the moonlight the streets appeared ghostly. 

"So, where you headin'?" Sans' eyes lit up in the shadows, the white light reflecting perfectly off the surface. Curiously, his irises remained dark, pitch black pools without colour. "The high accommodations quarter. It shouldn't be far..." Viola trailed off, glancing around her in search of a waypoint. She didn't want to get lost. "Thank you kindly." She felt Sans' eyes on her as she dipped her head in thanks, and he uttered a tiny sigh. "I'll get you there." Viola gazed at him in surprise, but he refused to meet her eye, simply turning his back and heading off down the street.
"Oh, no no! You don't have to do that..." She didn't exactly feel safe having him know where she lived, but it didn't seem up for debate, and she hurried to catch up.

They walked once again in silence. Viola lifted her eyes to the sky, watching the stars glimmer as they passed. The idleness drew her mind back to the crash, to her mother. She had been out there for at least a few hours, but Lilliane could still be outside the city, or dead, burned up by the fires. She shivered in the night air, needing to find a distraction. "I suppose they'll want to get the train functional as soon as possible, it'll be difficult for people otherwise." 
"Sure they will," Sans replied.
"I can imagine it would be a problem for the slum dwellers too." 
"Mm." Viola stared at the back of Sans' head, feeling the distance. She wished she could walk beside him, at least to carry a proper conversation; staring at his back disconnected them, and his voice was difficult to hear. "I hope no one was hurt." Silence. "Can I ask you something?" He paused for a moment. 
"Depends on the question."
"Are there others like you, or do you work alone?" 
"I..." His shoulders slumped with the effort of avoiding conversation, but he finally gave in. "Yes and no."
"I misunderstand."
"There's other, uh, associates. But I work alone, f' the most part." Viola finally relaxed a bit, and she found herself smiling.
"Are they gracious people?"
"Well, they're friends. Dunno 'bout gracious, but we're all close enough." Sans spoke with an air of wistfulness, and some parts regret.
"How wonderful." Viola sped up a little in the hopes of walking alongside him, but to no avail, she only succeeded in making him walk faster. "I have a few friends, though, I never see them as often as I'd like. We're always so busy." The breath huffed from her mouth, walking and talking was difficult. "Work is important," Sans replied. Okay, now his non-committal statements were really getting to her. Viola was well-versed in the art of conversation, but Sans was proving to be her biggest challenge yet. It wasn't as though she felt he owed her anything, but common courtesy obligated him to at least make as much of an attempt as she did. "It's not as important as friends," she answered, a note of irritation to her voice. "Sometimes it has to be." Sans remained monotone, the steely calmness of his speech resolute.
"Oh? And why would that be?" He lightly shook his head.
"You wouldn't understand." 

Viola stopped walking, her hands clenched. Sans pulled to a halt, and turned his head to her with an air of confusion. "If you don't wish to converse, please say so. At the very least look at me when I'm talking to you. I may be below you good sir, but even so, common decency demands at least some form of respect when addressing someone." She kept her voice level, but she wasn't willing to be disrespected. His eyes widened slightly, and after a moment he let out a sigh. Although it was hard to tell, Viola thought she saw the curl of a smile under his mask. "You aren't below me kid, I can assure you of that." Oh shoot, she just called the status of a magician into question.
"No, you are, of course. You're a magician." The humour dropped away instantly.
"Does that make me too important?" 
"Yes! You have the most power in the city, surely you know that?" Viola stared disbelievingly.
"Guess I do..." He accepted her words, but there was a hint of bewilderment in his expression. Did he not understand his own status? The two simply looked at each other for a moment, before the smile came back. "Is that why you're still holdin' that?" He gestured smugly, and Viola clutched the broom handle closer to her chest. "I, no it's not! It's just, I was nervous and..." She let her head droop in shame; she didn't want to admit that she still expected him to endanger her, but what else could he think? He let out a quiet chuckle, a low rumble of sound that hummed on its way out. "Smart. For a human you've got good senses." He turned away, and gestured for Viola to follow. "We're nearly there." A smile gripped Viola's cheeks, and she happily trotted along, no longer perturbed by his silence. She was just glad that he finally acknowledged her. Still, 'for a human' was a strange term of phrase. Maybe he doesn't like people very much. It would explain a few things. They continued on into the night.

After crossing two quarters, the pair finally arrived in the high accommodations, and Viola began to recognise the area. Before long, they stood before the Thompson family mansion, the light flickering on the street below; the lantern in the entryway swinging with a creak in the breeze. She liked the mansion, with its proud brick, white window frames and black beams. The windows were large and pristine, staring down onto the street like pupil-less eyes. 

"Well, here we are." Viola exclaimed. She was nervous of entering, of receiving news on her mother. But, no use delaying the inevitable. Sans gazed up at the rafters in quiet awe. "How many people do you live with?"
"Well, only my parents are family, the rest are staff. We have a butler, my personal maid, the cleaners, the gardener, and three kitchen staff. So, eleven?" Sans gazed at Viola with a strange look in his eye, and shook his head slightly; she couldn't understand why. "They all live here full time bar the gardener, so, it's like one big family. I don't have siblings, so my maid is the closest I have. I very much appreciate her." His expression shifted at that, and he seemed appeased. "Anyway, I shan't take any more of your time." Viola turned and bowed her head again. "Thank you graciously, I’m in your debt." 
"I's no problem..." Sans replied. He seemed uncomfortable with her formality. Raising her head, she grinned.
"Well, now I can tell my mother I met a real magician. I won't mention your name of course." Sans lowered an eyelid as he met her smile.
"Yeah, trade secrets an' all that." 
"Farewell." Viola turned and began to walk up the steps to the porch. Resting a hand on the doorknob, she turned back as Sans called her.
"Hey, kid." His voice had dropped considerably, eyes serious. "I want you to know I have my reasons. It would be best if you forgot about me."
"It's okay, I won't tell anyone anything," Viola replied. "You don't have to worry that I'm a loose end-"
"Do not approach if you see me, I’m not your friend." His words were icy, and his eyes dark under the brim of his hat. Viola felt a chill come over her, and she gazed at Sans in alarm. In a moment, he turned his back, and vanished into the night.

Chapter Text

Home. It wasn't much, but it was something. The sky had darkened along the way, and the moonlight gleamed through the rooftops, dripping onto the stone of the street, pale, ghostly. The girl had positioned herself well, as least so far. None of the roaming gangs had caused her trouble, and those that she saw seemed uninterested, save for a couple of curious looks. The den was situated at the end of an alley, enclosed on all sides, and occasionally overshadowed by light from the windows above. One of the back corners of the alley was taken up by a tall metal fence, typically decorated by spikes, rusted and old. The girl spent many a night gazing between the bars at the accompanying street, which was barren of life, the houses being too broken down for practical use. 

The den itself was whatever she made of it. The few possessions she had were small and insignificant, a rusted lantern and candle were the most important, a box of matches beside it, to light in the evening shadows. The girl did so, and the tiny flame glimmered as it lit up the small space, the light refracting off various glossy objects; most of them were glass bottles, varying sizes and colours, each holding a specific quantity of grimy water. The den was topped with a patchwork blanket, thick enough to keep out the wind, but threadbare in places; it was tied to the top of the fence, connected on the other side with the door handle of the building behind, which was never used. The cold stone of the street was coated with a mat, by no means thick enough to be slept on comfortably, but, she lived with what she had. There was also a dusty pillow in the corner, reserved for sleeping only, to keep it as clean as possible. 

The bottle collection was the girl's pride, and took up the most space. Each sat in size order against the wall, the water volume also varied by size. There was a small stick on the ground next to them, and the girl picked it up, tapping it lightly against one of them, producing a hollow resounding clink. A low C. Good, no water had evaporated yet. Yes, as far back as the girl could remember, she had always been able to tell apart the many sounds of the world, down to the key. She wasn't sure how she’d found the skill, for she had never touched an instrument in her life. Well, that wasn't strictly true, perhaps she had when her parents were still around, but that time was lost to her. She regarded the 'gift' with bittersweet resentment, for as interesting as it was, it wouldn't help her survive, not out there. Still, it was the only thing that kept her entertained in such a world. It was a distraction, if anything. 

Falling into a sit beneath the shelter, the girl surveyed the street outside through the darkness. There were a couple of lights a way off, and the distant sounds of people arguing, but other than that it was silent. She tapped the bottles absently, and the blunt sound of her instrument rattled through the air. D E D, G A B. She sighed gently, and pulled the pillow to her chest against the cold, the dust rising in waves. Crawling into the far corner, she took one last look at the sky, now littered with specks of light, before curling up, and falling asleep.

Chapter Text

Viola was met by tears and blessings upon her return. Lilliane had made it back before her, sustaining only a broken arm and a few burns. Although she was questioned, her parents were as tired as she was, and without much coaxing they let her go. She wouldn't mention Sans just yet, that would only make more fuss, and she needed rest. A shower and a change of clothes later, Viola was lying on her bed in a white fluffy dressing gown. She rolled over onto her front, and stared out through the glass of her large window, the dark running on for miles. There was a quiet knock on the door behind her, and a voice announced: "Miss Viola? It's Clara."
"Come in," she answered, scrambling upright. A small and unassuming girl entered, carrying a tea tray.
"Your evening tea m'lady."
"Thanks." Putting the tray down, Clara walked over to her holding a medical kit in her hands.
"I need to dress your wounds, please remove your gown." Viola shrugged off her sleeves and turned around, allowing Clara to tend to her back. "Oh, you have no idea what I've been through today Clara."
"We were very concerned for you after the Countess returned. However did you manage to get back on your own?"
"I had help, and he knew a way into the city as well." Viola winced as a cold press rested against her skin.
"He ? You kept company with a male stranger? Miss, that's dangerous!" 
"But he was a magician. And he saved my life." Clara looked up at her with wide eyes.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!" Viola sat up and grinned at Clara with a spark in her eyes. "He snapped his fingers and summoned a blue light that...did something to the people who were hurting me. Isn't that fascinating?" 
"What did he look like? Was it like the stories?" Clara asked, as she carefully secured an ankle support around her leg.
"Well, I couldn't see his face, he had it covered up. But his waistcoat was really pretty, very refined." 
"I can imagine." Clara pulled herself up and straightened out her dress, passing a folded note into Viola's hands. "Your schedule for tomorrow, m'lady." She concluded, a little stuffily. "I'll take my leave then, have a good evening." She dropped a curtsey, and left with barely a sound. Viola tutted, she had hoped to speak more of Sans, at least to someone who would indulge her. Her parents had never cared for her stories after all. She skimmed over the schedule with a disappointed air. Shopping again at 1pm tomorrow, a Friday. Wonderful. 



"If I may mother, what are we looking for?" Viola asked. Her stride was a little better than it had been, but a full day of shopping wasn't going to do her any good. "Confectionery my dear, as gifts for the soirée. And once you finally decide on your dress, you'll also need accents."
"Is that necessary? I mean, it's not as though anyone is going to pay much attention." 
"My my." Lilliane brushed her hair off her face with a sigh. "When will my girl learn to understand the importance of this? You listen here, there are going to be many people looking for available courtship at this event, that means they're going to be evaluating everything. It is imperative that you're perfect." Viola looked down sadly. I'm not a prize winning cow am I? Lilliane seemed to notice her expression and gently leaned her broken arm on her shoulder, neatly cast in plaster and held in a sling. "Viola sweetheart, I'm sorry. It's not that I try to discourage you, it's simply that I worry. I want you to have a good future, but you know you're running out of time." Viola nodded, brightening a little. She only had three years left at the most to find a partner, but she simply didn't feel ready to make such a decision. She’d met plenty of nice people, but they weren't what she needed; she needed someone who would give her the time of day, and accept her passions. There had been a suitor once who fit, he had even gotten so far as to have dinner at their home. But although Viola was attentive, she was just as likely to spend her time playing piano for hours; that commitment ensured potential suitors would lose interest in her conversation topics rather quickly. Of course she had other things to talk about, but in her opinion, lying to suitors would simply set them up for disappointment, and she couldn’t do that to anyone. Loveless marriage, a horror; and although divorce was possible, those who did so seldom lived in kinship again.

There was a twinge in Viola's ankle, and she hobbled desperately, wincing with each step. Lilliane turned to her as she dropped a bag she was holding to lean against the building next to them. Luckily the bag only held clothing. "Oh Viola, why didn't you say something? Give that to me and go and sit by the fountain over there." 
"But mother, your arm! You can't carry anything more," she protested. Lilliane was already holding two bags herself.
"I don't want to hear it, you carry on like this and you'll do yourself more damage. You don't want to be dancing at the party with a bad ankle now do you?" Leading her over to the courtyard at the end of the street, Lilliane sat Viola down on a bench and dropped the bags beside her. "I shan't be long, just stay here and rest." She turned and walked off, ever dedicated to her missions. Viola sighed inwardly at her lack of usefulness, and her eyes traveled lazily across the scenery. The fountain in the centre of the courtyard was simply design, an upright and pristine marble fixture with depictions of salmon dribbling water into the basin beneath. The accompanying street housed a farmers’ market, colourfully striped stalls overflowing with local produce from the neighbouring towns; transported by train, of course. The bustle felt homely, though it was nothing like home, and she listened absently to the pitches called into the crowds as people passed by. 

That as when she saw it: a tiny figure stood alone, some way off. They looked to be a child, no more than a five year old, huddled under a scruffy cloak that trailed in the dust, a hood pulled low over them. They were standing rigidly still, as though trying to be lost in the bustle; they were doing it rather well, no one glanced to watch them as they walked by. Viola followed the direction of their head to a stall at the end of the row, piled high with baked goods, bread, muffins, pastries, the whole lot. The little figure shuffled towards it, their feet teetering nervously as they moved. Viola gathered she knew exactly what they were trying to do, but somehow, she found herself rooting for the little thing. Something about them was so fragile, like ice in the sunlight. They reached the stall, crouching against the counter, and shivering a bit. Slowly, they peaked up over the edge to watch the owner, and just as he turned his back, they reached up and grabbed a large loaf of bread, almost as big as they were. Ducking down, they turned back towards the courtyard and made a desperate run for safety, just as a shout went up behind them. "Stop that thief!" Viola's heart sank, it appeared someone else had been watching too. Startled by the sudden sound, the child tripped over their feet and fell flat on the stone road, the loaf skittering along the ground. Their hood flapped up off their face, and Viola's stomach lurched as she took in their features. They weren't a human child at all. Little ears twitched on top of their head, their eyes large and black, their fur white with a tint of yellow, reminding her of dandelions. They were...a rabbit? At least, some form of lapine creature. Leaping forward on all four feet, they grabbed the bread, and locked eyes with Viola as they glanced up. A flash of fear danced across their features, and they turned tail and rushed for the nearest alley. Viola got to her feet and looked back at the stall, where the aforementioned owner was hastily talking to a policeman, gesturing wildly. The little creature could never hope to outrun humans on their tiny legs, and before she quite knew what she was doing, Viola set off after the quickly retreating figure.

Chapter Text

The alley she entered was a dead end, a few bins and boxes being the only visible objects. As she stepped forward her shoes clicked on the stone, and a tiny gasp emanated from the nearby clutter. "Hello?" Viola asked, keeping her voice low and gentle as possible. Silence. She carefully made her way over to the wall, crouching down to a box lying on its side, with the lid shut tight. Very slowly, she pulled it away, to reveal the rabbit sitting inside. For a moment, the two simply stared, Viola in fascination, and them in shock. She realised the rabbit was female, as underneath the cloak she wore a tiny little dress made of pink fabric, frilly and layered like a tutu. She clutched the loaf of bread to her chest with delicate little paws, and her ears twitched, folding partially flat against her head. A thought crossed Viola's mind as to how a rabbit would have the intelligence to steal, when the poor little creature burst into tears. She squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed quietly as large droplets of water rolled down her face. Can rabbits even cry? No, this creature wasn't a rabbit, not a normal one at least; but she wasn't afraid. 

Her chest burned at the sight of such distress, and she found herself speaking before she could stop herself. "Oh sweetheart don't cry! It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you." She had a sudden urge to pet the child's fur, partially to comfort, and partially because it just looked so...soft. She frowned to herself at her lack of composure, but her train of thought was quickly lost, as the rabbit began to speak back. Her voice was tiny and high pitched, wavering between the occasional hiccup. "N-no... Mama said humans are bad people. That they want to hurt us." As Viola considered it, she realised the creature was probably right. Her society wasn't the most...accepting. "Perhaps you're right, but I don't. I want to help you." She looked up at Viola questioningly.
"Why?"
"Because you're a child, and you're in danger." 
"You do...?" Viola nodded gently with a smile. 
"What's your name?" 
"Um...C-Caramel. My friends call me Mel." I think I've fallen in love. The unsolicited part of Viola's brain commented.
"Alright Caramel, my name is Viola. Now, please can you listen to me?"
"Are you going to tell me off for stealing?" She pulled the loaf even closer.
"No no, I'm sure you have your reasons. But you know people saw you, and they're going to be here any minute. I need you to come with me." 
"No. My brother's waiting for me. I...also can't trust you..." Mel looked away from her. Although she could understand the little creature's perspective, now wasn't the time for argument. Viola reached carefully inside the box and pulled Caramel into her arms, her fingers tingling at the texture of her fur, so soft she could barely feel it. The rabbit sat still for a moment, before letting out a shriek and scrabbling to worm out of her gasp, the way most rabbits do. "No! Please, please, let go of me!" 
"Shhh, be quiet." Viola spoke in a soothing tone, but she could hear the quickly approaching footsteps of the policemen. She crouched down behind a stack of boxes and pushed her hand over Caramel's mouth, trying her best to be gentle. She went still as she heard the footsteps, and gazed up at Viola with fearful eyes. Viola’s foot was throbbing painfully, but she already had an idea. "Listen," she whispered, "I'm going to have to ask you to hide under the hem of my dress. There's enough room that we can walk together without you being seen. Then I can get you back to your brother, okay? Can you do that for me?" The little creature nodded, and she carefully lowered her back to the ground, before getting to her feet. 

"Good afternoon officers." She began with a slight curtsey. 
"Miss, may I ask what you're doing down here?" One of them replied stiffly, very aware of her status.
"I believe I may have gotten lost. Do forgive my intrusion." She gave them all a polite smile; manipulation is never as easy. 
"O-oh, no, of course." She carefully walked past them, and back out into the street, trying not to step on Mel's paws as she did so. She was huddled to her leg, and Viola made sure she walked slowly enough for her to keep up. As she made it back to the fountain Lilliane strode up; her face told Viola there would be hell to pay. Oops. "There you are! What did I say about going off on your own? Do you want to be taken advantage of?" 
"I...sorry mother." She tensed a little, and stepped over Mel so that she sat between her legs out of the way.
"Anyway, it's time for us to go. The lack of confectionary here is appalling!" She turned and began a brisk pace back down the street.
"Viola..." Mel murmured. 
"Give me a moment." She glanced around hurriedly. Lilliane's mind was often a difficult one to change. Confectionary, confectionary? Confound it! Of all the things to have difficulty finding. She tripped a little as she caught her toe on Mel's foot, and muttered her apologies with a hiss, her leg screaming. Then, a flash of purple invaded her vision. It was the shop she had seen yesterday, and she looked up with interest. The letters spelling out the name: 'Spider Silk' were painted in white upon the lilac. And today, luck had finally decided to pick her side, not her mother's. "Mother!" Viola called out, stopping her with an arm. "Have you tried this one yet?" Lilliane looked over the shop with scrutiny, before nodding.
"Well, perhaps it's worth a look." Viola breathed a sigh as she followed her inside, and for a moment, forgot what she was doing.

The world outside melted away as a wall of sweetness hit her, softly enfolding her senses and causing a shiver to run. Now that she could get a closer look, Viola noticed the ceiling was covered in strange shimmering purple threads that hung at intervals, patterned like spiderwebs. The back wall was taken up by shelves, neatly organised into boxes, chocolates, cakes and other baked goods; and the counter itself incorporated a wide selection of teas, along with menus. Currently there was no one present in the shop, but a quiet humming trickled through a door in the back wall, along with the smell of freshly baked pastries. "Hello?" Lilliane called out, met by a cheerful and surprisingly elegant voice, the syllables elongated and lilting. "Just a moment!" The door opened to reveal a young woman in a sweeping royal blue dress, lined with black lace and layered like a rose. There was a large red ribbon stitched down the back in a zigzag, folded between two rolls of cloth. Viola found it odd that such a heavy amount of fabric would be built into the back of the outfit, but it wasn't as though she really understood the making of clothes anyway. It was undeniably refined, regardless. As the woman moved closer, her features became clear, her face being the most unusual. It was pleasantly round, and partially covered by a masquerade mask in blue, decorated by black cobweb patterns and a red crystal centred on her forehead. Her inky black hair hung long around her shoulders, falling in curly waves to her elbows, and her skin was powered pale. Her mouth was small and curved to produce a mischievous smile, and her eyes were large and extremely dark. Viola guessed she was oriental, her body and features were small and elegantly defined. She leaned over the counter with a hand resting under her chin, coated in fine black velvet from fingertips to shoulder. Her poise was one of refinement, and Viola found herself wondering which family she belonged to. "Hello my dear lady. How may I help you today?" She spoke with a smile, and looked upon Lilliane intently.
"Yes, well you see, I am to be entertaining guests at a party soon, and I need confectionary gifts that would suit. Do you have anything of particular quality?" The woman rested a finger on her lip in a surprisingly alluring fashion.
"Hmm...why yes, I do believe I can be of assistance. Is there anything specific you had in mind?" Viola edged slowly towards the doorway. If she was going to leave, she needed to do it now, but she didn't think she could manage it without her mother's notice. She suddenly felt eyes on her, and as she turned to look she saw the woman was watching. While Lilliane talked, the woman paid her almost no attention at all, her eyes locked with Viola's in an almost predatory manner. She walked out from behind the counter and put a hand on Lilliane's shoulder. "Tell you what, I'll show you our stock, and you can see if there's anything you like. I can assure you, perfection is what we strive for." She directed Lilliane away from Viola and toward the back of the shop, giving her a wink, and gesturing towards the door. Viola stared at her in surprise, but she turned away before she had the chance to thank her. However, she had been given an escape. Exiting the shop, Viola ducked into a side alley and Mel scrambled from her skirts. "Where to?" Viola asked her.
"Um, just through to the other street. I'll show you."



After a swift walk through the neighbouring hubbub of people and shops, Viola and Caramel entered an enclosed alley, out of the noise. The little rabbit bobbed forward and called out: "Brother? It's me." A slightly taller figure stepped out of the shadows, wearing a similar long cloak, and a little dusty jacket. He still only came up to Viola's waist, and his ears twitched as he gazed up at her. He crossed his arms and frowned, although she could see he was shaking slightly in her presence. "Mel, why are you with a human? " He spoke distastefully, as though she was less than garbage. "Viola helped me, I know she's scary but..." Mel's ears flopped apologetically. "She's not like them. Promise." She handed him the bread loaf, and he scoffed. "I'm not scared of her, she's just a girl." Viola found herself a little more bothered by his comment than she would like to admit, but he was a child after all. "Exactly! I'm just a girl." She crouched down to Mel's level and smiled fondly. "It seems like you're having trouble getting food, is that right?" She nodded meekly.
"I don't know about the others, but, we can't let anyone know who we are, so." 
"Well, I tell you what, I'll come back here tomorrow, and I'll bring you something to help your family. How about that?" She wasn't sure what possessed her to do it, maybe it was curiosity. They're just children, I need to help them. They didn't seem dangerous anyway, even if she had no idea what they were. Something about them seemed just so, human, even more so than most humans she knew. Caramel gazed at her in astonishment, eyes sparkling."You would do that?" Her little face was just too sweet.
"Of course." Viola reached out a hand to shake her paw, when a tingle flashed up her back. There was someone watching them, and when she glanced up, she wasn't sure how to react.

Sans stood at the end of the alley, and as she saw him, he walked forward towards them, his face darkened. "Sans?" Caramel asked as she turned to look. It seemed that she somehow knew him. As he got close, he stood between the two, facing Viola eye to eye. Quietly he spoke. "Caramel, take your brother and go home, okay?" Mel looked confused, but didn't object. 
"I'll see you later Viola..." she mumbled, before following her brother off into the darkness. Sans' body language was extremely defensive, and he stood before Viola until he was sure the children were gone. Then he quickly turned away, and walked back out towards the street. Viola hurried to catch up. "Sans?" she asked. She wasn't sure if she was breaking his command, but he had approached her after all. Now she had a lot more questions that needed answering. He walked briskly, almost at a run, but not quite enough to draw attention to himself. Viola also glanced around her as she followed, hoping her appearance alongside a, frankly, suspicious figure wouldn't cause a stir. "Sans..." she repeated, but he continued to ignore her. Why are you running away? "What were those children?" She kept her voice low, and finally won the battle between them. "None of your business," he replied darkly, his whisper of a voice resonating in a way that sounded like he was speaking through hollow wood. "I know it wasn't, but it is now. You can't truly expect me to ignore this can you?" He stopped walking and turned towards her. Now that she could see him in the light, she was surprised by the pallor of his skin, and his eyes, still remaining so dark. Now directly watching her, Viola suddenly became aware of the intensity of his gaze; it was piercing, and seemed to cut right through her. 

"Yes, I do. This is more than you can understand." He never raised his voice once, which somehow made his threat more frightening, and the relaxed slur of his speech became clearer. Viola found herself speechless, and something told her to leave the situation alone. "I...forgive me." He's a magician. He's better than me. But she still wanted to know. "Just, know that it may not stop me." Sans heaved a sigh.
"I guessed you might say that." He looked her over, thoughtful this time. "Don't let anyone know kid, it's real important."
"You can count on me." Viola smiled, relieved. 
"Heh. Hope so." His eyes remained cold and his one note laugh humourless, but his defensiveness had disappeared. "Bye." And then, he walked off without another word.

Chapter Text

The girl woke up. The air chilled her skin, and as she unstuck herself from the mat on the floor, the ridges engraved themselves into her face with a red pattern of lines. She groaned in discomfort, for her joints felt like they had been cemented together with superglue. Lovely.

The first feeling that hit her was the hunger, a gnawing sensation that burned her stomach and forced her to move from the 'warmth' of the den. Crawling out to the edge of the street, she stared distantly at the horizon, wondering how the hell she was going to find enough food to survive today. It was easy in the city, but the guards hadn't given her enough time to steal anything, and now she was on her own. Stepping out into the street, the girl crossed to a building on the opposite side, dilapidated and crumbling beneath its own weight. Securing her foot on the wall, the girl hoisted herself up onto the roof, before taking a running jump onto the adjacent building; she landed lightly, and proceeded to clamber up the scaffolding onto the top, loosing a few stones that clattered to the ground below.

The wind gripped her as she stood upon the stone, staring off the precipice into the dusty streets beneath her, a broken skyline of disjointed and decaying buildings, the air clogged with filth. The girl crouched low and surveyed the empty landscape for any sign of life, her hair flaring out around her head. She sat about three storeys from the ground, a perfect spot, away from the fighting, away from reality. In some ways she wished she could stay there forever, that little perch above the chaos. Everything looked so much simpler from a distance, after all; but she knew she couldn't. Nothing lasts forever, and her body would waste away in a matter of days. She needed to keep moving. 

A figure came into view about a mile off, and hope leaped in the girl's chest. They were alone, perhaps she could pick-pocket them? Sliding down off the roof, the corrugated metal panels squeaked at an F# as she moved across them, and she dropped to the ground, lying low to the wall. The crunch of footsteps on the gravel sounded somewhat like a low B, and she carefully peered over the bricks, sizing up her mark. As she watched the figure approach, she realised she knew him. Her shoulders sagged in disappointment, and she tutted to herself. Damn monsters. It was the skeleton, small, finely clothed, and an extreme threat. The gangs had kept to themselves before they came along, but now nowhere was safe. Just the other day she had seen one of them take out an entire mob singlehandedly, using a collection of strange magical spears that she could summon at will. They were certainly an oddity, and if the city refused to indulge them, they were the slum's business through and through. 

Of all she had seen, the skeleton was definitely the most active. She had never really seen him do anything per se, but he traveled regularly, entering the city she assumed. How, she wasn't sure, the Glaucous Birds didn't seem affiliated with him; but she had watched him pass many times, though he had never paid her any mind. 

The girl decided to sit still and wait for his passing; it wouldn't do to get involved, not with someone so deadly. She gazed at his profile as he got closer, absent curiosity winning her over. He wasn't wearing his mask today, or his hat. The crooked smile plastered across his face did nothing to hide the obvious pain in his eyes. He looked...miserable, almost as miserable as she felt in a lot of ways, his jaw slack and eye sockets vacant; but she had no room for pity. He wore clean clothes, clean shoes, and seemed well nourished, at least, as far as she could tell with the little knowledge she had of monsters; she, had none of these things. She found herself becoming bitter as she watched his face, and her stomach growled, a cruel reminder. You have nothing to be so fucking depressed about. Her conviction was lax though, she had no energy to spare for hate. The skeleton flinched mid-step, his eyes growing dark and alerted. Throwing out his right hand, a blue light glimmered in his fingers, and the girl gasped in alarm, for he was aiming at her. Suddenly she was wrenched into the air, her limbs frozen in place and her entire body chilled. She struggled to breathe as her chest seized up, her heart constricting in effort. But, she felt nothing, no fear, no resentment; after all, she didn't care for her life, it wasn't as though she was really living in the first place. Still, this skeleton was a coward if he thought he could use his stupid tricks to cut her down, it wasn't a fair fight. She may be a dead person walking, but she wouldn’t make it easy.

He turned to face her, eye sockets black and empty, except for a rapidly flickering light in the left side. The girl was begrudgingly impressed by this display, the mess of blue and yellow was mesmerising. "Who are you, human?" His voice was tight and a little husky, like he had been crying. Though it was difficult to tell, it seemed like she had caught him off-guard. "A spy?" Now his words were stronger, cold as a blade, wavering from a low C#. Still, the harmonious qualities were anything but unpleasant to listen to. The girl remained silent as he held her in place, her frail limbs coated in a haze of blue light, flowing like water. Tilting his hand back, the skeleton drew her closer. "Well?" His voice was even lower this time, a growl of sound that demanded her compliance. Leaning her head to one side, the girl collected what saliva she could from her dry lips, and spat defiantly into the dirt. I won't speak for you, Mr Skeleton. He squinted slightly, but that was all the reaction he gave. "So that's how I's gonna be." With a slight jostle, the girl was dragged even closer, only leaving about a metre’s gap between them, a puny kid and a stocky monster. She lifted her head and stared him in the eye, her expression remaining one of relaxed disinterest. As they gazed at each other, she saw the skeleton's mask falter rather abruptly. Something flashed behind his eyes, a flurry of emotion too subtle for her to read, and he sharply sucked in air through his teeth. Slowly, the girl was brought back down to the ground, and she gasped as her chest was released, coughing harshly. The skeleton stood motionless before her, his sockets dim, almost like a trance. She looked at him with a blink, before slowly backing away. Time to leave.

Like a switch trigger, the quivering white pupils lit up, and he watched her in quiet...awe? Shock? She couldn't tell. For a moment he seemed to be searching for the right words. "What's your name?" His voice had changed altogether, now a tortured whisper. The girl frowned incredulously, that was all too far for her. She turned quickly and jogged off back towards the alleyway, towards the den. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed that the skeleton made no attempt to follow, standing, almost statue-like in the street. The girl, didn't know what to think. He had no interest in humans, she knew that much, he went out of his way to avoid the most populated areas of the slums. She had watched him many times, bored as she was. So why her? A feeling of dread filled her gut, only increasing her hunger pains further. She hoped this wouldn't mean trouble for her, she could do without monster business. One thing she was sure of, they were only a bigger source of problems.

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Saturday. Viola sat alone at the dining table, eating a plate of toast and eggs, honey-coloured tea sitting to the side. The clean white tablecloth lay along the ten metre length of the table in creaseless perfection. Her eyes were glazed over, and it was obvious that she wasn't really conscious. "Viola, you need to get more sleep sweetheart." Lilliane passed a hand in front of her face, before tidying her hair, delicately tucking a few strands behind her ear. It wasn't sleep that was the problem, in truth Viola had simply too many things to think about. She hadn't even the time to play piano, and her fingers itched in protest. What were they? The rabbits didn't bother her, but the situation did. What was Sans doing that involved them? Magician business obviously, and that was nothing to do with her. She sighed, and puffed out her cheeks indignantly. She couldn't help but wish it was. 

"Alright," Lilliane announced, settling at the table and leafing through her planner. "I've organised your dance lesson for later in the day, so for now you have an hour to work on your reading. And it would be extremely useful if you decided on your dress for the party." She gave her a gentle smile. "You have the morning free." For once in her life, Viola wished she was shopping today, if only so she could go and find Caramel. "Preston, would you have a moment to pick up the confectionary order I placed?" Lilliane asked. Preston, the household butler, tall and pleasant in personality as a Summer breeze, shook his head. "I'm afraid not madam, the earl has my day fully booked." She tutted.
"Pity. I wonder when Clara is available." Viola perked up at this, her mind tumbling excitedly.
"Was this order from yesterday mother? I could go for you."
"Out of the question. You know you can't go outside alone." Of course that's how it was.
"But aren't you very busy? I shan't be more than a moment, it's not like the shops are far away." Lilliane signed, glancing over her lists with an agonised expression. "Oh...very well. I hope you realise this is against my better judgement." Viola grinned, putting a hand on her shoulder and beaming. "Of course!" Today was a good day.

Viola felt a mixture of ecstatic nervousness as she stepped off the porch and lifted her head to the sky. Clear, wisps of cloud passed over the terracotta rooftops, almost as if to touch them. This was a strange happening, when was the last time her mother had allowed her outside alone? Never, surely. That day she wore a simple green dress, complete with a black corset that pinched her stomach and arched her back uncomfortably. The yellow flower brooch was once again pinned to the collar in pride of place, somewhat of a memento of her experience outside the city. In her hand she held a small basket covered in a white cloth, containing the few consumables she could smuggle from the kitchens. She hoped it would be enough for Caramel, and hoped even more that she would be able to meet her at all. She didn't have much food suited to rabbits, so it would be an embarrassment if she was unable to eat any of it, but it wasn't like she was normal. She shook her head. Stop fussing, it'll all be fine. Of all unattractive personality traits she had, needless worrying was one of the worst. She never worried for herself either, only for everyone else, to an insane degree.

Rounding the corner, she came upon the high quarter shopping area, bustling with activity, yet sophisticated in every possible way. It felt odd to walk down the street alone, no aimless chatter from her mother, no real boredom either; everyone else moved past her without a care. The day was warm, and the grit from the road billowed into rising clouds; before long, Viola felt herself becoming rather parched. The chocolate shop came into view, and she ducked inside out of the crowds, dusting off her clothes and pushing her hair aside. As before, there was no one present in the shop, and the delicate aroma enclosing her was an instant relaxer. "Excuse me?" she called out. They really need a bell in here. The door swung back and the woman exited, a tray of tartlets held in one hand. "Good morning." She set the tray down and leaned over the counter expectantly. "Why hello again dearie, what may I do for you?" Her eyes were intensely focussed, and Viola felt as though she would be hypnotised if she looked too long. "My mother Lilliane put in an order yesterday? She sent me to collect." 
"Ah~ of course." She leaned over and shouted through the door to whoever was on the other side. "Wrap up that order will you?" Turning back towards her, the woman smiled sweetly, and gestured to the nearest chair. "It's going to take a while, why don't you have a seat? I'll get us some tea." It felt more like a command than a question, and Viola settled herself at one of the round tables, noticing with a smile that the napkins had been folded to imitate little spiders. 

"I never had the pleasure of knowing your name honey, may I?" The woman asked, settling across from her in such a fluid motion, Viola was almost certain she must be a higher status than she was. "Oh, sorry. Viola Thompson." 
"Charmed sweetie, I'm Muffet." As she took Muffet's hand, she noticed just how small and delicate it was. As she pulled away, a thought occurred to her that she had only seen four digits attached to the hand, but now Muffet had her hands clasped in her lap and she couldn't tell. She guessed she must've not been paying attention. The smile never left Muffet's lips, but rather than feeling welcome, as the gaze shifted to her Viola felt vulnerable; the look was hungry, and seemed to drink in her features. "So my dear, what is such a delicious creature like you doing running errands for people?" 
"Oh, it's no problem, I wanted to." 
"Oh?" She ran a hand through her hair, the silky quality gleaming in the light.
"My mother...isn't exactly the most relaxed person. Although, that is the correct way for her to be. She doesn't let me out of the house alone of course." Muffet nodded.
"Yes, a young lady alone would be too vulnerable." She seemed to lean closer, her words dripping sensually. "You must be very brave hm?"
"I...wouldn't know about that. There are simply things I wish to do." Viola felt uncomfortable, and the sickly sweet smell in the air was starting to make her a little lightheaded. The pitching whine of a kettle meandered through the back door, and Muffet got to her feet. "Teatime." She brought out a set of twin teacups and saucers, finely decorated with purple mayflowers and green leaves, curved petals and sweeping lines. "What type of tea would suit? I have Bohea, Congou, Earl Grey, Souchong or Pekoe." 
"Impressive," Viola breathed. "Congou* please." 
"Ah, traditional tastes? Good choice. I tend to indulge in Souchong myself." The teapot was much the same design as the cups, perfectly round and belching steam. Viola couldn't help herself, and the response flitted out before she could stop it. "I suppose that would mean you have expensive tastes?" The large black eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment Viola wondered if she had severely offended, but then, Muffet burst out laughing, a full and resounding tinkle of sound, like bells. She covered her mouth with a hand, and gave Viola a big wink. "You know it honey." One of the tarts Muffet had made was placed in from of her, smoothly surfaced with a tangerine-gold filling.
"Are you sure? I don't have any money."
"Oh but you're the guest, it's on me, courtesy of Spider Silk." 
"Thank you." Viola cut off a piece and put it to her mouth; it was the sweetest thing she had ever tasted, not overpowering, only rich and smooth, the delicate taste of orange melting on her tongue. The tea was much the same, a milky consistency of simple yet aromatic sweetness, a lilac tint framing the surface, and a faint smell of lavender.

Viola let out a contented sigh, and Muffet looked on with an approving smile. "That's incredible Muffet. I believe I can honestly say I've never tried anything as good." Muffet sipped her tea with mock aloofness. 
"Well I mustn't brag, but I am incredibly talented, it's true." 
"You really like the colour purple don't you." 
"Of course, it's the colour of refinement. You can never have too much." I'm not sure I entirely agree. Viola thought. "Hmm...let me guess, you like apricot best, yes?" Muffet asked, her eyes glimmering suspiciously with amusement.
"Yes! How did you know?" 
"Mm, I am a very good judge of character sweetie." 
"Yeah...apricot can't be used in dyes though, so I don't wear it." Suddenly, there was a clatter from the back room, and a chorus of surprised hisses. "What are you doing in there?" Muffet tutted. "Do excuse me." She got to her feet and started to walk across the room, when she tripped over Viola's foot, slamming her elbow against the counter and falling flat on the floor. The soft 'whumph' of fabric hitting the ground was quickly followed suit by the clatter of Muffet's mask, skittering off her head and into the corner of the room. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry!" Viola pulled herself up and crouched beside Muffet, holding her arm in an effort to bring her upright. 

Muffet let out a sigh, brushing the hair back from her face. "Such a pity, you really are a charming young thing." She turned her face up towards Viola, and she recoiled in shock, stumbling over her skirts in an effort to retreat. She was met with no less than five large oval eyes, inky black and glistening with moisture. Muffet's expression remained calm as anything, although her brow creased in disappointment. "I liked you dearie, honestly I did. Please don't take this personally." 
"Wha...what are you?" Viola whispered in horror, backing up right to the wall, before she realised there was nowhere else to go.
"I guess it wouldn't hurt to tell you. I'm a monster honey, long forgotten by your people." As she moved, Viola watched two pairs of arms fold out the back of her dress where the cloth had been concealing them, assisting her up onto her feet without a pause. This woman was a creature akin to a giant spider, and a shudder ran through Viola at the thought. Cool as anything, Muffet strode across to the window and pulled a pair of flower embroidered curtains across the glass, flipping the sign on the door to ‘ closed’ . "At least you won't go to waste, I'm sure my cluster* will find you perfectly delicious." Her voice was disturbingly nonchalant, as though she was discussing something as simple as the weather. 

Viola glanced hurriedly around the room for an escape, stepping over to the back door and pulling it open. "I wouldn't do that if I were you dearie~," Muffet mused. Viola stifled a shriek of surprise as she gazed beyond; the baking room was filled to bursting with tennis ball sized purple spiders, scurrying across the walls or hoisting trays of pastries on their backs. They froze in their work as she opened the door, and hissed in surprise, responding in much the same way as she did as they piled over each other in an effort to hide in the various shelves, cupboards, and baking tins. Viola turned on her heel and looked on fearfully at Muffet as she leisurely stepped towards her. "I...it's alright Muffet! Honestly." She carefully pulled the door shut, and clutched her hands to her sides. She couldn't say she wasn't scared, the many armed woman before her had been disarmingly threatening from the start; but now the flurry of questions, coupled with jittery panic at what Muffet was planning had left Viola's brain disordered, and she found herself unsure of how to tackle the situation. "Sorry honey, begging won't change anything." Muffet pulled out a length of the same shimmery thread that hung from the ceiling, that Viola now gathered was heavily strengthened spider thread, and pulled it tight between her fingers. "If you don't struggle I can make it quick for you, okay sweetie?" No, apparently talking wouldn't sway her. "But why do you want to kill me?" Viola asked, trying to keep her voice from cracking.
"I don't want to, it's simply that I have to. Can't trust a human even for all the money you give them, especially when they feel threatened." She spoke so matter-of-factly that Viola almost didn't believe she was serious, but the hungry look in her eyes said it all. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, and stepped forward towards her.

Chapter Text

Viola braced as Muffet grabbed her arms, trying to push them up above her head. As she tried to resist, a part of her brain commented that this was the second time that week she had been pinned in a vulnerable position. "Oof-" Learning from last time, Viola struck out at Muffet's stomach, knocking her back a little, although her grip remained strong. "Quite a feisty one for being so delicate," she commented, a little breathlessly. She was one to talk, being only a little taller than Sans, limbs extremely thin. However, having the extra arms put Viola at a serious disadvantage, and before long she felt the fight being sapped out of her. 

Muffet let out an almost inaudible little giggle, and the sound from Viola's mouth died at her lips, as she saw the small but finely pointed fangs that made up her grin. Yanking her back from the wall, Muffet scrabbled to loop the silvery thread around Viola's neck, but she pulled away, tripping over her feet and slamming her hip against the wall. Unable to stop herself with her hands pinned, Viola tumbled backwards onto the floor, pulling the smaller girl down with her. The wind was knocked from her, and she gasped. Muffet brought herself up until she lay her whole weight across Viola's torso, and hunched down over her, eyes glinting, the chord pinched delicately between the fingers of her second set of hands. "Got you~" She leaned in close, her forehead inches from Viola's. She caught the scent of lavender and herbs, and let herself fall still as the silvery thread pressed against her neck, just loose enough not to tear her skin. "Muffet," she breathed, "please listen to me." Her voice was quiet, but unwavering; she had gone beyond fear now, and her body was cold. Muffet's eyes narrowed, and something seemed to give her pause, although she remained poised, the chord harsh like cheese wire. Viola continued without awaiting a response. "I don't know if she's one of you, but I've already met a monster. A rabbit, her name was Caramel. I'm already aware of your existence." Muffet pushed her hair back, and put a finger to her lips, still grinning. "Oh? How do I know you aren't lying to me?" Her voice was light, and she seemed to be enjoying herself far more than was appropriate. "You don't. You're just going to have to take my word."
"Hmmm. How about, a deal?" There was a vicious glint to her eyes, disarming.
"What...what kind of deal?" The thread pressed down ever so slightly, producing a sting, and a warm prickling sensation.
"Let's say, you owe me a favour. Does that sound agreeable, my sweet?" Muffet's nose was inches from Viola's, and she giggled as she felt the breath wobble from her mouth. "Yes," she whispered. Viola wasn't entirely sure what she had just agreed to, but it gave her a sinking feeling. Never be indebted to anyone, a piece of advice she had been told once or twice; and now she was, and there was nothing she could do about it. 

"Very well honey, I believe you." Muffet moved away from her face, lessening her hold slightly, enough to retract the thread. It was dyed a delicate red from Viola's blood, and she watched, horrified, as Muffet carefully licked it clean. "Hm, not bad." She winked two of her eyes with a grin. "I'm sure you will be very valuable to me." There was a strange noise from the back room, like an explosion played in reverse, followed by a familiar voice. "Hey Muffet, I got'cha some-" The door swung forward, revealing the red and black form of Sans. His eyes came to rest on the two of them lying on the floor, and for a moment he simply stared, gaze locked with Viola, both as startled as the other. He let out a little embarrassed cough, and retreated back into the room, muttering, "sorry for interuptin'." Muffet burst out laughing, and reached for the door handle. "No you don't!" Viola, red creeping into her cheeks, struggled to her feet and brushed down her skirts. 

"How about I make you some more tea my dear? Yours went cold." Muffet had refitted the mask and opened up the curtains, busily setting out chocolates and cupcakes behind the counter. Viola nodded. "Yes, thank you." She was back in her seat, now facing Sans, and an awkward air had formed between them. She touched the now staunched mark on her neck, wondering how she would explain such a surgical wound to her mother. "Well kid, I uh, didn't take you for a spider person. Guess you'll be hanging around." Her eyes flicked up in surprise, and she felt herself heating up again. "I...I'm not." She clasped her hands together in her lap, and kept her head low. Sans blinked, and his brow raised in surprise. He averted his gaze, instead turning towards Muffet with a questioning look, who smiled. "Looks like you're losing your touch Sans." She put a hand on Viola's shoulder. "He's only joking honey, nothing to worry about." 
"Oh." Viola looked up, and brightened a little. She let out a chuckle. "I understand, hanging." The tea was set in front of her, and she took a thoughtful sip. "Hey Muffet," Sans asked, a lazy humour to his voice, a tone Viola hadn't heard on him before.
"What is it sweetie?" Muffet leaned over the counter, her head cocked in mockery.
"What did one spider say to the other?" 
"Why don't you tell me?" Her tone was patronising, and slightly sarcastic.
"Time's fun when you're having flies." Viola nearly coughed on her tea at the utter failure of a joke, a smile catching before she could stop it. Muffet rolled her eyes, but her smile was knowing. "Very good." 
"Why do black widows kill their mates?" This time there was a glint of something all the more threatening in her eye.
"Why?" she asked, quietly.
"Because they stop the snoring before it starts." She giggled. 
"Oh but that's so untrue." She stepped forward and ran a hand up Sans' arm, slowly, purposefully, before resting it on his shoulder. Viola watched him visibly shrink at her touch, and his eyes grew distressed. She almost felt the need to ask Muffet to stop, he looked so very uncomfortable. She leaned in close, and her voice was low. "They kill them because they don't give them their money." Her last words came out as a hiss, and Sans shivered in response. Muffet lingered just long enough to make him look ready to escape, then retracted her hand, the most gleeful smile on her face. Something told Viola the two were good friends, although Muffet was clearly the dominant. 

"So bone-boy, what's it going to be?" She tapped her nails against the tabletop, still leering. That time Viola really did choke on her tea, spluttering despite herself, and quickly reached for her handkerchief. Never in her life had she heard such a volatile term spoken in her presence; as a young single lady, no inappropriate themes were to be spoken of around her, not until she was safely married. Muffet's aloof nature suited her well, but Viola would never have guessed Sans and she to be so openly intimate. It had never crossed her mind that they even had such a relationship. Stealing a glance at Sans, Viola noticed he seemed just as alarmed as she was, and gave Muffet a warning glare. She simply tossed her hair in response.

"I have your money." All humour had evaporated from his voice now, and he fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a large and neatly taped stack of notes. Muffet practically grabbed it from his hands, and leafed through with a scrutinising eye, before grinning. "Why thank you honey, I'll treasure it." She placed the notes somewhere in the folds of her dress, and walked back into the baking room. Viola cleared her throat, and carefully placed the tea cup back on the saucer. "It's...a surprise that you know each other. Quite a coincidence." Sans huffed.
"Yeah, well." 
"You seem close, have you known each other for long?" A small smile creased the mask.
"I suppose. She isn't that approachable but, y'know. I can live." Something about his speech was different from usual, more expressive, softer, his posture more relaxed. He was talking more as well, maybe it was because he wasn't alone with her, or out in the streets. His eyes were still as wary as ever, and his speech wasn't particularly kind, but Viola smiled to herself; she wanted to be friends with this magician, he was fascinating. "Yes, she's...a little too open with her affection though." Viola commented. Sans responded with his dry one note laugh.
"Heh. No kid, she didn't mean it like that." She gave him a questioning look, but he only shook his head. "You wouldn't understand." She raised her eyebrows, that was the second time he had dismissed her. 

"Ahem!" Muffet cut in, closing the door behind her. She held a round patchwork blue box in her hands, tied up with a purple bow. "Here you are, everything your mother ordered." She placed it in Viola's lap, and brushed her hair back with a dramatic gesture. "I hope I didn't keep you too long? She must be worried for you." Viola shook her head, and carefully got to her feet.
"No no, I'm sure it'll be fine. Thank you kindly." Muffet looked a little surprised at her politeness.
"Would I never, the lady has manners! Even after what I did to you." She ran a hand gently over her cheek, the velvet cooling her skin. "You could learn a thing or two from this one, bone-boy." Sans let out a sigh, and looked away. "Heading home now my pet?" 
"Actually no. I, have a small favour to ask." Viola looked over at Sans, the concern of his response hinting on her face. "Could you perhaps tell me where Caramel lives? I promised her food and..." She picked up the basket of supplies and cast her eyes to the floor, not particularly wanting Sans' stare upon her. But his look was one of confusion, and with an added threatening glare from Muffet, he resigned. "Fine. I'll take you there." 
"Pardon? I, you don't have to, I mean..." But he didn't wait for her excuses, dusting off his waistcoat, and heading out the door.
"Have a wonderful time!" Muffet called as she hurried out after him.

The streets weren't as busy that day, and Viola walked along behind Sans with relative ease. She noticed people glancing to watch him pass, their eyes a mix of curiosity and fear. His mask was suspicious to be sure, but she assumed his face would draw more attention, being a well known magician and all. "Thank you," she muttered, feeling like a broken record. 
"I's no problem," Sans murmured back. He paused for a moment, and seemed to have something to ask, but he kept his mouth shut.
"I hope Caramel is there."
"She will be." His answers were just as blunt as last time, but he replied immediately, as though he was actually paying attention.
"I worry. I don't want her to get into trouble," Viola said, sighing a little.
"Why?" Sans asked.
"I, I don't know..." She was silent for a moment. "I think I just feel I need to protect her. She's so small and vulnerable." 
"How'd you know that? You've only just heard 'bout monsters." Viola huffed. 
"I don't know Sans, it's just how I feel!" Her response was a little sharp. Just because you know all about it and I don't. He chuckled at her exasperation. "Relax kid, I understand." He put a hand to his head, as if in pain. "It's difficult. They could get noticed at any point,  an' get put back out in the streets." 
"Are there many of them?" Viola asked.
"Sorry, can't tell you that." She rolled her eyes, but knew that’s just how it was. "Would you listen if I told you not to get involved?" Sans questioned. "As a magician, I would acknowledge your request as someone of a higher status, but I'm afraid I would have to disobey." 
"Oh well." He grinned, unfeeling. "Don't blame me if things get monsterous , kay?" 
"You have my word." Viola replied with a smile.

The two approached an alley, boxes and rubbish bags piled in dumpsters along the side. "Mel, you here?" Sans called. The little creature stepped out from behind one of the dumpsters, her ears twitching expectantly. "Hello Sans. Viola! You came!" Her excitement was undeniable, and gave Viola a warm feeling in her chest. She placed the basket on the ground, and stroked one of Mel's ears. "Here you are. I'm sorry I didn't pack many foods a rabbit likes, I wasn't sure how much of it you could eat."
"It's okay, we aren't like normal rabbits. Thank you very much." She padded up to Viola's leg and hugged it, before pulling the basket into the alley. "I'll give this to mama, she'll know what to do." 
"Okay sweetheart, I'll see you again soon alright?" Viola answered.
"Yeah! Thank you again." She slowly walked off into the shadows, dragging the basket with her. Sans seemed to inspect Viola's giddy smile as she turned to face him, and looked to be contemplating something. "Is...there something the matter?" she asked.
"Oh, uh, no. It's no problem." He gave her a nod. "Just, wonderin' why you care." 
"Why shouldn't I care? She needed my help." 
"Yeah..." He didn't look convinced.
"Well, you may not care for monsters, but I do!" 
"Huh?" He looked surprised at her conviction, and for a moment struggled to find the right words. "Uhh, n-no. I mean, course I care. I'm a magician, y'know." He put a hand on his brow and smiled sadly, before clearing his throat. "Anyway, c'mon, you should go home." 
"Oh, um...forgive me," Viola answered, gathering she had stepped out of line with her words. Nodding, she started to walk back down the street, leaving Sans standing at the end of the road. She gave him a wave as she turned away, and although she didn't see it, he raised his hand a little ways in response.

Chapter Text

He was there again the next day. The night air was chilling, but the girl sat out under the stars. She was tapping away at her bottle instrument, a thoughtful look in her eye. There was a song stuck in her head, or rather, the beginnings of a song; a slice of fragmented melody stuck so forcefully in her mind that it felt like a pike jammed into her skull. But she was stuck, and it frustrated her. Picking up a rock from the pavement, she scraped the notes she could recall into the wall of the alley, before playing them out on the bottles. EDE B A BD BB...and then what? She couldn't remember. Where had she even heard it before? It was such a precise tune that she couldn't possibly have made it up from her own head.  The whole process flared up a frustration so great it made her head spin.

Tutting, she threw the stick away from her, watching it skitter across the ground with a low D clack. For a moment she sat there mystified, staring down at her hand. When was the last time she had felt such raw emotion? It startled her to feel so out of control. Slowly, she moved from a sit onto her hands and knees, reaching out for the stick. As she picked it up, she happened to glance down the alley, only to see the small outline of the skeleton staring back at her. She froze, her fight-or-flight response tingling on the back of her neck. Upon the realisation that she saw him, the skeleton straightened up, and tentatively stepped forward. The girl remained utterly still as he approached, very aware of the damage he could do if she appeared threatening; putting her head down, she slumped into the most submissive position possible, although she kept her eyes up and trained, she would not appear afraid. 

There was an aloofness to the way the skeleton moved, and a lit cigar was clenched between his teeth, the red glow spouting smoke into the air behind him. Eventually, he stood no more than two metres from her, the white pupils lighting up his face with an eerie glow, spectral almost. She met those eyes as they looked down upon her, unreadable. What do you want from me? She wanted to ask, but she kept her mouth shut; as far as she could recall, it had been about a year since she had spoken to anyone directly, that wasn't about to change. The skeleton remained silent as well, his pupils quivering with some kind of sadness, as though she was hurtful to look at. 

She flinched as he lifted a hand into his pocket, her shoulder blades tensing like that of a cat. He paused as he saw this, but only shook his head slightly, as if to reassure her, before pulling out a box. He carefully placed it on the ground at his feet, and removed the lid. A smell filled the air that hit the girl like a shockwave, it was...amazing. Some kind of sandwich was in there, filled with all manner of ingredients, as well as what looked like a cupcake. Her gut twisted painfully, and she involuntarily convulsed, the food all too enticing for her to resist. However, she did nothing; her starved body was in need, but she would rather die slowly than face whatever substance was in this meal, it was too perfect not to be poisoned. The skeleton watched her, and pushed the box forward with his boot. "Eat," he whispered, as though talking to a frightened animal. Though there was a sincerity to the word, she couldn't just trust a ganger, and a monster at that. He backed off after a moment, and, pausing to let the smoke seep through his teeth, he made his way out of the alley. He looked back as he got to the end of the street, before moving out of view. 

The girl looked back at the box, her stomach screeching a demand to eat, but she refused. Shuffling back under the blanket of the den, she curled her arms around her knees, and continued tapping on the bottles, trying her best to distract herself from the heavenly scent. 

The next day, the box remained untouched.

Chapter Text

This was it, the final moment. A small depreciating smile creased Viola’s cheeks as she realised such a mediocre decision was the biggest problem she faced. The two dresses were laid out on her bed, and she frowned as she gazed down at them. Clara stood at her side, her brows turned up in concern. “Viola?” The tone of her voice lifted in a questioning manner, gently prodding her to make a decision. “The countess wants us prepared by 5 o'clock at the latest. I don't mean to rush you but…” Viola raised a hand without turning her way. “I know I know, just, give me a moment.” She stared at the medley of fabric, willing it to present her an answer. The gown was made of many furling layers of cloth, spilling out from the waist in a traditional bell shape. The colour reminded Viola of an opal, a blended mixture of delicate blue, pink and pale green. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, far from it, the corset section buckled in silver at the back, and form-fitting to perfection. Theblack dress was quite unusual in comparison, the simple green and blue sash being the only feature to the waist; the shapeless hem fell right to the floor, and clung flatteringly in all the right places. It truly was a new generation of style, and the one Viola preferred. She sighed, catching Clara’s eyes, and she knew she could tell what was on her mind. “Maybe…choose what you think would be practical as a member of this household? That is who you're representing.” Her words were quiet, for she knew as well as Viola did what was right. “Okay then.” She picked up the opal gown and handed it to Clara, clearing all doubt from her mind. Maybe it wasn't what she wanted, but it wasn't terrible. She wanted to represent her family well, and if that meant not choosing for herself, she could do that just fine. The reserved but undeniably pleased smile on Lilliane’s face when she saw the finished spectacle was more than enough gratification. “What did I tell you? I said we would make you perfect.” She placed both hands on Viola’s shoulders, and planted a kiss upon her forehead. “You are my beautiful daughter Viola, we’ll make something of you yet.” Viola hoped quietly to herself that the party wouldn't be too much for her to handle. She didn't want to let anyone down.

~~♬~~

Grillby stood silently in the kitchen, delicately drying the last of the crockery from the days work. His eyes narrowed wearily as he noticed a crack along the edge of the plate he held, but there was little to be done. Since they had entered the surface world, there had been a lot of compromises, but monsters were adaptable. He would manage. There was the faintest of noise from outside, and his eyes lifted to focus on the doorway. The whole bar was darkened, the lights all turned out apart from the few candles Grillby had set out on the main counter. The light he could see wavered sporadically as something moved past it, and then he recognised a familiar sigh, quiet and troubled, but unintrusive. He turned back to the task at hand, the sliding of cloth against damp glaze producing a squeak. This was how they operated, in a way only old friends can; if he wanted to talk, he would wait as long as Grillby needed him to. 

Placing the last glass into the respective cupboard, the fire spirit made his way slowly out of the back room, taking all light with him. The small figure sitting at the bar was the only sign of life, and he fit so perfectly that he almost wasn't there at all; the usual seat too, the end of the bar, before it right-angled off. Wringing out a damp cloth between his fingers, Grillby set about wiping down the countertop, the silence being a comfortable part of the night, a welcome friend to him. Sans didn't look up as he passed, arms folded across the table in a slouch, a single boney finger tapping against the wood. Now that made a change, it had been a while since Grillby had seen Sans with such body language, and it concerned him greatly. Reaching under the counter, he brought out a single bottle of ketchup and placed it gently beside him. He began wiping the surface, the wet gleam shining as he moved, following the glow from his hands and imitating its delicate dance and flow. Each motion was precise, a clear indication of his experience, and his care. 

“Glass today huh, what's the special occasion?” Sans tried to sound humoured, but it was false today, even more so than usual.
“You tell me,” Grillby replied, his voice a quiet unwavering hum, perfectly meditated and calm. He never had been the one to speak first.
“Oh you know…the usual.” They lapsed into silence once again. Grillby had never questioned Sans’ method of conversation, although he understood it very well. He had never been inclined to share stories about himself, no matter how severe they were, but even he had a breaking point. Grillby was that point, when his burdens became too heavy Sans would talk, but it took him a while to ever put how he felt into words. In truth Grillby had no way of knowing how many times Sans had confided in him, for he did not remember half of them, the resets setting them back every time, but the sentiment remained. That was the thing about Grillby, he wasn't a talker, but it was very clear that he cared; no matter what he did, he did it with grace, and a kind of delicacy used only with the fondest of intentions. 

“I'm tired Grillb’,” Sans began. “The headaches have been worse lately.”
“That isn’t unusual,” Grillby prodded, his voice gentle. He wasn't indulgent on him, simply patient beyond measure. Sans unscrewed the cap on the ketchup and took a swig, his fingers clinking against the glass. “I’ve seen a ghost,” he continued after a pause, his voice barely a whisper.
“In metaphor or truth?” Grillby manoeuvred around the counter where Sans sat, leaving a patch of dryness.
“Both.” he replied, eyes dulled, hands clasped over his skull as he stared down at the table.
“With what you've been doing, that doesn’t surprise me.” Grillby had turned away now, ducking to check on the beer pumps. Sans’ pupils quivered slightly as he watched. “You know why I had to kill them.” There was a hard edge to his voice now. 
“Yes. But you had no proof of their fault.” Grillby lifted a hand to correct his glasses. “Not everyone is as trusting as I. It was messy, you could have handled it better.” Sans nodded slowly. Grillby finished cleaning and settled on the stool beside him, leaning his chin on a hand. To a bystander, the two of them would have looked comical, the elegance and posture of Grillby a perfect contrast to his slope-shouldered friend. 

Sans took another sip of his ‘drink’, staring at it as the ketchup slid down the sides. “It’s difficult to know what to do. Especially now.” Grillby nodded gently. He had been told of the resets now, as it was all over. After considering it he noticed he’d always been aware, albeit vaguely, a déjà vu of sorts; he was the only one Sans could possibly tell. “Nothing is set in stone.” There was an air of relief to Grillby’s statement, and the touch of a smile creased Sans’ eyes as he nodded in agreement. It was a tiny weight they both shared, and something for which Sans would be endlessly grateful; that finally, the fear of repeat was no longer pressing on his skull. “A good kid, our Frisk.” It didn't need to be said, but it felt good to acknowledge. The relationship between Frisk and Sans was hard to describe, and Grillby would never truly understand it. “Indeed. We are all equally grateful,” he replied.
“At least they're with us now,” Sans said, letting out a sigh. It could be much worse. Grillby tilted his head questioningly, but didn't prod further, instead turning his head towards the rest of the shadowed bar. “So, this person you found, what are you planning to do about them?” 
“I don't know.” Grillby stared for a moment, causing Sans to break from his gaze. “Sh-she’s difficult to deal with okay? I'm not just, being lazy…”
“A human.” 
“Yes.” The silence fell once again, a mantle that settled comfortably over them. Grillby spoke softly.
“I don't mind.”
“You know what the others would say. It was gonna be a hard won fight from the start but, who expected we would end up like this.” He pushed the ketchup bottle around on the tabletop. “They hate humans.”
“And you don't?” Grillby asked. The bottle stopped moving, the nervous energy shifting to Sans’ fingers where they wrapped together.
“Couldn't say,” he mumbled.
“The girl wouldn't be a problem if you did,” Grillby continued. For a moment Sans became frustrated, almost angry.
“I don't hate Vi-, the girl!  I just don't know what to do about her.” His pupils flickered. “I don't want anyone involved.”
“Then just keep an eye on her, she needn’t get involved at all.” Grillby leaned forward. “Whatever you do, don't leave it. Your passiveness is a bad quality.” Sans nodded.
“Maybe…” He glanced at Grillby for a moment, before noiselessly adding: “You'd get along with her.” 
“She must be strong willed to have kept your attention.” 
“Yeah…” Sans whispered, and Grillby caught a slight melancholy as the sound drifted away, though he could not understand what it truly meant. 

“It’s late.” He got to his feet and blew out the candles, leaving just the one lit.
“Go on buddy, I won’t keep ya,” Sans responded, returning to his half finished bottle. Grillby paused for a moment.
“Do try to sleep Sans. You have the party infiltration tomorrow.” He responded only with his one syllable laugh, and Grillby moved off to the back of the room. He knew it was unlikely that Sans would sleep for a long time yet, but it was worth a try. After all, Grillby was one of the only people Sans would allow to worry about him, the rest, well, they didn't even know what pain he had learned to hide.

Chapter Text

Led by her mother, her arm hooked in hers, Viola fitted the ornate eye mask over her nose; it was a delicate thing made with silver strands of metal, curving waves of filigree spilled over her cheeks and tucked up around the corners of her eyes, a rich blue jewel cresting her forehead. She had also pulled a pair of long silk white gloves over her arms, a must for any formal occasion.

The party was a grand affair, as much effort made as anything her society did. She was yet to know just why such lengths had been taken however. The Duke and his Duchess, the grand hosts, stood waiting to greet them at the door, the light streaming from inside as it lit up the walkway. “My dear lady Countess, we are honoured to make your acquaintance,” the Duke began, and Lilliane proceeded to make the sugariest of exchanges possible. Much like other pleasantries Viola witnessed, there was enough sweetness present to kill a cat, and she dreaded to think of the day when she would have to join in. But as it was, she simply stooped into a curtesy, and kept her mouth shut. As she was led into the main ballroom, she took a moment to take in her surroundings. The ceiling was high and dipped in the centre, many stone beams supporting the main bulk, with a colossal glass chandelier in pride of place, far too blinding to look at. Long tables covered in draping white cloth lined the three walls, stacked high with a buffet of exotic meals, strings of white and gold lights hanging at intervals above; and most of all, the ballroom floor, practically a mirror, ladies and gentlemen drifting across it like a gaggle of strange water birds. The orchestra was nestled in one of the back corners on a raised platform, playing a selection of jazz, the atmosphere light and breezy, and terribly refined. 

Viola stood on a knife-edge. As she took in the people surrounding her, being sure not to let her gaze linger too long, she noticed just how many were above her station. Her family were comfortably high in status*, her father being an Earl, charged with representing the sovereignty in the surrounding country towns. But these people held the crest of Marquess, and many more were Dukes, practically royalty themselves. It wouldn't surprise her to know there were distant cousins of royalty here, some even knowing their rulers personally. How could she possibly match up to this? Lilliane patted her hand as she felt her grip tense. “Take it in stride my girl. You belong here too,” she murmured. 
“How do you handle this kind of pressure?” Viola whispered back. 
“Years of experience. Just do as you've always done.” Ferrying her across the room, Lilliane settled Viola into the first available chair, out of the crowds, and gestured across the way. “Now that over there is Ernest, son of Duke Reymond, an esteemed figure. I shan't force you to choose anyone in particular, yet I suggest you allow a few dances?”
“M-mother, I don't wish to be an upstart*,” Viola muttered. 
“Of course not, but not all courtship has boundaries. Your father is in sport with the good Duke, it's an acceptable match.” Lilliane was off before Viola could react, and she took a breath to steady herself. At least dancing she was comfortable with, her instructor had always said how well-postured she could be. She took another look around the room, allowing her eyes to fall upon the well-groomed ladies of the masquerade; most dresses she saw were richly coloured in gold, blue or green, tight-fitting bodices and corsets in mostly black. Her outfit was unlike them, although fitting, far less traditional and pale in colour. Although not the youngest guest in attendance, she couldn't have been more than the third, and she knew no one. Of all the parties she had attended before, most of them were with friends, and less titles were thrown around. She couldn't be blamed for being out of her depth.

Lilliane soon returned, towing a young man along behind her. His suit was of fine quality, and he had one of those mirthful faces that looked easily damaged. “This is the Duke’s son my dear,” she announced, nodding to her with encouragement.
“Ernest Howard, my lady.” He bowed to her as she rose, and she curtseyed in return, silently cursing herself as she wobbled slightly on her feet.
“I am charmed to meet you, Viola Thompson, daughter of Earl Robert.” She was greeted by a slightly bashful smile, and an open hand.
“Would you honour me with your hand for a quadrille*?”
“Of course my lord, it would be my pleasure.” She tried to shake off the nervousness gnawing at her chest, and grasped the hand as it led her away into the throng. Quadrilles were something she was good at, and although the sway of the music was not exactly to her liking, she managed perfectly well, allowing herself to be caught up by the energy and motion. “Your skill in dance is beyond that of many my lady, I applaud you.” 
“And I would return it my lord.” Viola nodded along with the gushing statements, and settled back into her seat, now quite drained. “Would it trouble you if I requested a drink?” she asked.
“Of course not, I shall return shortly.” A sigh escaped her as Ernest left her side, and although she couldn’t afford to slouch in her chair, she propped up her chin on a hand, and fumbled in her bag for her fan. Left hand I should think. The white cloth fluttered her hair a little, a clear indication to anyone nearby that she did not want company*, at least for the moment. 

Looking on through the crowd, Viola caught sight of a small figure, wearing a long white dress with black lace. The mask covering her face was black and white, slit down the middle where the colours divided; the strangely dark eyes that peered through were familiar, and as she locked with them, the woman gave her a big wink. What in heaven’s name was Muffet doing here? Viola considered getting up to approach her, but she had no escort, and a lady alone on the ball floor was frowned upon. Not only that, but as she watched, Muffet was approached by a tall and extremely refined gentleman, who offered his hand. Unable to resist gawking, she saw Muffet turn and give her a little wave, before flouncing off. Was that the grand Duke Richard? Surely not… The grand Duke was the main landowner for Ebott, and in charge of building and selling up; arguably one of the richest and powerful men in the country. She had little time to recover from her surprise, as Lilliane came bustling up to her, her cheeks giving off a pink radiance. 

“Viola!” She hissed in her ear. “Queen Catherine asked for you.” For a moment Viola wondered if she had swallowed her tongue entirely, but then the words decided to reform. “The queen is here…?” She felt distant, like she was only half there. “Why?”
“Straighten up girl!” Lilliane hurriedly helped her to her feet and brushed down her skirts, just as an escort approached them.
“My lady Viola Thompson?” he asked cooly. Lilliane’s eyes were deadly.
“Yes, I am she,” she responded, swallowing her fear in an effort not to stutter.
“Her Majesty Queen Catherine has requested your presence, if you would please follow me.”
“Of course.” To her surprise, Viola felt numb. Anxiety was rocketing around her chest, but her skin felt cold, and she brushed her hair back behind her ear to tidy it away. Keeping her eyes focussed on the floor, she made her way to the back of the room, and ducked low before the woman ensconced there. “Viola Thompson, daughter of Earl Robert Thompson, your majesty.” She hadn’t even caught sight of Catherine yet. “You may rise.” The voice that met her ears was calm and controlled, smooth as silver. Lifting herself up, Viola took a short look, before casting down her eyes politely. Catherine was a tall woman with long silky hair tied into a plait over her right shoulder, the colour of coals; her eyes were surprisingly small and squinted, an empty swathe of brown without feeling within. The dress touched the ground, a long train spreading out across the floor; it was primarily white, the bodice and inside skirt dyed red. She looked upon Viola with a reserved interest, although her eyes seemed now to hold something darker, the edge of her pale face sharp and without warmth. “I make a point of ensuring I meet all young ladies at social gatherings. I do hope I didn’t surprise you.” Her voice held no mirth either, simply logical inflection.
“Not at all your majesty,” Viola replied, trying to match her tone. Taking a quick glance over her shoulder, she noticed her mother’s eyes, determination radiating off her. “I know of your father, my husband Samuel has had many dealings with him,” Catherine commented, lifting a hand to adjust her hair, “he is an asset.”
“I thank you your majesty, it is an honour to hear you say so.” She glanced up, but Catherine didn’t meet her eye, unsurprisingly. A question surfaced in her mind, and she wondered if it was at all acceptable to ask. Maybe not, but can I really be frowned on for a simple question? “May I inquire something?” This time Catherine did look at her, although she made sure not to hold her gaze.
“You may.” Was that a hint of curiosity?
“It was brought to my attention that the royal family are made up of magicians. Is that true?” Catherine remained silent for a moment, before a slight smile creased her face. “You are an astute young lady, indeed, your assumption is correct.”
“Thank you.” Viola breathed out, unaware she’d held it.
“However.” This time her tone held an icy quality. “I will tell you not to speak of it.” The atmosphere grew heavy, and Viola nodded quickly. 
“Of course your majesty.” She glanced around, trying to spot her mother through the crowd. “Well, thank you for asking of me, you honour me. I shan’t keep you.” Curtseying again, Viola slowly made her way off to the side of the room, leaning against the wall as she fanned her face again, hoping she didn’t look too flustered. 

Someone was watching her, she realised. Not watching, they were staring. Glancing up, she met eyes with a skeleton, or rather, the mask of one. For a moment she simply watched him, pensive, before he began walking towards her. The suit he wore didn't stand out, the only intriguing detail was that it was entirely black, the whole of his head concealed by a black cloth wrapped around the front and tucked into his collar. The mask was white and blue, curling lines marking the forehead, and wrapping around the large gaping eye sockets; the jaw was bulky and set much wider than a normal person’s, a crooked grimace of blank teeth. In a moment the man stood before her, apparently oblivious to the signalling of the fan in her left hand. The strangely dark eyes that peered out of the mask fixed her, and, looking rather uncomfortable, he held out a hand and addressed her. “Uh, would you, be willin’ to dance with me?” Viola was speechless. By performing that one, seemingly harmless gesture, this man had broken so many important social rules. He hadn't been introduced by a mutual friend, so he didn’t even have the right to speak with her, or she had no right to approach him, depending on his status; he hadn't greeted her with formal address, didn't even mention his name, and his manner of asking was extremely sloppy. As Viola glanced down at the offered hand, she noted another appalling factor: the gloves he wore were black, the opposite of what they should have been. The overwhelming absurdity of the situation prevented her from even responding, her mouth slightly open with the effort. “Good.” Without awaiting a response, the stranger took hold of her wrist and pulled her away from the wall, out into the mass of couples preparing for the next dance. Viola found herself incapable of anything but compliance, and the only thing she managed to make sense of was that the next dance was a waltz, one of the simplest dances in the world for her to follow. Thank goodness I won’t make a fool of myself.  

She reached out a hand and placed it on the gentleman’s shoulder, and to her surprise he visibly flinched for a moment, like he expected her to hurt him. Straightening himself up, he seemed to set his jaw in rigid determination, and touched his hand to her waist, so gently she could hardly feel it at all. If she didn’t know better, Viola would have said he was scared, and of what she couldn't fathom. As they moved off, she noticed she could see almost right over his head, and was struck with a suddenly contagious grin; in that moment she realised exactly what was going on. She looked down into his eyes as she smiled, and the look he returned was one of great regret and apology. “Sans,” she muttered.
“…Yeah?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“I hope you know I have many questions.”
“I know.” She couldn’t help but chuckle at his blunt honesty, and the silliness of the whole affair.
“If I didn’t know better I would think you didn’t know anything about our society at all.” His eyes dropped.
“Maybe that’d be best.” He looked uncomfortable. “I'm uh, a little rusty. Not particularly well-taught I guess.” She tutted in mock disapproval, much like her mother would. “We can't have that. I'll have to teach you.” 
“Heh.” He didn't sound like he believed her. The song being played was The Gentle Waltz by Oscar Peterson, a very delicate piano piece with slow rhythm, and Viola smiled as the pleasing tones washed over her. She had a strange connection to piano music, the effect of hearing it never failed to give her shivers. “I should learn to play this,” she commented idly.
“You play?” Sans sounded surprised.
“Of course I do. I love the piano.”
“Huh.” He simply nodded. 
“You aren’t good at small talk are you? If I may say so.” She sighed. “What are you even doing here?”
“Can’t tell you that.”
“Of course you can’t.” He seemed to pick up on the exasperated tone in her voice, and glanced up morosely. “Sorry for, dragging you into this.” As normal, she immediately regretted her words. “Forgive me, it’s not my place to ask your business,” she replied quietly.
“No it’s…okay,” Sans whispered. “I never wanted humans involved, especially ones like you.”
“What if-what if I said I wanted to be involved?” she asked.
“You can’t,” he replied, stoic this time. 
“…You aren’t being fair.” She kept her voice soft, not wanting to offend him. “If you didn’t want me to know then why didn’t you stop me sooner?” He was quiet for a moment.
“I tried to.”
“You could have tried harder.” Viola couldn’t help but bite back.
“I know,” he growled. She was right, and her comment stirred up unpleasant memories, of the times he took action, when it was too late to save anyone. His eyes were on her, and she shivered under the burning gaze, fearful once again. Quickly Sans caught himself and looked away, she didn’t deserve his anger, not when she was so ignorant of everything. “Sorry-“ they both began, before a smile lit up Viola’s face. Now they were both repeating themselves, and Sans matched her smile with a fake one of his own, though she had no way of seeing it. Viola shook her head. “I won’t ask anything more unless I have to.”
“Okay.”
“But! You have to promise you won’t drag me into unexplained situations either.” Sans chuckled.
“You have my word, though I, I don’t make promises.” Viola huffed to herself. “Well, that'll have to do then won’t it.”

Chapter Text

Sans became distracted by the end of the waltz, and although he left quickly, at least he didn’t abandon Viola right away. “I’ve got some things to do,” he said, gazing off into the crowd, as though looking for someone.
“Wait a moment. Why did you want to dance with me anyway?” Viola asked. They weren’t friends quite yet, so it wasn’t as though he had any real reason to. “I needed to keep an eye on someone.”
“So you used me.” Viola smiled sourly, but she didn’t really mind.
“I…uh.” He looked suddenly flustered, and she realised he didn’t seem the type to lie; after all, he had never failed to tell her when there was something she couldn’t know. Out the corner of her eye, she noticed her mother making a beeline towards them, and her stomach did a flip-flop. She waved Sans off hurriedly. “I don’t mind Sans, just, do what you have to.” He still looked unsure. “Do enjoy the rest of the party,” she added with a smile. He seemed bitter as he responded: “Yeah, you too.” And promptly moved off into the throng. 

Lilliane looked less than pleased as she reached Viola’s side, her eyes flitting around the room for any sign of Sans, but he was long gone. She turned to face her, arms folded and face expectant. Viola wetted her lips, her mind racing to come up with excuses. “May I be so bold as to ask, who was that?” She was using her no-nonsense voice again.
“No one mother,” Viola answered hastily, “no one at all.”
“And I suppose that nobody you danced with was a figment of my imagination yes?” Viola looked down in shame.
“He’s just, someone I’m acquainted with.”
“Then why don’t I know him Viola?” Her voice was quiet but angered. Viola realised she was becoming slightly heated herself, why should she be blamed for spending time with someone? She wasn’t doing any harm. “One of my friends introduced him to me mother! I shouldn’t need your permission for everyone I speak to,” she hissed; technically, she wasn’t lying either, he was partnered with Muffet after all. Lilliane frowned at her response, but laid off, neither of them liked arguing. “Very well. You must understand that it is my duty to be attentive of all men you acquaint with.” She adjusted a lock of her perfectly curled hair as she spoke, gently this time, “especially one that can make my only daughter smile in such a way.”
“Pardon?” Viola was taken aback by that. Yes, Sans did make her smile, but only because of his absurd actions. If her mother was suggesting what she thought, the situation was entirely misunderstood. “You understand me girl, with options as few as yours, opportunities can’t be missed.”
“Mother, no, that’s not okay. He’s not-“
“In any case I must meet him. What’s his name?” Lilliane cut her off, clearly weighing up her own opinion without her input.
“Sans,” Viola replied, with a tone of irritation.
“I can’t say I’ve heard such a name, how unusual. His family name?”
“I don’t know it.” Lilliane tutted.
“Well that isn’t very polite.”
“He has his reasons,” Viola grumbled. There’s no way I’m telling her Sans is a magician, his family name is probably royal. Although he never acted like royalty, now that she thought about it; Queen Catherine had told her magicians are all royalty, or was it that all royalty are magicians? Could there be magicians outside of the royal family? There must be, Sans wouldn’t allow her to speak the way she did otherwise. “Alright my girl, go on and find him, it’s high time we had a formal introduction,” Lilliane said busily. 
“You mean, right now?” 
“Yes! Go on now.” Before she could protest, Viola was practically shooed off by her mother into the mass of party-goers. She shook her head in exhaustion, once Lilliane decided something, that was that. She would have to explain to Sans what was going on, and teach him how to give a formal introduction if he didn't know. This was hopeless, a completely unnecessary endeavour. For goodness sake.

There was no sign of Sans in the ballroom, so Viola took the opportunity to step out into the main hall. There were a few people out there, most of them standing beside the open door or just outside, causally smoking. Stepping out onto the darkened lawn, Viola cast around. He wasn't there either. She heard a quietened giggle from around the wall, which she recognised as Muffet, and peered around it expectantly. There she was, leaning flirtatiously against the building, beside the grand duke. They were standing almost inappropriately close together, like a couple of school children sharing petty secrets, and Viola’s eyebrows raised. “Ahem,” she began, causing Muffet to turn in her direction, mask still firmly in place, thank goodness. “Yes my sweet?” she asked, as nonchalant as anything. The Duke Richard looked at her sheepishly.
“Have you seen Sans?”
“I’m afraid not honey, have you tried the lounge room? We were there not too long ago.” Viola nodded, but couldn't help adding:
“Is Sans aware of what you're doing?” She frowned, for she couldn’t help but be appalled by Muffet’s adulterous behaviour. She, however, waved a hand dismissively. “Sans needn’t know anything dearie. Now go on.” She turned away and muttered something to the Duke, who laughed nervously. Viola clicked her tongue, she had underestimated Muffet. What kind of family did she come from to have such little regard for social normality? She couldn’t understand it. However, brushing off the thought, she headed back inside, it wouldn’t do to keep her mother waiting.

Carefully and quietly, Viola pushed open the heavy wooden door to the lounge room and peered through. There didn’t appear to be anyone inside. The room was enclosed, the curtains drawn, and the collection of sofas and chairs in soft warm colours gave it a cosy atmosphere. She could hear almost nothing of the ball outside, and after a moment a cloyingly metallic smell invaded her senses. It wasn’t a smell she’d ever known, and felt very out of place. Cautiously, she stepped further into the room, and moved around the end of the sofa nearest the door, allowing her a clear view of the floor.

There, dumped on the ground like a forgotten doll, was a man; his suit was finely tailored in gold and white patterns, the intricate vines and flowers tinted a deep red by the blood that pooled around the body and soaked into the woollen carpet. For a few moments she simply stared at the sight before her, perhaps intrigued, for this was something she had never witnessed. The air was sucked heavily into her lungs as she reeled in shock, before rushing forward. She skidded onto the carpet and kneeled beside the man, desperately pulling at his shoulders to bring him up from where he lay, face down on the floor. The act caused blood to ooze afresh, and she flinched as she saw the wound, a gaping hole about two inches across, straight through the chest. Although terribly disturbed by the stench and viscera, Viola didn’t hesitate, dragging the man as best she could onto his back, and holding her hands over the damage. By this point her dress was ruined, the pressure her knees made on the carpet released the thick fluids already absorbed, which instantly stained the pale fabric right the way across. Her gloves were doing a fine job of mopping up the blood right to the elbow, and she was too dazed to notice. All she could hear was the swell of breathing in her ears, and the pulse in her temples. For a few moments she had the desperate urge to scream, but it was forced away by the direness of the situation. She needed to try and save him first, then she could indulge in the horrors of it all. Although the body was still warm, the blood smooth and uncongealed, the telltale signs of life were long gone. “No no, no come on.” She kept feeling around his wrist for a pulse, but of course his heart was bust now, there was nothing left. Viola began to shake a little as the adrenaline left her, and now she could feel the blood on her hands; slick and cold, the smell tingling a gag reflex in the back of her throat. It was stuck to her skin and wouldn’t come off. She stared down at the crimson gloves, unable to breathe.

Then someone put a hand on her shoulder, yanking her back to her senses. She turned her head to look into the black pits of Sans’ eyes, and relief crashed over her. “Wh-what are you doing?!” He stumbled over his words in the effort to get them out, his voice strained with alarm. “Helping…” she whispered. Without another word, Sans took both her hands and helped her up off the floor. There was a wild blue-yellow flicker of light, a sudden jolt, and for a moment Viola believed her body had left her behind. The cold night air hit her face, and she gasped as she stumbled over the hard pavement beneath her. Sans hovered a hand next to her shoulder as she re-righted herself, but withdrew when she didn’t fall. She stared at him wordlessly, too many thoughts fighting for space for her to speak. Sans looked back with great concern at her lost expression. He frowned in a conflicted manner, and hesitantly offered a hand. “C’mon kid.” Viola shook her head slightly. Of all the irrational thoughts to surface, the first one was that she didn’t want to bloody his hand with hers; but he ignored her refusal, taking her hand from her side, and turning down the nearest street. All she could do was follow blindly.

The two came upon a sewer duct alongside the end wall of the high quarter. It sat off the road, dipping below the level of the street in a semicircle, the pavement becoming the roof of the circular tunnel beyond a large metal gate, from which water trickled. Sans stepped down into the shadow of the structure and gestured to the lip of the tunnel, where a small ledge jutted out. Viola slumped down against it, her back to the cold bars, shaking uncontrollably. Though she felt no fear, and now the air had cleared her head enough to gather her thoughts into order. “Why did you do that?” Sans asked, his voice the gentlest she had ever heard it. He chuckled bitterly. “If you’d called for help no one would’ve suspected you…”
“That wouldn’t have helped him,” Viola replied, her voice steely and calm. Then she realised it didn’t matter, the man was dead. She started to cry, sympathy welling up in her chest as she thought of what his family would think. Sans looked uncomfortable. “Why are you crying…?”
“He’s dead. And I couldn’t do anything.” She went to put her hands to her face, before realising they were covered in blood; she hastily pulled off the gloves, anger taking over. “I bet he had family,” she murmured bitterly. 
“…Oh,” Sans replied, and he turned away from her, his feet shifting a little. A thought crept up into Viola’s mind, an ugly thought that wormed deep and refused to go away. She stared at Sans’ profile, and decided to press the matter. “Where were you? Why did you take me away?”
“They would’ve thought you were the culprit.”
“And how do you know I wasn't?” she demanded. The look Sans gave her was unreadable behind the mask, but she could tell it was one of guilt, and hurt. She looked down. “I take that back…” she muttered. She already knew the answer: he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t do such a thing. “Why were you at the party…?” she asked again, more a question to the air than to Sans. A silence fell, and Viola shuddered, the thin and now wet dress doing nothing to keep out the cold. “Why did you save me the first time?” This question had been nagging Viola for a long time, and although the moment was by no means appropriate, her exhaustion was forcing her mind to put all problems to rest. Sans gave her a bemused look behind the mask, and she felt sorry for asking; he responded anyway. “I only planned on stopping those vultures after you ran into me.” Viola creased her eyebrows at that, she did remember running into someone. He let out a humourless laugh. “Heh, but when you asked me to help you…” He shifted his shoulders, as though embarrassed. “You reminded me of someone, I can’t see anymore.”
“Did they, are they deceased?” she asked.
“No, uh, they were taken away. No idea where they are now.” The way he spoke made it easily apparent, this person was very dear to Sans, and she nodded, feeling honoured to be associated. “I understand.” Sans straightened up and changed the subject, his speech becoming more authoritative. “I can’t teleport you home cuz I’ve never been inside, only seen it once too.” He rubbed his brow thoughtfully. “I’m gonna have to go find you something to cover yourself with and walk you home.” He nodded to himself. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” This time Viola noted that the light came from Sans’ eye, and in a moment his entire body dropped into the pavement, the background wavering in and out as he vanished. 

She sighed to herself. Although she had no proof Sans murdered that man, a part of her couldn’t help but doubt him; his timing was just too convenient. She also fretted about what her mother would think. What could she possibly tell her? They had probably discovered the body by now, and the police would have been called; and in the commotion, Lilliane would have no idea where her daughter was. The only comfort was that Muffet had been there, maybe she could sort something out. Sitting there under the stars, Viola came to a decision. This entire affair had gotten serious, and Sans had been at the centre every time, she couldn't afford not to care anymore. She needed answers, and although she could sense a great danger lurking behind it all, that wasn’t going to stop her. If more people are going to die, I’ll have to get braver.

Sans returned, having changed into his typical waistcoat and hat, the cloth mask was at least less eye-catching than the skull one. He brought with him a cloak, and Viola tucked herself up in it, pulling the large hood down over her face. “C’mon then,” Sans said, leading her once again back to her familiar neighbourhood, although this time the trip was much shorter. As they reached the estate, Sans awkwardly asked, “Seein’ as this happened, would you mind if I took a look inside the house. Just in case we need to get back here.”
“Ordinarily no, but you’re right. Come along then.” Viola was feeling more like herself now, and left Sans to observe the hallway as she went upstairs to change. “I can dispose of that if you want,” Sans commented as she carried the bloody dress down towards him.
“If you say so,” she nodded. She watched intently as Sans formed a doorway in the wall and threw the dress into it. All she could see beyond the wavering entry was blackness, and the occasional flicker of light. “You never told me you could do that,” she said. Sans grinned.
“You’re the one who called me a magician.”
“But no one knows what they can do. You’re a mystery.” He shrugged.
“You’re right there.” He paused for a moment. “Hey, they aren’t all great, I had a magician friend once who got himself fired.”
“Why?” Sans grinned to himself as Viola took the bait.
“He didn’t realise after he made the children disappear, he had to make ‘em reappear.” Viola smiled and shook her head.
“That isn't true is it?”
“No,” he looked sheepish, “worth a try though.” That was something she had noticed about Sans, his tendency to tell terrible jokes. The last time had been in Muffet’s company, but he had never joked with Viola directly. She wondered if that meant he was comfortable with her presence.

The humour left him quickly, and he turned towards the door. “Well, I should go.”
“Of course. Have a good evening Sans.” Viola stood at the doorstep as she watched him walk away.
“Look after yourself, kid.” She wanted to say that she would, but with what she had planned, she guessed the sentiment wouldn’t remain, as much as she wished it to.

Chapter Text

A single chink of sunlight warmed the girl’s body where she lay, the burning spot on her leg rousing her to wake. For a moment she could barely move at all, the wasting supply of energy hardly holding her together, but she slowly shifted into a sitting position. Maybe I should just die. She thought to herself, her eyes hardly registering as she stared at the ground. There was a tiny lurch in her stomach, then a splitting pain that caused her to curl in on herself and flop back onto the ground. She let out a tiny noise, a kind of frustrated whine, like a dog makes, as she quietly lamented what her life had led up to. What a waste. She could think what she liked, but in her heart she still knew the terrible nature of the decision, that she was scared of drifting off into the dark without anyone to remember her.

Suddenly she became aware of someone standing over her, a shadow that blocked out the sun in her vision. She closed her eyes in defeat, stupidly clinging to the tiny hope that it was a bad dream, that this person could wake her from it. “Why are you doing this to yourself…” they muttered, despair and sadness mixed into one, wavering at a soft G flat. It was the skeleton. He crouched before her and ever so gently put a hand behind her head, lifting her from the dirty floor. A metal cup shifted under her nose, and she caught the rich scent of tomatoes, strikingly warm steam rising into her face. It was soup, she realised, and squeezing her eyes shut, she clenched her teeth. The skeleton tutted at her weak defiance, and roughly squeezed her jaw, forcing her mouth open. The sting of pain made the girl’s eyes snap back, and she turned to glare at him, but the look in his eyes gave her pause. She couldn't begin to understand why, but he seemed so pleading and genuine that she couldn't find it in herself to refuse; it wasn't like she had a choice anyway, and she took a small hesitant sip. The warmth felt like hot coals as it trickled down her throat, unbearably burning at her chest for a few moments, before it receded to a gentle simmer. She coughed, the energy shocking her system awake, and her eyes flickered fully open. Finding the strength in her hands again, she took the cup and finished off the contents, shivering slightly. The skeleton took it from her and got up, quickly retracting. He stood watching her, and the girl frowned, did he think she was going to hurt him? Why should he even care? She desperately wanted to ask, but as usual she would not speak, not for anyone.

“Please…look after yourself.” He glanced back down the street, and rubbed his brow. “I'll be back, later, got someone you need to meet.” Oh please don't. She silently begged to herself; but of course there was no stopping a monster, not if she didn't want to disappear suddenly one day, and all she did was let out a sigh. She watched intently as the skeleton walked off into the sunlight.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Muffet did step in to cover for Viola’s disappearance. Miraculously, a story had been spun about someone getting wine on her dress, she had also felt rather faint, and was escorted home early. As Muffet had a certain way with words, it didn't take much for everyone to be wrapped in her web, even Lilliane. Viola awaited her return, and watched with bemused humour as her mother fussed over her and apologised for not being there to help. And as luck would have it, Sans was not brought up again until a week later. As far as anyone was aware, the culprit to the murder had not been found, due to complications arising from the nature of the murder weapon, and as much as Viola doubted Sans after the fact, she hoped the event wouldn’t be mentioned again.

Viola stood alone in her father’s study, skimming the many great bookshelves. It had been years since she’d ventured into that room, the last time when she was very young, when her mother used to read to her. She glanced at the reading corner, and was surprised to see it looked exactly as she remembered, the large lounge chair next to the small colourful wooden one that she would sit in, attentive and wide-eyed. A small impressionable girl so filled with hopes, to be a fighter that banished evil from the land, to destroy all creatures that threatened her people. There was one in particular that told of the ancient story of monsters and humans, of a great battle, and triumph over the vile creatures; it wasn’t accurate of course, history was severely blurred now, and the story had all but turned into a fable. How ironic. Viola couldn't help but feel ashamed of her younger self, how black and white she saw the world. But that's how all children are. No, what she sought now was fact. 

Picking along the shelves, Viola pulled out two books. One was titled: ‘On the History of Royal Magicians’, a book only given to those who serve the royal family. The other was titled: ‘The Mythos of Monsters’, not the most factually accurate book, but nevertheless a source of information. Taking up these two, Viola settled herself behind her father’s desk, careful not to shuffle any of the papers laid upon it. She gazed up at the room for a moment, taking in the unfamiliar scent of dust and fresh ink. The curtains were partially closed, and the light streaming through cast dark shadows upon the walls, the rows of bookshelves giving them an enclosed feel, and making the room seem smaller than it was. The windows hadn’t been opened for a long time, the servants didn’t dare enter the private study without Robert’s leave. There was a certain melancholy to it, an emptiness of warmth, even though it was nearly always occupied. It struck Viola as odd that the room her father spent most of his time in was so cold; a space like this would drive her insane, so dark and silent. She looked down at the desk and noticed a tiny photo frame perched on the edge, close to falling in a tidal wave of paper. She picked it up and stared into the faded image of a young girl, no more than eight, with a close-lipped smile. She had been a willowy child, never healthy and plump like kids should be; maybe that was why her mother worried about her so much. When was the last time she had had a proper conversation with her father? He had never truly been there, like a ghost, talked about but never seen. He just wasn’t a part of her life, and that never bothered her; she had always simply told herself he was doing what he had to.

Viola opened up the book on magicians and flipped through. It must’ve been updated yearly, she easily found a picture of Catherine and her husband King Samuel. Standing at their feet was a small girl with thick brown hair, wearing a beautiful white dress. Reading the passage over the page, Viola identified her as ‘Florence’, the only daughter of the king. She stared numbly out of the picture, her eyes dull and uninterested. Viola thought it strange that a child could look so lifeless, even if they did belong to royalty. The caption also read that Florence had been missing for a year, and any information on her whereabouts was of top priority. Poor Catherine. Viola couldn’t help but think. She could only imagine how terrible it is to have a lost child, always wondering if they’re still alive. Although she leafed through the majority of the book, there was no sign of Sans; no mention of his name, his work, nor any person of his stature. It was a disappointment, but Viola decided not to dwell on it. She closed the book and proceeded to check over the other one. She didn't glean much information there, only speculation, although it was fascinating. One thing that caught her attention was the monsters’ very real ability to take human souls, she couldn't help but feel threatened; was that what Muffet would have done to her? The other odd fact she discovered was that monsters do not bleed, but dust. Dust? Like ashes? She ignored the part of her brain that wished to see how that looked, and continued reading. 

It was while she did this that she was interrupted, and she jumped up from her seat in alarm as the door opened. There was only one person it could be. “S-sir! I'm sorry!” she blurted, clutching the books defensively to her chest. Robert was a board-shouldered man, his straight mousy hair and height echoing in Viola’s appearance. His eyes were alien in her genes though, piercing icy blue, deep lines scarring his face with overwork. He fixed her with reserved surprise, and slowly made his way into the room, watching her with an awkward air. Viola stumbled to excuses, but brute honestly pushed its way through. “I was only researching something sir, I shouldn't have stayed at long as I did. Please forgive me.” She dipped her head hastily, and Robert came to stand before her with a hesitant air. He took the books from her and inspected the covers, his eyebrows raising. “You were…researching the royal family?” he asked, voice quiet, like he was fearful of speaking. It had been so long the two were akin to strangers, unsure of what to say, or the right way to even say it. “Yes sir…” Viola replied, wincing. It wasn't frowned upon for women to read and be educated, to an extent it was encouraged; but Viola knew as well as anyone that curiosity was not a good trait to have, especially in her position. She held her breath as she awaited the verdict. Robert looked at her in confusion for a moment. “You, enjoy reading these books?” 
“Uh, yes sir, I mean…if they can help me.” She edged her eyes upwards, and saw Robert now held a delicate smile.
“That's very forthright of you…daughter.” 
“Thank you sir.” Viola glanced at the open door, and took the opportunity to go. “I'll take my leave, sorry for disturbing your work.” She rested her hand on the knob, and paused as her father called out to her. “If you, if you should need to research again, you are welcome to read in here.” Viola found herself beaming as she turned to respond.
“I…thank you, sir. I'll be sure to do so.” He nodded to her with a slightly uncomfortable smile, and she carefully closed the door, grinning with glee.



After twenty minutes of coaxing, Viola convinced her mother to let her visit Muffet, her maid Clara in tow. “Good afternoon dearie. Brought me another delicious specimen today?” Muffet commented as she opened the door.
“Hello Muffet. This is my friend Clara,” Viola said, smiling knowingly. Muffet practically jumped upon Clara, touching her hair, examining her fingers, like she was appraising a piece of antique furniture. “Just perfect~” Clara gave Viola a look of pleading alarm, and she patted Muffet’s arm. “I have something to ask you.” Muffet sighed as she finally pulled away, stepping behind the counter she tapped her fingers rhythmically.
“Honestly my pet, I do so enjoy helping your little self, but I have my limitations.” Her eyes flashed eerily, and she grinned. “You owe me.” Viola gulped.  “I-I am aware. Thank you very much for what you did at the party also.” Muffet picked under the display counter and pulled out a cupcake with blue icing, pushing it in Clara’s direction. “Go on, try it.” Clara backed away from the table, causing Muffet to laugh.
“It's about Sans,” Viola continued, determined to have her say. Muffet glanced at her and tutted.
“Of course it is.” She gave a theatrical look of hurt. “I wish you’d think about me sometimes honey, have I not been a good friend to you?”
“I…wouldn’t call us friends just yet Muffet.” She put a hand to her forehead in despair.
“Oh goodness! You certainly know how to wound.” She leaned over and called out towards the baking room. “Where are the gatherers? Out here please.” There was a scuffle, and then the door edged open as eight of the strange purple spiders skittered onto the parlour floor. They proceeded to scramble onto the tabletop and stand to attention in an orderly row before their mistress. Clara watched with mystified terror at the scene, and muttered to herself, “I think I need to sit down Miss Viola, I'll be over there alright?” She then perched herself at the table closest to the window, keeping her eyes on them. 

Muffet looked over her little minions with a scrutinising eye. “You be sure to keep note of what our client says, am I clear?” Her voice was quieter than usual, less expressive, and slightly icy. The group bobbed their heads hastily, and turned to watch Viola across the counter. “Um, hello…” She offered her finger to one of them, who, to her obvious satisfaction, did indeed shake it with one of its wiry legs. Muffet cleared her throat and took on a matter-of-fact tone. “Right my dear, what do you want to know?” 
“I want to know what Sans is doing.”
“Mm, I need specifics honey, that's a broad category.” 
“I want to know about his work as a magician, what he has to do with monsters. Honestly, why he always seems to be there when something is going on.” Muffet nodded, and glanced down at the gatherers, who gave her a mix of unidentifiable gestures.
“Hmm, are you sure those are the numbers?” Another collective waving of arms. “That's true…although not hard to come by thanks to his continued support…” She grinned hungrily to herself, before turning back to Viola. “Yes. Sorry my pet, running with those answers would cost you a great deal of money, it's highly classified after all. Judging by your family situation, you don't have any money of your own.” She nodded. “Not a lot of info either from what I remember? You're quite the sheltered darling.” Viola frowned.
“You've been…researching me?” Muffet shrugged innocently.
“Of course sweetie, I have to be invested in all my customers, and that means who they are too. Nothing slips under my radar.” She gestured to the empty shop. “How else did you think I made a living? This shop hardly cuts it.” 
“I didn't realise.” Though I don't much appreciate the probing. Was it really necessary to look into my personal life? Not to mention how she managed that. Viola mused. Muffet shook her head and went on. “Anyhoo, back to business. As you’re new to this would it be acceptable for me to give you some pointers?” Viola nodded. “This information you want, hmm, I feel that you might be better off finding it out for yourself.” Viola settled herself more comfortably over the counter. “But that’s why I’ve come to you. I have...no power at all. I can’t leave home without an escort, as is normal, how would I find out anything?” Muffet leaned forward and licked her lips. 
“Well...how far are you willing to go?” Viola’s stomach dropped slightly at her deadly expression.
“That depends.” The gatherers on the tabletop bounced excitedly as they seemed to come to a conclusion. Muffet checked a couple of things over before nodding. “I can tell you exactly how to get what you want. But!” She gave Viola a truly serious look. “Don’t come crying to me if you get caught.” 

One of the spiders ran off into the back room and returned with a folded slip of paper, which they passed to Viola. “That is a one time pass out of the city, protect it with your life, very hard to come by.” Muffet clapped her hands busily. “Alright gatherers, have the directions she’ll need written up in ten minutes or you will be sorry. Do I make myself clear?” The group burbled in fear as they massed together, scribbling out a list of notes in surprisingly neat handwriting on a sheet of A4 paper. “A…a little harsh don’t you think? I can wait,” Viola began.
“No no, they've lost their touch since we left the Underground and they’d do well to remember who’s in charge.” Muffet tossed her head and gave her a bright smile. “I do wonder though my pet, are you truly prepared for what you'll find?” She reached over and gently brushed the hair off her forehead, like a mother would. “You’re a brave one, but how accepting will you be?” A thought seemed to occur to her, and she giggled. “No, rather I wonder how our little bone-boy will react. He can be so sensitive sometimes.” Viola smiled  back, because she couldn’t imagine Sans ever being so reactive, he never gave anything away. “Do enjoy yourself my sweet~ I hope you find everything you’re looking for.” 
“Thank you kindly Muffet, I really do appreciate it.” 
“Yes, and don’t you forget you owe me! I’ll have to see about what you could do to assist me.” She grinned mischievously, and Viola couldn't help but wonder, just what was coming next.

Chapter Text

Viola sat on her bed, staring out the window into the night. The curtains were open, and the latch had been loosened, allowing a slight breeze to drift through. A warm heaviness had fallen upon the dusk, and that was a small comfort, she wouldn't be cold. She looked down at the paper crumpled in her hands, and collected her thoughts to action. She got changed, pulling on a comfortable, if slightly oversized tan coat, large buttons and thick material hanging down to her thighs; a pair of shorts was the only other suitable thing she could find in the house, left by one of the staff, and Viola couldn’t help but feel childish as she gazed at herself in the mirror, the large coat and visible knees not helping the situation. But she consoled herself by noting that she had to remain hidden at all costs. If anyone in the city saw her walking alone as a woman, she would be caught and returned home in an instant. As a final touch, Viola pulled up her hair under a Gatsby cap, pulling the brim down low over her eyes. 

Packing what she needed in a little shoulder bag, she stepped out onto the porch, the light above her streaming out onto the pavement. The wind bit and snaked past her ears, pushing the muggy air around her face. Looking down at the directions the spiders had written, Viola took note. ‘Head to the main street of the common quarter before 12:30 AM’. This time she’d been resourceful enough to bring a map of the city, and holding it up to the light, she marked out a course. As she moved off, Viola glanced back up at the manor, its empty lightless windows gaping, as though in horror at her disobedience. She felt a stirring of guilt in her heart, she had never done anything like this, and worried what her mother would think. But, maybe she never had to know; Viola could only hope. 

For a while the going was good, there was not a soul in sight, and although the air was eerily still, she tried to keep her nerves to a minimum. Passing through the boundary between high and common quarters, she kept her head low as the officer on duty watched her, although suspicious, he didn’t question her. The main street of the common quarter was deserted, a wide stretch of road lined with small unassuming shops, a light in the upper windows here and there. At the centre of the area was a simple courtyard of red bricks, arranged in circles. ‘Hide yourself and wait for Sans. Once you see him, follow him.’ Scribbled underneath it read: ‘DO NOT LET HIM SEE YOU.’ Viola frowned slightly at the apparent silliness of the entire affair, but did as directed, standing silently in the shadow of the buildings overlooking the path. Right on schedule, she felt the stir of a presence further up the street, and turned her head to watch as he came into view, an inky black figure in the dark. Who’s undercover now? She couldn't help but think to herself. Then she noticed how scruffy he looked; his waistcoat was slightly muddy in places, the top hat crooked, and he was breathing heavier than usual. Glancing down at his gloves, Sans tutted to himself as he dusted them off, correcting his hat, and rolling his shoulders with a crackle. Had he been in a fight? It was a poor conclusion to jump to, and she quickly revised the multitude of ideas her mind was leaping towards. Pulling away somewhat from the safety of the wall, Viola matched Sans’ pace and began to follow. A part of her had expected him to notice her right away, but for one reason or another he seemed distracted, murmuring to himself as he took out a little book and began writing. She had no idea where he could be heading at this time of night, but if he was going out of the city, according to the gate pass Muffet gave her, she would have to be on guard. The yellow flower brooch was in her bag, and she reached for it and stroked the soft material; it would all be okay, she just had to keep telling herself that.

Eventually the two of them approached the colossal mass of the city wall, and Sans slipped his pass through the entry door. Viola teetered on the step as she handed over the little slip of paper, but the guard at the gate didn’t even blink, as though it was the most normal thing in the world to be walking outside at 1 ‘o clock in the morning. The ruined streets looked far more threatening without the light, the middling glow of moonlight caressing the corpse of buildings. One thing that lessened the hostility was the sky, without the artificial gleam of the living, the stars were magnified in their own brilliance; Viola couldn’t believe just how many there were, patterns in the form of picturesque creatures and stories, so many other worlds with their unique beginnings and ends. For a moment she could do nothing but stare. Realising she had a job to do, she jogged off down the path, after the quickly receding figure of Sans. 

He didn't seem at all interested in the suffering that surrounded him, and his pace was hurried. He visibly slouched as they entered the more populated area of the slums, and kept his head low, eyes focussed on the ground. Did the suffering of others bother him? It wouldn't surprise her, he seemed perfectly genuine and good at heart. It was then that she noticed how the eyes followed him, hollow with pain, and fearful. A couple of sorry-looking kids with hardly enough clothing between them were shuffling in her directio. As soon as they recognised Sans’ presence, they went out of their way to avoid him, sticking themselves to the walls of crumbled buildings as he passed, ignoring them completely. Viola frowned, alarm rising in her throat; just what was Sans doing? Everyone around her was scared out of their wits, and it seemed almost comical that she was the most comfortable, even though she didn’t belong there. Sans picked up his pace even more, sticking his hands in his pockets, and she hurried after him, lucky that she could blend in.

Finally he came to a stop, and Viola could see exactly what he was heading for. There was a building about halfway up this street, and someone had taken the time to fix it, boarding up the collapsed walls and patching the roof. There was a large sign painted above the section of wall where the windows should've been, in yellow: 'Grillby’s'. The display was charmingly shabby, light glowing here and there through the cracks in the brickwork. It must've been a pub of some sort, that was the only conclusion Viola could come to. And as she watched from the shadow of the next street over, she saw Sans wander slowly up the the entrance. Standing outside was a tall figure in a long black suit, and they nodded to him and gestured inside. Just my luck, a bouncer. Viola brushed herself down and began to walk as boldly as she dared. As she got closer, she regretted her decision to approach at all, for this was the most intimidating person she’d ever seen. The only way she could describe him was…fish-like, at least, she assumed they were male; he was wearing a long tailored suit with coat tails, which was unbuttoned to reveal a white and beige striped shirt, complete with red bracers. No woman would wear such a thing. His skin was a mottled blue-green, the occasional scale defined in the light as it glinted off them, coupled with fin-shaped red and blue ears, twitching slightly in surprise. The face of this creature was the most intriguing, with barely a nose to account for, and a surprisingly large toothed grin. The hair made Viola doubt herself, for it was unusually long, and the brightest red she had ever seen, not ginger, crimson as roses. His one good eye fixed her questioningly, the pupil shrinking and startling yellow iris widening, like some predatory bird. His arms were folded, body language closed and suspicious. “Can I help you, human?” His voice was rough and expressional, but contained some feminine inflection.
“I...would it be possible for me to go in sir?” Viola asked, once again unsettled by her wish to be polite, even to someone beneath her; although she truly had no idea where monsters stood in her society, even if they were neglected, they deserved a hierarchy. 

The monster’s eye narrowed. “You wanna come in? What the hell d’you want?” He stepped forward, allowing Viola to feel every inch of his seven foot something height above her head. “You got business? Prove it punk,” he snarled. Viola stepped back a ways, ducking for shelter beneath the rim of her hat. “I came to-to find someone. I know they’re here, so…” He looked down at her, curiosity hinting on his face.
“Oh?” A grin stretched his features, and it was ferocious; not the beautiful smile of Muffet that hid her intentions, an unbridled sneer, betraying his wish to trouble. “You’re a spy then?”
“What? No, of course not,” Viola replied hastily. He began to pace around her, inspecting her clothes and picking at her long sleeves with hooked black claws. “Hm, you don’t have any brands. Not hiding anything I should know about? Still…” He stepped back in front of her and rested a hand on his hip. “So, are you a duster? Could be a hunter, though there's no reason to hide that. Maybe you’re a new birdie? You look young enough.” There was a clink, and Viola glanced down to see his claws were clicking against a pistol strapped to his belt. “Tell me human!” He barked suddenly, the hand on the gun undoubtedly a real threat; he would shoot her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m not a threat to you, I’m a civilian looking for a friend, why can’t you believe something like that?” Viola burst out, incredulous at his apparent suspicion of a weak human about half his height. “Wow…” His eyebrows raised. “You’re pretty good at acting.” Viola sighed to herself, she was hitting a brick wall here. 

“I’ll get out of your way,” she muttered. Had she really come all this way for nothing?
“HOLD IT PUNK!!!” the monster bellowed after her, suddenly far louder than necessary. “I can’t just let you go. No clue what your angle is yet.” Viola looked up incredulously. “I told you.”
“Fine, come on in little human, I’ll figure you out whether you like it or not!” This monster was far peppier than any she had met so far, and oddly, Viola felt drawn to it. There was a quirky radiance to him that she couldn’t begin to understand, and his attitude was so alien that she wasn’t even sure how to respond; this strange mix of feelings coaxed her forward towards the open door without a second thought. 

When Viola stepped into the bar, she realised right then and there exactly what Muffet meant; within a second she entered an entirely different world, without a single human in sight. The place wasn't exactly hopping, but there were at least ten patrons, each as absurd as the next. The first thing that caught her eye were the creatures sitting at the biggest table, playing a game of cards. They were dogs…wearing armour, pure white bar one, and occasionally barking or growling at one another in conversation. Closer to the bar stood two more monsters who Viola assumed were friends, a tall red demon-like creature, and a mouse as big as a dog, an adorable green scarf wrapped around his head. The demon had a long piece of ribbon with bells on it tied back and forth around his horns, and he smiled pleasantly down at his smaller friend, tinkling every time he moved. The mouse flicked his ears in annoyance as he spoke, a concerned frown on his face, but the demon simply laughed in response. As the bouncer ushered her further in, she passed another patron she would rightly call a ‘monster’; his head was rather out of proportion with his body, and all detail she could see was his mouth, taking up the entirety of his face, lips pulled back to reveal long fangs. She couldn’t help but startle at the sight, but as the monster acknowledged her, his mouth contorted into a surprisingly genuine smile, and he politely tilted the little top hat on his head to her.

“Okay yah punk, sit down!” the fish monster commanded, pointing over to the bar. Viola wanted to protest, but she felt antagonising him any further would make bigger problems. She had never been to a pub, never drunk alcohol, never even properly seen one, and she carefully settled herself on a high stool before the counter, gazing around in interest, despite herself. The patron sitting next to her was a bedraggled ginger tomcat wearing a smart black pinstripe suit, although it was being crumpled as he slumped over the counter, one arm crossed under his chin, and the other clutching a glass of something dark and sparkling; he had deep rings under his eyes, and his ears were drooping against his head as he gazed wearily forward at nothing in particular. Noticing her stare, her flicked an ear in her direction, frowning in irritation, but said nothing. The bouncer sat down on her other side, heavily, and slammed a fist into the tabletop. Did he do nothing politely? “Hey Grillby! I’ll have the usual.” The monster Viola assumed to be the pub owner, hence the name, was by far the most intriguing she had ever seen. He entered from the back room and stood before them, casting a comforting orange glow over the scene. Viola could not help but stare, he was beautiful. A fire spirit coalesced into the form of a vaguely human figure, slitted white eyes watching from behind a mysteriously secure pair of glasses. The flickering but unyielding flames clung in position, but shifted and changed within themselves, like the ocean; slowly dancing patterns of orange, yellow, white and occasional blue tracing his form, and flitting off into the air at the extremities of his head and fingertips. He wore a neat suit with shiny black buttons, somehow. She wondered to herself how often he set things on fire. Grillby tilted his head slightly, and made a tiny gesture towards the fish monster, who grinned happily and shook his head. “You know I wouldn’t Grillby. Sorry though, won’t happen again.” Viola frowned, he hadn’t even spoken, but they had a conversation? Grillby was now looking at her, and he lifted his hand in a motion as if to drink something, and gestured to her. She gathered this was some kind of communication through gesture, and shook her head. “Uh, no, I don’t drink. Thank you.” He tilted his head again, this time in a thoughtful manner, and nodded to her before turning away. 

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the bouncer turned to her, his eye deadly. “Alright human, so what do you want here?” He didn’t sound like he wanted any nonsense. “There's no point lying, you’re not getting out of here alive anyway.” He bared his teeth, leaning forward aggressively. “ No one is going to hurt my friends punk, you humans can go to hell for what you do to us.” His voice rose a little as he snarled, and Viola found herself shrinking away. But the monster’s words were suddenly beginning to make more sense, out here his species had no protection, and the humans could do whatever they liked. There was a very good chance her people would wipe them out, maybe that was why she had been met with hostility? At least from the one in front of her. But then why were the others so civil and accepting of her presence? Viola knew she would have to tell the whole truth, or end up in a bad situation yet again. She took another look around the bar to see if she could spot Sans, but he was nowhere in sight. She carefully removed her hat and tidied her hair, before turning back to the fish. “My name is Viola Thompson, I came to find Sans.”

Chapter Text

How did this happen? He should have been more careful, paid more attention. But he was always careful, so controlled, so efficient in keeping everyone away; but not good enough, not when she was involved.

Sans put a hand to his face, the pain in his skull getting steadily worse the more he thought about it. Viola was never supposed to find this place! What the hell was he going to do now? He had watched her exchange with Undyne from the moment she forced her to the bar, and was growing more anxious by the second. What were they talking about? From that distance he had no idea, but he didn’t dare get any closer for fear of being seen. Crap, knowing Undyne, it was nothing good. 

He instinctively recognised a soul drifting in behind him, and gentle footsteps. “Sans? What’s wrong?” He turned to look up at Toriel, her rusted red eyes lit with motherly concern. “Um, n-nothing Tori.” She ignored him and leaned forward to peer through the doorway.
“You really should improve your ability to lie Sans.” She scoured the room until she noticed the unfamiliar figure at the bar. “Oh. A human is it?” Her voice dropped, and took on an edge that Sans knew all too well. Bad news. “Are they causing you trouble?” She went to step forward, and Sans hurriedly put a hand on her arm. “No! No, it’s okay. I just…wasn’t expecting her to show up.” He retracted his hand, apologetic, and looked down. Toriel watched him for a moment, and sighed softy. “Don’t be guilty now, your choices are your own.” She smiled reassuringly. “Humans need to live as much as we do.” His pupils flickered and he looked up in surprise.
“You don’t mind?” She shook her head, and turned to move back down the hall.
“Do remember how Undyne feels about such things though dear, if you want to keep them safe.”

Sans edged his way out from the safety of the doorway, noticing now that Viola had somehow gained Undyne’s full attention, who sat with a bemused expression. He shuffled up behind the main table where the dogs were collected, and G.D looked up at him, yipping in acknowledgement. Sans nodded to him and sheltered just behind his left shoulder, peering warily at the bar. G.D glanced towards Viola and gave him a look, but he ignored it. Now, how could he get Viola out of this situation?

The fish monster sat patiently until Viola finished her story, upon which he grinned knowingly. “Well, I don’t know how much I believe but, damn. Good story.” He clapped a hand roughly on Viola’s shoulder, although his eyes remained decidedly unfriendly. “Know a lot about Sans don'tcha punk.” He shrugged apologetically. “Well, I gotta admit you made your case well. Tell you what, you won’t get tortured, and I'll make it quick. How ‘bout that?” He leaned in, and Viola remained frozen to her seat as she felt the slight warmth of breath on her skin. “But, it would be nice if you told me how you found out so much about a good friend of mine.” Viola wetted her lips, and kept her eyes locked with the countertop. “Or you could just…not murder me at all?” she whispered.
“Sorry, gang policy and all. If you aren't friend then you're foe, especially if you're human.” Yes, of course that's how it was. What had she expected to achieve by coming here? These creatures were not like her; she liked them, but that didn't mean they would extend the same courtesy.

Grillby walked back around the front of the bar, placing a whiskey before the fish, which was steaming. He then turned to Viola and placed a delicate glass on the counter, containing a peach-orange drink that blended to yellow at the top. He tilted his head at her confusion, and made a little gesture to the fish before turning away, who scoffed. “Good call Grillby. It’s a mocktail, no alcohol.” He took a swig of his own drink and his ears twitched, Viola assumed, in enjoyment. Some monsters are surprisingly easy to read. She took the glass and stared at the contents, in no mood to enjoy herself, but she sipped anyway. It was peach, with orange and a hint of blueberry, the tartness breaking through in waves. Considering she felt like she was about to have a panic attack, the murder threats being unavoidably real, it caused her to smile anyway. “Oh, um, thank you kindly sir.” Grillby nodded to her and brought his hand down from the side of his face to the bottom, although she hadn’t a clue what it meant. 

After a moment she turned back towards the fish, only to feel a presence behind her. Her shoulders tingled and she kept very still, every part of her expecting a knife at her throat, or in the back. “Oh hey Sans, just the guy I was looking for. This punk knows a lot about you y’know? How’d you manage to let that happen?” The fish leaned laxly against the bar and grinned. The terrible feeling in Viola’s gut evaporated at the name he spoke, and she turned to her side, where Sans now stood. His eyes were darkened as he stared. “Undyne,” he murmured, his voice rumbling in its lowness. “What are you doing with this girl?” Undyne shrugged.
“Getting info, cutting loose ends, the usual.” Sans glanced at Viola, his expression unchanged, and air hissed through his teeth.
“Leave her alone,” he said darkly, causing Undyne’s eyebrows to rise.
“What? You actually owe her ? Damn Sans.” His tone was mocking.
“It’s not like that,” Sans snapped. He turned to Viola and glared her down, shrinking her back in her seat. “I’m taking you home, now.” He strode from the counter towards the exit, and Viola slipped out of her seat hurriedly, leaving Undyne incredulous as he watched. “Sans!” Viola called out, “I’m not leaving.” He stopped dead, his expression one of great confusion as he turned to watch her. “I got this far. I-I know you told me not to but-“ He bustled up, gesturing frantically for her to be quiet, before taking her wrist and leading her through to the side of the room, where a corridor lead away into the dark. It was then that Viola noticed how much attention she had called to herself, the dogs and other monsters becoming silent and watchful as she spoke; it only made her more guilty. “I’m sorry…” she muttered dejectedly. “I didn’t want to anger you.” Sans looked up at her, and frowned to himself.
“No no, I wasn't-it wasn't you I…” He sighed. “I was angry with Undyne. She's, uh, she's not fond of humans. I have to be tough to even get her to listen.” Viola nodded in recognition, before frowning. 
“ ‘She’ ? Undyne is female?” Now it was Sans’ turn for confusion. 
“Yeah…?” 
“But she's wearing a suit.”
“And?” Viola looked down at him, speechless. I guess I should've expected abnormality, even to this degree.
“…Never mind.” She corrected her hair with a slightly shaky hand. She wasn't wearing women’s clothes, so maybe Undyne was doing something similar. 

Sans glanced back into the bar with an uncomfortable air. “What are you doing here? How did you even get here?” 
“Muffet,” she responded, sharing Sans’ unfeeling smile of: ‘of course it was’. “She got me out of the city, though…”
“You owe her now.” Sans nodded casually. “Makes two of us.”
“Is that particularly common?” she asked.
“Yeah. She likes, uh, bein’ in control.”
“She does appear quite passively threatening, if I may say so.” Sans chuckled dryly.
“Most spiders are.”

The gentle conversation was abruptly cut short upon the entrance of another monster, this time from the corridor beyond. Once Viola identified her in the light, she realised she was looking at a massively tall goat creature, with brilliant white fur and quietly watchful red eyes. She wore a black bell-shaped dress, not bright, but quite refined. There was also a traditional Victorian Vanderbilt hat to match, pulled neatly over her small horns. Her height alone made her imposing, but the look she gave Viola was enough to turn her blood to ice; it wasn't overtly threatening, but warned her away so strongly, she felt the need to run. Sans noticed her staring, and turned to look, his body language immediately tensing to prickly attention. Guilt. “I greet you, human. I am Toriel Dreemur, mistress of this establishment.” It seemed to Viola as odd, that now there was a monster speaking in a way she considered normal. She had only just gotten used to their strange quirks. Curtseying, Viola struggled to get the words out in hopes of appeasing the suddenly tense atmosphere. “I am charmed m’lady. Viola Thompson.” Something shifted in Toriel’s expression, surprise perhaps. “I must thank you for allowing my entrance.” Sans looked between the two of them nervously, unsure of how to respond to the situation brewing. “Uh, Tori…” Toriel raised a hand to stop him speaking, and he flinched.
“Would you please follow me.” It wasn’t a question, and Viola fell into step as she was led through the dusky backrooms. Most of them were bedrooms, she noticed, cluttered with makeshift beds of varying sizes, cramped together and terribly dusty. There were no windows, and the only light was from candles lining the walls, giving the whole place a considerably sadder and poorer look than outside. She could tell that the effort to keep up appearances was primarily maintained in the bar area, but underneath it, things didn't look so good. 

The room they entered was lighter, and filled with comfortable, albeit battered, sofas and lounge chairs. It had a similar feel to her lounge at home, and Viola felt herself relax a little. “Please have a seat.” Toriel settled herself in a large standing chair, while both Viola and Sans sat on the sofa across from her. Carefully removing her hat, she let out a quiet sigh, before addressing Viola in an a cautious manner. “It has come to my attention that you know a great deal more about monsters than you should. Undyne has explained your story, and I must admit it troubles me.” 
“It-it wasn't her fault-“ Sans interjected, but Toriel once again stopped him.
“Tell me, why are you interested in us? Why did you come here?” Viola glanced at Sans, his change in manner was making her nervous.
“I wanted to, I wanted to understand you. My people aren’t the most accepting, and after I found Caramel I just…I’m unsure. I feel drawn to monsters. I want to protect them.” Toriel’s expression remained stoic as Viola spoke, and her reply was immediate.
“Why?” She glanced at Sans again; he had asked the same thing.
“I…I don't know,” she answered, quiet now. Sans looked shifty, itching to speak.
“Tori, please. It was my fault for getting her involved.” 
“Let the girl speak for herself Sans,” Toriel commanded, a quiet forcefulness to her tone. Sans shouldn't be taking the blame for this. I got in his way, I kept going when he told me not to. It isn't fair. Suddenly, a bout of confidence rose in Viola’s chest, and she spoke up. “I want to be involved for the same reason Sans does, why is that so difficult to understand?” Toriel frowned. “I can understand the need to be careful who you trust, but I feel this hostility is unwarranted. I am an upper-class citizen, not a savage.” She paused, wondering if she’d gone too far. “Please…” she murmured, “I only wish to understand, to be a part of this, if I would be allowed to.” Toriel’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“I believe I understand.” She got to her feet. “Do excuse me for a moment.” She left the room swiftly, and a silence fell.

Viola looked over at Sans, who was studying her intently. “Did I say the right thing?” she asked. Sans snapped back from his staring, and looked apologetic. “Yeah…” He put a hand to his face, massaging his temple. “Guess you’ve got what you want, heh.” He seemed more dejected than usual, and she wondered what was wrong. “Just, I hope you know what you're getting into. It's, uh, we've got it tough.” She smiled reassuringly.
“I don’t, that’s why I’m here.” He grimaced, still very much on edge. Toriel returned soon after, and accompanying her was Undyne, and a new monster who appeared to be the same species of goat, only with larger horns and longer fur; “Here we are,” Toriel announced, sitting back down. “Viola.” She stiffened to attention at the sound of her name.
“Yes?”
“This is Asgore, the leader of our establishment.” She gestured to all of them. “Together we four are in charge of the monsters, I am the diplomatic party, Undyne is in control of our forces, Asgore is our main overseer, and Sans is our infiltrator.” Viola looked at Sans, who seemed to shrink away. “Infiltrator?” she asked.
“Uh, because I'm a magician I can-I can oversee human affairs and assist monsters.” He glanced at Toriel, pleading concern written all over his face. She looked confused, but nodded to him respectfully. “Ahem.” She turned to Asgore and Undyne. “I have outlined the details, and now I want to ask you all, should we allow Viola to join our cause?”

Chapter Text

“What?!” Undyne burst out, “you trust the human ? After what they've done to us?” Her expression shifted, outraged, then livid, and she stared at Viola with more hatred than she had ever seen. “Unacceptable.” She lifted a hand and pulled something from the air, a pointed spear of sorts, made of nothing but cyan light; it seemed familiar somehow, but she wasn't sure why. Sans remained silent, but she felt him flinch beside her, his eyes darkening again. She hoped they wouldn't start a fight. But she had no need to worry, for Toriel raised a hand, and both of them relaxed. “Undyne, your opinion has been voiced. I trust Sans’ judgement above your bias. Please stand down.” Undyne hissed, but threw the spear aside, where it melted into nothing. Asgore spoke up, his voice soft and low. “She does have a point, Toriel. Our position isn't stable, if she leaked any information…” 
“I'm assigning Sans to keep an eye on her. She could prove to be an asset on the human side of things.” Viola looked over at Sans brightly, who shrugged his shoulders, giving her an unfeeling smile. “Within reason, I think she should assist in his cases. How about it Sans?” Toriel asked.
“Sure thing boss,” he mumbled. Asgore patted Undyne on the shoulder, who stood in broody silence.
“Then we are in agreement,” he said. He turned to Viola and gave her a patient smile. “Welcome young one.” Viola stood up and shook the offered hand, which had long well kept claws, and was big enough to completely cover hers. She smiled back, and bowed her head to each of them in turn. “Thank you kindly.”

Sans reached over the counter and handed Viola a piece of ribbon, red in colour, with a little square crest. She looked closer, and saw an image printed there, a simple red heart. “How sweet, what's it for?” 
“Our symbol, a label if you will. So people know not to give you trouble.” He pointed to an identical ribbon tied around his upper right arm, securing the excess of fabric on his baggy sleeve. “We all have em.” Viola ran the silky material through her fingers absently.
“I'll treasure it,” she murmured. This was more than identification, this was proof, proof that she was part of something far bigger than she was. Sans slouched forward over the bar, his eyes drifting to watch Grillby moving around behind it. “You don't seem to mind so much,” she commented, “after trying to keep me away so long. Doesn't this bother you?” He shrugged.
“Not my place.” 
“But I want to know what you think,” she prodded gently. He gave her an utterly fake smile of reassurance.
“It doesn't matter. Don't worry ‘bout it kid.” Viola huffed.
“Of course.” They fell into silence, although it wasn't an uncomfortable one. Viola shifted a ways in her seat so she could watch the rest of the bar; the group of dogs had mellowed, most of them lying with their heads on the table, ears occasionally flicking in response to sound. It was late, much later than Viola was used to, and now that the tension was gone she felt it weighing on her. Her legs ached a little, and there was a drowsiness lurking somewhere behind her eyelids, threatening to take over if she didn't stay alert. She was happy with her position, but at a moment like this, the one thing she wanted most was to be at home in her bedroom; away from prying eyes, able to relax totally in her own space and not worry about appearances. “I suppose I should tell you about what we're doing…” Sans murmured, looking almost as exhausted as she felt. “Actually, would it be terribly rude of me if I asked to return home?” The look he gave her was relieved.
“Are you sure?” 
“Yes. I mustn't impose at this time of night.” Viola got up and brushed down her shorts, before bowing her head to Sans. “I wish you a good evening.” 
“Wha-wait, you can't walk home alone, it's dark.” She smiled apologetically.
“I was hoping you'd say that. I can't say I would enjoy walking outside at this time.” Sans nodded, and moved to follow her out. As the door swung shut behind them, Viola met the icy glare of Undyne as she passed, giving her a passive smile, which only seemed to deepen the frown. “Keep sharp out there Sans,” she called out after them. 
“Sure thing,” he muttered. 

Frisk sat with their back against the wall and head down. The room they were secluded in was small and blank, repeating grey stone, and incredibly cold; a wine cellar. They often locked them down there for hours at a time, and that day was no exception. At least it was clean, albeit a few cobwebs here and there. A tiny spider, no bigger than Frisk’s thumbnail, crawled across the section of floor they could see beneath their folded arms, and they trapped it between their fingers, watching it clamber up their palm; a pearly translucent body, with hooked black legs and mandibles. They smiled as the contact tickled their skin, and huddled close, pulling the collar of their oversized jumper up around their neck. Their fingers identified one of the many tears in the thread and they sighed. Yet another hole they would have to crudely stitch up. Their fingertips were already riddled with holes from the last time, and ached uncomfortably. The only light they could see emanated from the door at the top of the stairs, firmly locked shut. For a time Frisk had attempted to escape, but they learned their lesson soon enough, the iron set door was impenetrable. They always learned their lesson, in one way or another, they would never allow them to do otherwise. “You are a lady, you should respect others in the manner taught to you.”

‘They’ were Frisk’s parents, though the name related in much the same familial nature as a workman to his tools. The very thought of them was enough to make Frisk quiver. The mother, dark hair tied into a French braid over her shoulder, strands pulling loose as though trying to escape the follicles of her head. Porcelain doll skin, and sharp unfriendly features, the poise of absolute perfection, a kind of beauty so well refined it seemed artificial. The father, tall and graceful in every sense, brown hair straight and uniform; calm intellectual eyes, the gaze of which repelled all who looked on them. Their mother still brought more fear to their heart, for their father, although controlled and cold, had never had any time for Frisk, and that was a small mercy. “What nonsense is this? Talking back to your mother, you should be ashamed of yourself, child.” There was a clatter from the stairwell, and Frisk’s body tensed as a beam of light flooded the room. The echoing click of shoe against stone made their breath falter with every step, and they curled up in defence as their eyes searched the appearing figure for threat. But it was only the butler, spotless waistcoat a contrast to their tattered clothes. He looked upon Frisk with a resigned air, and quietly dignified pity. Nodding his head to them, he picked out what he needed from one of the many shelves, and exited back up the stairs. Frisk deflated, and found they could breathe again. 

For a moment they remained still, the spider unfolding a thread behind it as its body settled back onto the floor, and crawled away. The cold air around them seeped through the torn jumper, causing a shiver; Frisk scowled as they looked back down at the tears, how dare their ‘mother’ damage such a prized possession. The voice in their head wouldn’t let up either, they wished it would stop. 

“What atrocity are you wearing? Anyone would think you were a common gutter rat, a boy!”  
But I like these clothes, they make me feel safe. 
“Do you realise what you stand for girl? You are a legacy, a refined bloodline of royalty, worthy of respect. If you want to be treated as such, you must be as we want you.” 
I’m not a girl…I don’t fit.
"What nonsense do you speak? You would do well to hold your tongue! Sit still and do as you’re told.”
No! This isn’t me, this isn’t right. I won’t wear the dresses or the stockings, you can’t make me! You can’t…
“Very well. I will not take such attitude from any daughter of mine. I’m getting your father.” 

There was a sudden, violent tearing sensation in Frisk’s throat, and they clutched at their neck as they felt the bite of something metallic cutting into their skin. Pulling their hands back, they let out a wavering gasp as they caught sight of the crimson stain on their fingers, sticky and sharp smelling. A prickling sensation came over them as they felt the warm fluid dribble down their front, dying their clothes, and causing them to slip on the floor as they stumbled to their feet. The bitter taste of iron filled their mouth, starting from the back of their throat, and pooling inside until they were retching to clear their airway. Collapsing to the floor, they wrapped both hands around their neck in an effort to staunch the bleeding, screaming silently, begging for someone to hear them. “Whether you like it or not, you will be perfect. I will make you perfect. Now, stay silent.” There was that word again, perfect. Perfection, the product of careful breeding, the soul of a magician born child. Frisk never wanted this, never wanted to come back here. “My perfect summer child.” Why did they come back here?

The haze cleared, and Frisk blinked as they stared up at the grey brick wall of the alley. The sky was clear, and they could hear the footsteps and general murmur of people outside. It…was alright. They were safe, secure, alone. But they didn’t feel safe, they hadn’t in years. Reaching up to their throat, they felt around the scar, simple and neat, but obvious, spanning about a third of their neck. There were a few cuts and bruises around the impact, where Frisk assumed correctly they had been clawing their skin while trapped in the flashback. They let out a tiny sigh, one of the only audible sounds they could still make, and pulled their legs up to their chest for comfort. They closed their eyes and focussed on the sounds around them, hunting in vain for any sign of threat. Through their collection of jumbled thoughts, they found themselves wondering whether they would ever feel safe again. From the way they felt at that moment, probably not.

Chapter Text

Viola let out a sigh. She was sitting still at the window seat in her room, her head supported in her arms as she stared out at the day. For once in her life she was at a loss, what was she to do? It had been five days since she met the monsters properly, and now the regularity of her life had become...dull. The little strip of ribbon was lying on the polished sill beside her, and she absently picked it up, and traced the lines of the insignia. Why a heart? It seemed awfully quaint and childish for such impressive creatures as the monsters, but she suspected the symbolism ran a lot deeper than she knew. Either way it was inconspicuous enough that no one would question her wearing it.

Wandering back across the room, Viola opened the jewellery box sitting on her desk and placed the ribbon carefully inside. She shot a glance over the room, wondering if anything would catch her interest; as she did, the regal grand piano sitting beside the window focussed her attention, its surface traced by the dark lines of the wood grain, gleaming slightly in the softened light. It was the most important item in Viola’s life, to be sure, gifted to her by her father on her seventh birthday, a graduation of sorts, when she finally learned to read sheet music. It was a Chickering and Sons piano, originating directly from Boston, Massachusetts, and of the finest quality money could buy. Perhaps is wasn't quite as high standard as other pianos Viola had seen before, but as soon as her young eyes connected with it, she knew the match was meant to be. She stepped over and rested a hand lovingly upon the rich red wood, identifying the curve of the legs and carved lace and leaves as they met the edge of the body, stout and proud as it stood, the lid propped up to reveal a complex network of strings and hammers inside. 

Settling herself on the velvet seat, Viola lifted the lid off the keys and ran a hand over the ivory, letting the slick surface cool her fingers. Dusty. The dust came away on her hands, and she reached for a small cloth to wipe it off. She tutted to herself, it was a bad sign, she needed to play more, try harder. The piano was the one and only true love of her life, and she couldn’t forsake it. Shuffling over the many booklets, Viola withdrew the most recent one, a truly unflinching monster of a piece she was yet to conquer. For a moment she simply sat, her hands resting on the starting keys as her mind wandered back over the notes, and her muscles remembered the motion. And then she began to play, her hands skimming the surface in a way that appeared almost fluid, her fingers barely compressing. The resonant sound vibrated through the air, the hum and clamour of a powerful beast as the tension of strings contracted and wavered at her touch. There was always a strange kind of disconnect when she played, as though she was a puppet, her body caught in a delicate trance; if she thought too much about her hands while she played, she would lose focus, and the spell would break. This was the difference between muscle and thought, a strangely overpowering feeling that could carry her far away from the physical, as though she was simply looking down on a body that was not her own. It was the same with movement, you could try to pinpoint the exact moment your body obeys your will, the moment your finger reacts to your want to curl it, but you could never truly find it. 

Viola was not the religious sort, all of her family was grounded solidly; but it was easy for her to see that her mind and body were separate entities, she was only in her head, her body acting as no more than a vehicle. It was a strange concept, but also one she found oddly comforting, to know she would still be there after her body rotted away. Her mind snapped back as her finger strayed over the wrong key, a sharp inconsistency in the melody, and causing her to wince. “Drat,” she muttered, quickly reviewing the section again.

~~♬~~

Someone was playing piano. It took the girl a moment to discern whether it her mind playing tricks, or the real thing. She lifted her head to catch the sound, for it was very faint; leaning back against the wall of the alley, she held her breath to stay quiet. Ordinarily she would climb one of the buildings to get closer, but as it was she was too weak, even with the soup the skeleton had supplied her; she couldn’t help but hope he would keep his word, because she had no other option. She hated feeling indebted, but what else was she to do? 

The piece was slow, and held many layers of notes. The girl closed her eyes and felt the sounds running through her, maybe they would be enough to block out the chill deep in her bones. C and E overlay, then a rise in pitch to F, then a drop back into C, before sliding down to G. She tried to imagine herself sitting in that seat, her hands sliding over the smooth rectangular shapes, the delicately artful way the keys strung together. It was truly the most beautiful sound, and it tingled on her neck and fingertips. She gazed down at her hands as she mimed the positioning of her fingers, and frowned. Her hands did not deserve to grace such a clean surface, her nails rimmed black and skin splitting, fingertips hardened with abuse, from all the times she dug through the dirt in search of resources. Clutching her hands close to her stomach, she simply continued listening. The piece had morphed now, the notes spreading their reach on each hand, almost like a dance. Both together, then flying apart, two butterflies alight in the air, circling and parting. And then dropping back to G. It was the same G she had identified in the skeleton’s voice, a soft resonation that hummed on the edge of hearing. It was an oddly pleasing sound, a comforting little noise that held the same layered quality as a violin string. G...hold on...

Something was spurring her memory on that note, and quickly she shuffled over to the other wall, where the bottles stood. Picking up a rock she scrawled a G beside the other letters, and tapped out the notes again. EDE B A BD BB G, and now more notes were appearing in her head, fitting together in perfect form. A ABAGE, it wasn't much more, but now it felt more real, alive even. The girl sat back and repeatedly tapped out the tune, willing it to reveal more to her. But, perhaps because the plink of bottles was flat, not the harmony of ivory, she could recognise no more. Frustration hit her, and she sat back with a sigh. What was this? She could not begin to fathom why she needed to remember, or why it so absorbed her thoughts when she did. Setting the stick aside, she crawled back into the den, and curled herself up on the dirty sheets, trying in vain to warm herself. The pianist had stopped playing.

Chapter Text

Viola was sitting quietly in her father’s study, pretending with great confidence to read while she watched him work over the rim of her book. She couldn’t prevent the smuggest of smiles from gracing her face as she did so, she felt like she was getting away with murder. The scratch of pen nib on paper was comforting, and she watched in amusement at the little repeated mannerisms Robert had, such as the way he tapped the pen against the rim of the inkwell when he dipped it, and how he pushed his glasses back up his nose after every sentence. He should find a pair that fits. Viola idled to herself. Robert stopped what he was doing, lifting his head to look at her, and she flicked her eyes back to the book before he noticed her gaze. “Is there something you need?” he asked, his voice distinctly calmer than it had been.
“Not at all sir, I’m quite happy,” she replied with a grin. Although Viola was no longer looking, a sincere little smile had formed on Robert’s face; he knew she had been watching, but did not mind it. Though it had been years since he’d even seen her, he could still tell when she was lying. Whenever she was nervous or unsure, she would subconsciously wiggle her toes, and she was doing it now, her bare feet resting on the floorboards, lifting slightly as they moved. 

Viola wanted to go and talk to Muffet. She needed to thank her for what she had done; after all, without her this entire endeavour would have been impossible. It wasn't as though she could get anything out of Sans, she’d have better luck getting blood from a stone, but of course she knew it wasn't his fault. If anything he was the only one doing a good job of protecting the monsters, Muffet certainly had no problem revealing her secrets, so long as she was paid for it. The problem Viola continually had was her mother, as Lilliane would only become more suspicious the more she went outside, and she had no idea how to work around it. Robert folded up the letter he’d been writing and tucked it away under his desk before speaking up. “I hear there was an unfortunate accident at the masquerade you attended a few weeks ago?”
“Yes,” Viola said quietly.
“Fortunate you didn’t have to see it. A...frightful business.” For a moment Viola recalled the sensation of blood on her hands, the sickening squelch of the carpet under her knees, and she shivered. Giving Robert a weak smile, she nodded. “Indeed.” For a moment they were silent. Robert removed his glasses and, in a hesitant voice, addressed her. “There are...many terrible things in this world. It’s my wish that you at least live in comfort. I haven’t been here to assist you, but, you can talk to me.” He couldn’t meet her gaze, and his words slowly trailed off. “If there’s anything you ever need...” Something occurred to Viola then. Her father may not have been in her life, but he did care. She had never felt the need for his approval, or even his attention; but to know he was there, it gave her a feeling of affection she’d never known she was lacking, a fulfilment of sorts. She smiled at him, her cheeks flushed with warmth. “It’s alright, I always knew you were doing what you had to, it doesn’t make me think any less of you. You are my father, and I’ll always love you for what you do. I am grateful.” Viola put a hand to her mouth as she realised what she was saying, and looked up anxiously. “Sorry, was that too much?” Robert looked back, slight alarm playing about his expression, but he shook his head. “No, no. It’s, that is to say, to be called father is quite...unexpected-”
“I shan’t mention it again sir,” Viola blurted, rushing to correct herself. The two looked at each other in awkward silence, before it became clear just how absurd the situation was. She started to giggle, and the concern on Robert’s face melted to relief. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible...once in a while.” He could barely hide his embarrassment, but Viola was positively glowing.
“Yes sir,” she replied. Maybe they just needed time, to understand each other properly. Actually, that gave her an idea. “Are you terribly busy?”
“Not at the moment,” Robert answered.
“Then, would it be alright if I asked you to go into town with me?”

~~♬~~

“Ey Muffet.” The bell above the door tinkled as a familiar figure trudged into the shop, his head bent and shoulders sloping. Muffet barely glanced away from the tray of cakes she was decorating, pink icing today, with little silver stars. “Hello bone-boy~,” she hummed, keeping her eyes focussed on her work. A shadow fell across the counter as Sans stepped up to meet it, and she batted a hand in his direction. “In my light!” She pinched a star between her thumb and forefinger in one hand, while holding the cake with the other, and applying icing with a piping tip in a third. Finishing it, she placed the cake back on the tray and admired her work. “Perfectly on time as always Sans, I was just finishing up.” She swivelled her eyes to face him, and her cheer melted away in an instant. Sans looked...dreadful. The normally pristine black waistcoat was covered in silvery specks of dust, from his neck to his waist; his right eye was squinted, and Muffet could see the line of a cut underneath it, just above the mask. There was blood too, little splatters of it all over his front, even on the rim of his hat, although most of it was on his hands. 

For a moment Muffet simply stared, before reaching out, and delivering a sharp slap across his face, knocking the trilby away, and causing the mask to slip. “Ow.” Sans looked a little bewildered, but didn’t fight back. “Heh...did I deserve that?” he chuckled, his voice grating painfully. 
“Yes, now sit down.” All humour was gone from Muffet’s voice, and stepping out from the counter she went to push him into a chair, but he resisted. “No, Muffet, I can’t stay. It’s not as bad as it looks.” But she was already unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt, and before long the damage was revealed. There was a peppering of holes all over his ribcage, a couple of bones completely dusted away from the main formation, leaving nothing but jagged stumps that leaked a black fluid, drying into dust all over the place. Without hesitation Muffet began poking around, until she pulled a small round bullet from the mess. It seemed to sizzle in her fingers as she held it up to the light, the dust crumbling off it. “Iron.” She glared at the little piece of metal, and threw it into a corner of the room. “The bastards are learning then?”
“Yeah...” Sans murmured, shrugging his shoulders, the dust spilling like sand onto the floor whenever he moved. Muffet watched him in silence, knowing all too well that he would refuse her help. He pulled the black collared shirt back over himself, and carefully buttoned it up. “Sans...” Muffet began quietly, “why are you doing this by yourself?” He shook his head.
“I’s no problem, five humans jumped me. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“You know that isn’t what I mean.” She gazed deep into his eyes, but he would not look at her. “I know what you’re doing, I’m not clueless.”
“I know you aren’t Muffet.” His voice was cold again, as it had been for a while now, and it seemed as though a void was opening up between them; she could feel it, something in him had changed, and it was irreversible. Maybe it was the strain of fighting humans, maybe it was simply the despair all monsters felt, the knowledge that they would never be accepted in a world they had longed for for an age. She couldn’t tell. 

Stepping forward, she placed one set of arms around his shoulders, and another round his waist, pulling him to her. Resting her chin against his shoulder, she closed her eyes and felt his soul, faintly flickering beside her own, a haze of blue light encircling it. “I wish you would talk to me,” she whispered, keeping her hold steady despite how much he tensed beneath it. “Grillby is the only one you even spend time with anymore. What changed Sans? What can I do?” He didn’t answer. “I can’t read souls like you can, but you still have so little Hope. What would happen to us if you dusted? You know we can’t do this without you.” A couple of tears slid down her face, though she made sure not to let it show in her voice. “Let us help you. Please...” Finally, Sans relented, reaching out and taking hold of her third pair of hands, he gave them a gentle squeeze, before pulling away. He smiled, though she had known him long enough to tell when it wasn't real. “I’ll be fine,” he said simply, before readjusting his clothes, and putting his hat back on. He walked past her to the counter, and picked out one of the cakes. “I’ll take this one, if it’s alright with yah.” Quickly composing herself, Muffet readied her sweetest smile and packaged up the cake in a paper bag.
“Hey, eat this.” She pushed another one towards him.
“Why do you think I’m gettin’ this one?” he asked. She frowned darkly.
“I know you don’t eat them, the only thing you eat is ketchup.” He chuckled, trying to play off her accusation. She picked up the cake and pushed it towards his face. “Go on! It’ll fix up your injuries.” Sans sighed quietly to himself, and gave in. “Can’t say what’ll fix your Hope though...” she muttered. 
“My Hope is fine, ” Sans replied, his voice warning.
“Alright,” Muffet said, defeated.

Sans turned to leave, and she called out after him the same way she always did. “Don’t be a stranger!” Although she knew he wouldn’t answer. Stretching out her arms, Muffet planted her elbow on the counter and stared absently out the window. No, the cupcakes weren’t for Sans. He had been making an almost ritualised appearance to her shop lately, and always bought the same thing, a single cupcake. She didn’t know why, or who he was even giving them to, but it bothered her extensively that that was the only communication they had. She sighed to herself, correcting a strand of hair. She knew she cared too much, worried too much, but rightly so. Something had changed since they left the Underground, suddenly; and now he could not meet her eye, like he was guilty. She wanted, more than anything else, to be there for him. But of course no one could, not for someone who would rather suffer alone.

Chapter Text

The bricks wafted the scent of petrichor into the air, the dampened light shining off the ground as it hinted at puddles on the sidewalk, the telltale sign of rain. Viola turned slightly to watch her father, correcting the collar of his jacket, and lifting the top hat to rest lightly over his hair. He folded a pocket watch into his clothes, and paused as he noted her. “You are, not cold?” She shook her head lightly, glancing down at her bare arms poking out the shoulders of the pale blue dress. “I like this one.” 
“It is becoming of you.” He looked away bashfully. “That is to say, I’m proud of you...in your choices.” She beamed.
“Thank you sir.” Stepping out onto the sidewalk, she led him off into the city.

The first thing that occurred to Viola was the difference between her mother and father. Lilliane was her chaperone, her organiser, her routine, she was to follow and accept her advice. Therefore, she had never truly taken notice of the people around her. But here, she was the one being followed. Her father walked alongside her, head bent in companionable silence, the tap of shoes on the cobble echoing after. Of course she had never been troubled by her mother’s approach, but now she realised how liberating it felt, to walk with purpose beside an equal, not as a follower. She lightly swung her feet, and occasionally glanced at Robert in awe, catching his eye and smiling brightly. She felt like a child again, indulging in the strangely familiar contact as they walked, shoulder to shoulder, her head verging on his jaw. She noticed the bustle around her, the elegant yet hurried stride of people on business, the motorised carriages hissing and clicking in heated motion; the twisting weave of paths small children made as they ran through the crowd, laughing in joyous abandon, and leaping without thought into puddles on the street. Occasionally, Robert would lift a hand and tip his hat to acquaintances that passed them, giving a casual ‘afternoon’ that seemed to come naturally.

“So...daughter, where are we off to?” Robert asked.
“The market should be open today, there’s always something going on there.” Muffet’s shop came into view as they approached the corner, and she gazed absently. “Are you afraid of spiders father?” Robert glanced at her, confused. “That is to say, I was,” she continued awkwardly, “but, I’ve come to see they aren’t as frightful as I believed.” She pressed a hand to her lips, chuckling to herself at the inside joke.
“Well, to overcome one’s fears is commendable.” Robert gave her a patient smile. “You must be very brave.” Viola flushed, and tucked her hands together at the unexpected compliment. “I suppose.” She began to recount a few of her recent adventures, in as vague detail as possible. She mentioned Sans, although not by name, and also her new friendship with Muffet. “He’s a friend of Muffet’s, that’s how I met him.” She frowned slightly. “He can be...difficult to communicate with, but I’d like to be his friend.” Robert stayed respectfully quiet as she mused, allowing the conversation to run from her grasp. She appreciated his lack of surprise when she spoke of a male friend, unlike Lilliane; she didn’t want to feel corralled into a romantic investment with just any man she met. 

“What about you father? How is your work?” Viola asked. Robert was the inventor and scientist of the royal family, working closely with King Samuel; this kept him away from home for weeks at a time. “Well, your mother wouldn’t approve. I can tell you of the most recent project however, we’re designing a more efficient power source for the train lines. Resources are finite, and although magicians are rare, they’re still far more powerful than anything we could use naturally.” Viola gaped.
“You can harness the power of a magician?!” She couldn’t hide her excitement.
“Indeed, Her Majesty Queen Catherine provides most of our energy, her own supply is practically limitless. We haven’t yet made a container stable enough to store the energy however.” There was a spark of something in Robert’s eyes as he contemplated. “I’m positive we’ll solve the problem, eventually.”
“I wish you the best,” Viola replied with a smile. She got the feeling Robert was intensely passionate about his job, she had never seen him look so focussed. 

As the two reached the edge of the market, they crossed paths with a serious-looking individual in a long black coat. Robert smiled politely as he greeted him. “Ah, hello my good sir.” He looked down at Viola with a troubled expression. “I have some business to discuss, could you to leave us for a moment?” She nodded.
“I’ll be at the market then.”
“Try to stay in sight,” he called after her. Viola strolled carefully toward the rows of stalls, hearing a vague hint of their conversation as she went. “Did you receive the plans?”
“Yes sir.”
“...And how about the Arcane Transmission Coil?” 
“Progress is slow, but His Majesty seems pleased.”
“Well don’t forget you can always come to me for assistance.” Viola’s eyes identified the curiosities before her. She stopped to examine a variety of wooden utensils, the grain of the wood smoothed to a sheen, while the edges retained their bark, rough and uneven. She glanced up, and happened to notice two little figures in brown cloaks pressed up against the stall opposite, selling a colourful and aromatic array of foods. She recognised them. Stepping up, she placed her hand on the smaller one’s shoulder, which caused her to flinch, and whip her head around to look. The big black eyes that watched her quickly turned from fear to joy as she recognised her. “Viola!” Caramel tittered. Peanut, the other rabbit, gave her an unimpressed frown, and pulled Caramel closer to him. “What do you want?” Viola smiled knowingly, and reached out to pinch his nose. “ Manners young man.” He slapped her hand away and glared in defiance, his folded ears twitching slightly, betraying his fear. She reached out and stroked the tuft of long fur on his head. “Relax, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” she admonished gently. 
“I’m not afraid of stupid humans like you,” he scoffed, turning his head away, although he did not move from her hand. 

“What are you two doing here? It’s dangerous,” Viola asked.
“I can protect my sister!” Peanut snapped, but his eyes took on a sorrowful glint. “We need food. Mama hasn’t eaten since yesterday...”
“And she has to work, we don’t,” Caramel whimpered. Viola straightened up and pulled out her purse, leafing through the notes.
“Alright.” She stepped up to the stall. “Three loafs of bread, two jars of strawberry jam and five radishes please.” She picked up the paper bag and lowered it to them. “Here. Give my regards to your mother.” Caramel scrambled forward and flung herself into Viola’s arms, her little body quivering with emotion. “I will!” she squeaked. Peanut collected up the bag and gave Viola a mistrustful look.
“Don’t expect me to be grateful. I don’t know what you want but we don’t owe you anything.” 
“I want you to live comfortably. Can you do that for me?” Peanut raised his eyebrows.
“Fine,” he muttered, before grabbing Caramel’s hand and walking off into the crowd.
“Thank you Viola!” she called out, raising a paw before she vanished from sight. Viola silently prayed that they would be safe. God, they were no more than children, they didn’t deserve a life like this.

Making her way out of the crowd, Viola stood at the street corner and awaited her father. As she brushed down her clothes, her hand jostled the flower brooch, pulling it loose, and it tumbled to the ground. Tutting to herself, she picked it up and dusted off the dirt. But someone else was watching, from the shadow of the side street, their large brown eyes darting to follow the yellow flash. The flower conjured up a flood of memories ranging from joy to heartbreak, and clenching their fists, they stepped out into the street. They wanted that brooch, now . Viola looked up just in time to see a child running at them from the opposite side of the road, only to jolt backwards as they barged past, snatching the flower straight from her hands. “Ow, hey!” she called out, falling into stride to give chase, down the pavement and across the street before disappearing into an alley. The kid pulled to a stop as they recognised the wall blocking their exit, and turned to face Viola in pure defiance, clutching the brooch and glaring up at her. 

As she moved closer, Viola noted that they were around 13, their frame entering the transitional phase after childhood chubbiness, their limbs lanky and too long for their torso. Their clothes were simple, a large blue jumper with two magenta stripes, the wear and tear clear to see from a number of crude stitches; simple black shorts, their scuffed knees visible beneath, and a pair of oversized brown boots. Their hair was messy and a little too long, reaching to touch their shoulders, and their entire appearance was grimy, like they had stayed out in the rain. “Hey...” Viola began, keeping her voice quiet. “Please can I have that back?” They shook their head, staring up at her with bright eyes, unflinching in her presence. She folded her arms. “It’s wrong to steal you know,” she said, reaching out a hand to them, “so be a good boy and give it back okay? And I won’t say any more about it.” The kid flinched, and slowly their hands became fists, their eyes wavering with anguish as they stared ahead. Did she say something wrong? They made a tiny noise, a hiss of air escaping their mouth, before barrelling past, pushing her aside as they headed into the crowds and instantly melted away. Viola stood and watched, shocked. Of course she wouldn’t be visibly sad for the robbery, but she couldn’t help but feel upset. That brooch was important to her, a memory of survival. Damn it... She thought, frowning as she made her way slowly back towards the main street. “Ah, Viola.” She heard a voice, and turned as Robert walked to meet her. “Forgive me, that took longer than expected.”
“It’s alright father. Let’s go.” She nodded to him and forced a smile, trying not to let it bother her. The child stooped into a crouch as they reached safety, their chest heaving. They rubbed the soft material of the brooch between their fingers, and smiled sadly as they remembered their dear friends.

Chapter Text

What time was it? The soft patter of rain on Sans’ hat was the only sound he could register, and he stared down at the messy bricks beneath him, wet mud and tufts of grass visible between the disjointed slabs. More than an hour had passed at least. He let out a sigh, his hunched shoulders rising and falling again as he slouched against the wall of an old building, one of the few still standing. Time only seemed to be getting away from him, how long had it been since they left the Underground? Nine months now, and he had achieved nothing. His pupils drifted to follow the ascent of smoke from the lit cigar he held, the tiny ring of molten light burning a grey ashy mess in its wake. Well, guess it’s time to make the rounds.  

He didn’t enjoy patrolling the old city, there were too many humans around, too much suffering and fear; but he couldn’t trust anyone else to do it, most monsters weren’t accustomed to the brutality of gangers, and the rest were too busy stirring up trouble. Undyne, as honest and good-natured as she was, was a constant thorn in his side. He couldn’t understand why she was always itching to fight, it only made the dusters more violent, further increasing their struggles. At least he could trust Toriel to keep them all in check. 

As he reached the street corner, Sans’ pupils flickered as he recognised a sorry-looking ganger coming the other way, huddled against his jacket collar and not looking where he was going. Lifting a hand, Sans pushed back against the muddied patience soul, holding him in place. The man flinched back, his eyes pinching with fear as he caught sight of the skeleton’s face, shadowed in the dark. Yanking him forwards, Sans gripped the fabric of the man’s coat and leaned to growl in his ear. “Scram.” He released him, allowing the poor fool to stagger backwards, hitting the soaked ground hard. With a pathetic whimper, he scrambled to his feet and took off into the encroaching blackness. Perhaps it was cruel, but Sans had no time for lowlife humans, especially unmarked gangers walking alone; maybe it would teach him a lesson on how to stay alive a few months longer. 

Somewhere off to the left a shadowed alley yawned, revealing a collection of five humans. One of them clicked their tongue, a playfully mocking tone to their voice as they called out, “bit rough don’t you think? Sorry sod never knew what hit ‘im.” Sans’ left socket hazed with a blue glow as he watched, the figures moving into the light to reveal purple waistcoats, and long black boots. “Oh hell,” Sans murmured to himself. That colour could only mean one thing, the Mauveine Dusters had found him; one of the most powerful, racist, and heartless gangs of the slums. The leader of their little squadron took a few nonchalant steps forward before cracking a smile. “What’s up, monster scum?” Sans felt the heat of the magic eye smouldering against his skull, but he took a breath and pushed the energy back inside. Turning on his heel, he made for the next street and kept walking, hopefully he could avoid the confrontation. He kept his pace steady all the same, it would be a mistake to let them think he was running away. “Oh come on , that’s no fun at all,” the duster sneered, his voice following Sans out into the street, and the resonance of heavy boots tapping against wet ground. “I’ve seen what you cretins can do, surely you aren’t scared of the likes of me?” 
“Heh, you’re right there,” Sans replied, although he did not turn his head. “An’ if you know, I don’t suggest doin’ this, pal.” The duster snickered, and a collection of jeered ascent erupted from his friends. “Aww, I think he’s worried about me fellers! Now ain’t that sweet.” After a moment Sans recognised the sound of something falling through the air, and shifted his head to the left just as a large rock soared over his shoulder and smashed into the bricks below. He couldn’t help but allow a grin of contempt to grip his cheeks, these humans had no idea what he was capable of. 

The duster hissed in anger, and there was the slight sing of metal as some knife was removed from its sheath. “Alright you Underground trash, enough games.” His voice dropped warningly. “Turn around, or it’ll be your head next.” Sans sighed, the throb of exhaustion pulsing in his head uncomfortably. He hadn’t planned on killing anyone today. Pulling to a stop, he turned slowly to face the group, his eye sockets dark, and smile wide. “A’right, buddy ol’ pal , whatever you want.” His voice rumbled, and he felt the buzz of adrenaline filling his chest, he pressed his fingertips to the base of his palms in anticipation. Clicking his fingers, the duster nodded to two of his squad, and they stepped forward, brandishing flip knives. One took a swing at Sans’ right flank, and lowering himself to the ground he shifted to the left, right into the path of the second man; swiftly he lifted a wall of bones just beneath his feet, forcing him to stagger. Jolting forward, his attacker swung out wildly, and Sans responded by clutching hold of his soul and shoving him backwards, where he fell and skewered himself through the stomach on an awaiting femur, gurgling a scream in protest. Huffing shortly, Sans then turned on the other, forcibly grabbing the justice soul and ramming him into the wall of the nearest building, the crack of his skull against stone leaving a bloody smear. The next duster who came at him was furious, leaping nimbly past the first bone wall and bringing his arm up to clash against the second. For a moment Sans felt the feeling drop from his gut as he caught sight of the rare determination glow, rimmed with kindness, and found himself recognising the way he threw himself into the fray, so akin to the small child that had attempted it many times before. His magic eye flickered wildly in response, and stumbling to his knees, he launched two sharpened bones from his sides just as the man reached him, splitting the skin either side of his spine and showering blood onto Sans’ clothes and face. He sprang back as the body tumbled to the ground, shuddering. 

“Damn you!” the head duster snarled, advancing along with his crony. Sans flinched as he noticed the pistol he held, and ducked as it cracked through the night, the bullet whipping past his head with a squeal. He reached out a hand and grabbed at the soul, constricting it, but the duster resisted him, grunting in pain as he stumbled, but refused to fall. The last remaining man charged in from left side, the knife biting into his outstretched arm, and forcing him to pull away, his humerus stinging as it crumbled beneath the blade. He instead found a hold on this new soul, and yanked him up off the ground, swinging him around before pushing back into the other, casting them both to the floor. Blinking forward a few steps, he stood over the two of them and brought down his hand, unleashing a barrage of attacks from all sides, pinning them to the ground with their own limbs. The leader of the group remained alive, his shout of pain ringing in his ears. As Sans leaned over him, he scoffed, spitting blood into his face. “You really are a monster.” he croaked, “I hope you suffer.” As he trailed off, Sans watched in silence as his body became slack. “...Already am,” he murmured. 

As he straightened up, Sans looked down at his gloved hands, completely soaked in blood. His pupils shrank in horror as he recognised the feeling in his chest, a fluttering glow of warmth. He had enjoyed this. Something about the exact moment the light leaves the eyes, the quiet huff of escaping air on the last breath, it was a novelty to witness. He took a look at his soul for a moment, and his vision blurred with anxiety: LV 4, HP 3/5. His LV had increased again, although his HP, his Hope, remained the same. It’s what he’d expected, his Hope wouldn’t increase from killing, it never had. What exactly had increased his Hope? It happened sometime after Frisk saved them, perhaps the simple notion of freedom was enough to save him too. But that Level of Violence was a massive weight on his conscious, and he knew it would only increase further from now. Killing only got easier the more you did it. There were hardly any surface monsters without some blemish of murder upon them, but the guilt hung heavy for them all.

Sans returned to the bar, weakened as he was, he couldn’t risk another run-in until he was healed. Teleporting into the backrooms, he made his way quietly to the kitchen, hoping to find something to heal him. Toriel was settled in her large armchair in the living room, the crackle of the fire filling the silence. Tilting her glasses, she glanced up from her book as she noticed movement from the door, and called out quietly, “Sans, come here please.” He flinched, but knew he had to face her. Stepping up to the door, he poked his head through the gap and tried his best smile. “Hey Tori.” Her deep red eyes widened as she looked at him, and she slowly got to her feet.
“You shouldn’t come inside in that state, I believe I told you before. We don’t want bloodstains on the carpet.” He chuckled lowly.
“Sorry boss.” Gesturing him into the room, Toriel stripped him of his waistcoat, and sat him down on the sofa. She worked methodically, as she had many times before, her motherly patience working its magic on Sans’ wounds. Within a few minutes the dusting cut on his arm disappeared, leaving a thin scar on the bone to add to the rest. “Here, a clean waistcoat. Are you sure you don’t want a clean shirt as well?”
“Nah, the white ones stain too easy. Changing the gloves’ll do.” This was precisely why he wore black. Rolling his sleeve back over the scar, Sans straightened out the creases in his clothes. Toriel reached over with a damp cloth, and resting a hand on his chin, she tilted his head back to wipe off the blood splatters on his face. “What happened this time?” she asked matter-of-factly.
“Dusters, a group of ‘em.”
“Did you have to kill them?” Her eyes were kindly, but held the reprimanding light of a mother watching a troubled child. He really hated that look, it made him feel the guilt of every wrong he’d committed. He was such a disappointment. “No,” he replied, only a whisper. Toriel sighed quietly, before withdrawing. “Let me see how your soul looks.” A fear gripped him, and he shook his head, no, he couldn’t let her see, no one should see what he had done. She looked hurt, after all, it was unlike Sans to close himself off to her, but she closed her eyes and nodded. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she said simply, before returning to her chair. 

As she lifted her book, something occurred to her. “How is your young lady? Have you briefed her on your duties?” Sans rubbed his brow, the dull ache returning with full force. “Uhh, no. I will do.”
“I don’t mean to rush you, but I think it would be best to do sooner rather than later,” Toriel gently prodded. 
“Sure thing boss, I’ll get on it.” He didn’t want to see Viola right now. She was, although surprisingly able to hold her own, an innocent. It didn’t sit well with him to know he must include her in their business, even if it was his fault. Begrudgingly he pulled on his hat and secured the black scarf over his nose, knowing full well that it did not matter. Perhaps it would be better to go to her now, let her see what he truly was, and allow her to run as far from him as possible, to save herself. But a small part of him recognised what a waste that would be; she was the one human who seemed to honestly respect monsters, she cared for Caramel well enough. What a naïvely pure creature she was, having no idea what was to come if she continued where she was going. But Sans wasn’t going to stop her if that’s what she wanted, and she would destroy herself. Sans would not be to blame, but he would blame himself anyway.

Chapter Text

Cold. The girl’s eyes snapped open as the feeling occurred to her, or indeed, the lack of feeling. Shrugging herself upright, she struggled to breathe life back into her fingers, blowing air across them, and hastily rubbing them together. She hissed to herself as she shifted forward, her limbs screaming where they made contact with the air, chilling her to the core. It must’ve been some time around autumn by now, although she would never be able to tell what the date even was. Hoisting herself to her feet, the girl ambled to the edge of the alley and scanned her surroundings. 

Pale fingers of sunlight pierced the cloud line, stretching to reach the ground through the muggy haze of the day. Here and there, tiny white flowers wormed up through the concrete to press their faces to the sky; hints of green moss and grass blades encroaching on the man-made scar of the street, softening it. Nature was reclaiming this place, its gentle yet earnest touch reducing the decay to rich soil, and pressing back on the land that was rightfully its own. As the girl cast her gaze down the winding pavement, she considered how she would one day join the ruined city in death, becoming yet another broken thing to be swept away by time’s dismissing hand. It was a negative thought, but not a saddening one, for the girl knew her time was not over, not yet.

It was then that a sudden flash of red filled her vision, such a rich colour being unusual to her. Two figures, one of which she easily recognised as the skeleton, were moving slowly up the street towards her. The sight was almost comical, for the second figure, a raggedy red scarf draped around their shoulders, stood about twice the height of their companion; although their pearly white visage indicated to the girl that they were not human. The two appeared in intense discussion, and hastily the girl ducked back into the refuge of the den, hoping vainly that they would pass her by. Sadly, the intruding monsters had other plans. She watched their shadows trail towards her as the sun grew in strength at their backs, although they kept their distance. Curiously, it was the taller of the two that approached her, the skeleton she was familiar with standing idly at the end of the alley, watching. Up on her haunches, the girl stared into the monster’s face, some 7 feet above her, and drew her eyebrows together. She was met by a presence outrageously different from the silent lachrymose of the previous monster. The expression that met hers was...beaming, almost as though it generated its own light, the sharply angled jaw stretched as far as it could go, and black sockets creased with approachability. It was impressive how inviting an eyeless creature whose shadow blanketed her could be, considering what he was. A hand reached down to her, and she shrank back instinctively, but it did not retract, held palm-up, and wrapped neatly in a pristine white glove. A scratchy voice warbling between C and D, unpleasant, but oddly friendly, addressed her. “Don’t be afraid human, I am the great Papyrus!”

Although he had been warned of the delicacy of the situation, Papyrus wasn’t expecting his chest to hurt quite so much for the state of this poor human’s living space as it did. An overflow of sympathy welled up as soon as he caught sight of her. Her limbs were stick thin, coated in grime, an oversized canvas shirt being the only thing to conceal the ribs sticking out from under her skin, like tissue paper holding the skeleton in place. From a detailed education into humans, given by Sans, Papyrus was VERY aware that the skeleton of a human wasn’t meant to be seen; as the girl pulled her arms around herself in frail defence, he became painfully aware that her arms were practically thinner than his own. It scared him, in a different way than usual, not like the first time he’d gotten shot by a human , a creature he had never considered threatening. He was scared that this one looked like she was about to fall to pieces, and stepping forward, he felt a buzz of energy that compelled him to help, in any way possible. 

The small girl had retreated a ways from him, and looked in all manner ready to dissolve into the brickwork if he misstepped. And so, thinking of nothing more than a way to comfort her, Papyrus kneeled down on the dusty pavement, and settled himself as comfortably as possible across from her. He now sat about a metre from where she huddled in her makeshift dwelling, and produced from his satchel the box of food Sans had prepared. “Well human,” he began, keeping his voice as gentle as was possible for someone with his energy to maintain. “I would normally invite a guest to my own home before preparing a meal for them, but I hope you can forgive my rudeness.” He carefully removed his gloves, keeping the girl in view the entire time, and whenever she flinched as his gesture, he slowed his movements. The girl in turn moved slightly, only enough to allow her a better view of what the monster was doing. She watched, partially mystified, as he removed his pristine gloves and placed them in front of him on the dirt, before taking from his box....a cupcake? She looked again, and despite her incredulousness, could confirm that they were cupcakes, much like the ones the skeleton had offered her before. They were beautiful, no bigger than her palm, and topped with an untouched swirl of pink icing, tiny silver stars clustered on top. Papyrus, as the monster had named himself, placed one on the glove closest to her, and one on his own, before settling down into a sitting position, his knees raising absurdly high off the floor where he crossed them. “They were made by my good friend Muffet, though of course nowhere near the level of my cooking, she may be at least half as talented as I.” The girl couldn’t understand it. Here was a creature whose mannerisms were unreadable, she had no idea what he was thinking, and his words seemed of no substance; yet his voice was gentler than anything she had ever heard. Though by no means soft, it was in fact coarse and scratchy, she felt an openness in everything he did, and an ease that was somehow infectious. She felt manipulated, to feel her senses calm regardless of how her brain warned her back. And something was drawing her in, an amiability that told her instinctively that Papyrus was to be trusted. He sat back as she watched, eating his cupcake as he gazed around the den as relaxedly as he would his own space. How could he be so calm? If his motive was to gain her trust she would have seen more tension in him, as she did with the other skeleton, who looked on her like she was made of glass. But she saw nothing. Papyrus held himself neatly, his grey and red pinstriped waistcoat buttoned right to the chin, a crisp white collar pressed over it, and an endearing little bow tie perched in the centre. Only the red scarf was tattered, placed on the ground beside him, and he now sat like a child, his hands resting over his ankles as he watched her, careful not to stare too long. He seemed almost...naïve. Was she not a threat to him at all? No, she was weak and fragile, but any street urchin was a detestable sight to most. She wanted to ask, to question why he was even here, why he and his friend - no, not friend, their voices, although very different in pitch, held the same gravelly resonance, perhaps...brother? - were even trying at all. But of course, she would not speak a word.

The girl tensed again as she saw Papyrus move, but he knew what he moved to do was not threatening, and so he shuffled across the alley to the neat line of bottles sitting against the wall. As he reached out to touch them, he listened as the human moved forward, edging just out of her home’s reach to pick up the cupcake, before retracting. Relief fluttered in his chest, at least she was willing to eat on her own terms. That was what he had been most afraid of. Humans were much stronger than him, this he now knew, but their vulnerabilities were so different. Food gave monsters more energy when they were lacking, sleep recharged their energy for magic, but neither of these things were essential, not like they were for humans. The thought that this girl would die on his watch, the thought that he could not help her soon enough, terrified him. She didn’t deserve what she was going through, even if he knew nothing about her at all, he was certain she had good in her. 

The girl couldn’t even taste the cupcake as it went down, probably because it was gone in a matter of seconds. It melted on her tongue like butter, and suddenly shook her with an energy that heated her limbs. The cold was gone, and now she could feel her fingertips again. She felt...better, better than she had in months. The clink of a D called her attention back to Papyrus, and she looked at him in bemusement as he tapped gently on the bottles, the bone of his hands easily producing a sound, clear as crystal. But he didn’t understand them. Looking intently at the letters she had scrawled on the wall, he attempted to recreate the melody, but without success. After a moment of watching, she couldn't take it any longer, and made her way over to sit beside him. Picking up the stick, she pointed at the first letter, E, and then tapped the bottle that made that sound. She continued in this way until the letters ran out, and then played the entirety through once more, hoping he would understand her meaning. To her surprise, and very slight appreciation, he watched intently as she directed him, and smiled in unreserved delight as she finished. “Marvellous!” he cried. “How talented you are human. Would you play again?” The girl looked at him for a moment in confusion, light finally catching off her pale green eyes as she observed him, this time without a hint of fear. She turned back to her contraption and began again, and either didn’t notice, or didn’t care when Papyrus reached to the back of her shirt, and carefully lifted the collar in search of a name. The little patch of fabric presented a very blurred section of writing, and the only letters he could make out fully were an E and an M. Emily perhaps? 

The girl wasn’t sure what had come over her, to now be sitting shoulder to shoulder with a monster a little over 7 feet tall. But for once, her instincts relented, and instead she felt very much at ease. She imagined most people would look upon such a creature and be frozen with fear, his boned hands and hollow eyes were enough to suggest his danger. But, as she watched him, mesmerised by the sound of filthy bottles filled with gutter water, she couldn’t believe there was a devious thought in his head. Even when he pulled back her shirt, every muscle in her back screaming at the sensation, she knew immediately following why he had done so. “Is your name Emily?” She wasn’t sure why he wanted a name to call her by, but as he had given his it only made sense. She shook her head in response, for truthfully she didn’t know her name; it didn’t matter to her now, coming from a life she barely remembered. Papyrus now turned his full attention to her, and although feeling his direct gaze was uncomfortable, she simultaneously felt that she wanted it. It was difficult to tell from his eyes alone how he was feeling, but no, she knew they were genuine; and suddenly, beyond all reason, he became important. Beyond all sense the girl felt like she had known him for a lifetime, and his attention inspired warmth. Of course her mind told her to remain cautious, and she would; but unlike the original skeleton, whom she had seen as a threat, a creature very capable of violence who hid things in everything he did and remained unpredictable, no matter how much she observed him, Papyrus was kind and calm, unshaken by her looks or vulnerability, and all he did was open and obvious.

  “What should I call you then human?” She looked at him blankly, before lifting a hand to her shirt collar and tugging at it. He understood her meaning however. “I shouldn’t guess should I? Of course not! That was rude of me. Are you happy to be called Em then?” She shrugged in indifference, and he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at how much she reminded him of Frisk. “It’s not as great a name as the great Papyrus! But it is suitable! Thank you for letting me into your home Em. These are for you.” He pulled the box with the rest of the cakes from his bag and offered it to her, but she shuffled back a little, and would not accept it until he placed it on the ground for her; she hastily stored it in the den. When she turned to look, she saw Papyrus had slung the tattered scarf back over his shoulders and gotten to his feet. He picked up his gloves and stuffed them in his bag before giving her a sweeping bow, smiling brightly, and bidding her goodbye. “Could I return with more food another day?” he asked, and she couldn’t help but think how respectful he was, that unlike his brother, he was willing to ask to come back, rather than simply stating it. She hesitantly nodded, and, with a parting wave, he was gone. As she looked on down the alley, she saw that the other monster still stood there, his eyes shadowed from the sunlight under his trilby, although obviously trained on her. Why? Why are you doing this? Was all Em could think, all she could silently ask as he gazed at her. “Come along,” Papyrus said as he came to meet him, and, shaking himself as if from a trance, he reluctantly drew away.

Chapter Text

Plonk. A hollow sound woke Viola suddenly, and she cracked open her bleary eyes to gaze at the ceiling. For a moment she wondered if she had simply imagined it, before the sound came again. Plonk. She recognised it easily enough as something hitting glass. Reluctantly pulling the covers up she left the magnetic comfort of the bed and shook away the fuzziness of sleep as she wandered across the room to the window. As she tugged back the curtain, she saw a small stone suspended on the other side of the glass, shrouded in a dark blue light. Her sleep-muddled brain couldn’t quite fathom why there was a rock intent on throwing itself at her window, and her eyes traveled slowly down to the street below; where finally she recognised the small figure awaiting her. Snapped suddenly awake by Sans’ appearance, Viola struggled to slide the latch and swing the window open. Right as she did so, she heard a loud knock at her bedroom door, and her mother’s voice, harsh against her numbed senses. “Viola, you should be asleep! What do you think you’re playing at? Back to bed, now .” Lilliane marched away along the hall, slamming her bedroom door shut. Viola shuddered, always fearful of her mother’s anger. Great, now she was being blamed for something beyond her control. She turned back to the window and stared down at Sans, a deep frown coming over her face at his audacity. “Of all the times to show up...” she muttered, pressing her elbow into the window and forcing it open, as the cold seeped into the bedroom. “Sans!” she hissed, “what is it?” He made a motion for her to stay silent, and beckoned her to join him. She bristled, despite herself. First she was rudely awoken at 1am, after a very long day of study, and now she was expected to go outside at this hour? 

Viola was not a morning person, her social etiquette initiating after an hour of waking; and although she held the deepest respect for the magician, her patience had been tested enough. Groaning with effort, she threw on the simplest outfit she could find: a long dress in dark green, and a black cardigan to protect her arms from the chill. Hesitating at the door, she flicked open her jewellery box and picked up the insignia ribbon, tying it neatly around her neck. 

Quickly as she dared, Viola skittered down the staircase and into the porch, begging to whoever was listening that her parents wouldn’t notice her absence, and yanked on a pair of long lace-up boots. She paused in consideration of a lantern, but decided it would probably weigh her down. Taking the house key off its hook beside the door, she cracked it open and slipped out into the night air, her breath clouding at its touch. Snapping the lock shut, she pocketed the key before glancing up, and watched Sans’ figure as he receded into the darkness of the street, obviously expecting her to follow. He said nothing as she approached, only the gleam of his eyes visible, and she wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Unable to contain her irritation, her words flowed heavy and fast. “I believe most people would find it unseemly for their acquaintance to call on them in the middle of the night,” she began, “especially if said person neglected to see them for an entire week!” Sans said nothing, and Viola felt a bubble of incredulous laughter rising in her. “You know, I have a fair amount of tolerance for your behaviour Sans, and I understand you have an inability to state facts. But a few words go a long way. You could have given me anything , anything at all to say you hadn’t forgotten about me entirely!” She couldn’t count the times she had spent staring idly out the window the last few days, hoping against hope that he would appear, praying it wasn’t just a lie. Okay, she was overreacting, and if her rationality had kicked in, maybe this would never have surfaced; but for what she lacked in the ‘early bird’ department, she made up for in honesty. Sans fixed her gaze steadily as he spoke, the gentle lull of his voice remaining calm. “Sorry ‘bout that, had some business to attend to.” Of course he could never tell her how hesitant he was to include her at all. “That’s not good enough Sans! You never tell me anything. I thought we were aquatinted well enough that I deserved some information, anything at all!”  Sans turned away from her gaze, his shoulders looking a little more tense than usual. He started off along the sidewalk, assuming she would follow obediently, as she always did. But not this time.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice tight with the effort of staying quiet. Silence. Viola folded her arms in defiance, she wasn’t moving. Sans stopped and turned to watch her, hands deep in his pockets. “You need to follow me, kid .” The growl of threat that glazed his voice, a tone she had only heard twice before, would normally scare her; but by now she was shaking, with cold or rage she was unsure, but a heat burned in her gut. The next words she spoke slowly, and with dangerous purpose. “I’m not going anywhere, until you tell me what’s going on. You owe me that.” The light glinting in Sans’ eyes seemed to flicker out, and for a moment he stood frightfully still. Viola’s rationale stirred, and all at once the groggy anger that possessed her lifted, and she suddenly realised her mistake. 

The atmosphere seemed to shift, almost like fog, thick and heavy, and bristling with energy. She had never fought Sans, never even considered it. He was calm, and gentle, and uncaring in his actions, but she had always felt a weighty danger hidden beneath; in his moments of utter quiet. And now she feared she had kicked the door open. In a second he stood right in front of her, eyes black, expression clouded. He didn’t lay a hand on her, as she expected him to, to grip her roughly by the shoulder and drag her into the darkness. No, he only stared, and the words that met her were incredibly calm, and ice cold. “You want to know what’s going on? Okay, I’ll show you.” Then he did touch her, not roughly, but with chilling purpose, his hand closing over her wrist like iron. She wasn’t as scared as she probably should have been, but in her innocence she clung to the reasoning that Sans was a good person. He was, but right now, she had pushed him too far. She felt a lurch as the blue-yellow light pulsed in Sans’ eye, and there was a strange sound, like a gun fired in reverse. Viola felt her feet drop a small bit, and a sensation, like when she thought there was one more step than there truly was on the stairs, before the air got a great deal colder. She shook her head a little as her head swam, and blinked as she stared up at the scenery. The gentle light of the street lamps was gone, replaced by a blustering wind, and the smell of metal and smoke. The ruined city walls stretched suddenly out of the darkness as she moved, hidden against the black horizon.

At any other time Viola would have been impressed, seeing the effects of Sans’ teleportation for a second time, but her skin prickled as she watched him. He dropped her wrist as soon as they landed, and started to walk away down the street. ‘Follow’ was all he said, voice still that strange deathly calm that scared her far more than shouting ever would. Viola wrapped her arms up to her chest, furrowing her brows in regret as she fell in step behind him.

There were clear signs of rainfall, though she had slept through it, and staring at Sans’ back she noticed the damp on his hat and shoulders. How long had he been outside tonight? And why? She desperately wanted to ask where they were, what they were doing, but now she couldn’t even bring herself to open her mouth. And besides, if she were to say anything at all, she knew the next word would be ‘sorry’. She rubbed her wrist, where the ghost of his touch remained. The last time he had reached for her without asking was at the masquerade, when her hands had been stained in blood. The gentle way he’d led her from harm juxtaposed with now, was gut-wrenching. They were supposed to be friends now, allies at the least, she thought they had gotten closer. But the more she thought, the more she regretted her sleep-deprived actions. What have I done. It honestly felt like she had jumped a precipice, now there was no way back. And an angered magician? Even as much as she trusted him, which was not as much as she would others, she knew better than to push it with him. 

This part of the city was incredibly unlike the monster’s sector, Viola could tell that much. Even without light, she could feel the gritty sand underfoot, mixed with clumps of metal and glass, cracking as her weight shifted the debris. The reek of soot and smoke hung in the air, and even the breath sucked into her lungs felt thick and unpleasant. There were metalworks here, the signs were everywhere. Viola had never been to the factory district of Ebott, but sometimes glimpsed the smoke stacks over the houses, and heard the occasional shriek of heavy machinery; but even so, industry was a subject from which she was far removed. She felt herself stepping closer to Sans’ heels, despite herself. Something about this place felt...off, and she pulled her hands to her chest to still her quickly rising heart rate. It’s okay, you aren’t alone this time. No, not alone, but as of now the magician beside her was almost as threatening as the buildings that slouched over their heads. She decided to speak. “Sans...please can you tell me where we are?” She used as delicate a voice as possible, but he did not respond, didn’t even glance her way. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping that would be enough to banish her fears, and she followed blindly onwards.

Sans grimaced as the odour of duster territory hit him. It was worse how familiar the smell was, that striking combination of monster dust, blood and metal. He hated this place. It made him wish for the old days, the stifling heat of the Underground city, bodies pressed together, tired eyes and grasping hands, the gentle whimper of hungry children. He smiled bitterly to himself, wallowing in self-loathing as he wished for that time, a time of suffering for his kind. Of course, Sans had wished for anything, anything that would save them, his friends, his family, everything he loved. But what good had that done? How many had died out here on the surface? Or were damaged far beyond reason. Even his little brother, kind and gentle as he was, had now learned to kill. His fingers twitched, itchy with guilt as he remembered how it felt, to watch his only sibling blast a hole through a man’s chest. To see the pain and regret in his eyes, the blood spattering his skull. Sans had failed him. And now it was happening all over again. Sans focussed on the soft amber light behind him, tasting the uncertain thrum of her heart, the doubt, the fear, the guilt. The girl was too delicate for this place, this he knew all too well. 

But, this is what she wanted, what she asked for. Even as he continued to move silently through the darkness, he no longer felt anything. He knew what he was about to do would most likely ruin Viola, steal her innocence away; her blind trust in him vanquished, forever. Just as he had done to Papyrus. For a moment he remembered the masquerade, her pale visage knelt on the floor, surrounded by the blood and viscera of a man he had killed not ten minutes before. His fault. Always his fault. He pushed the thought away. What he was doing could not be justified, but he was done being patient. For years he had reserved judgement, sat idle, complacent; but now his people were dying, tens by the day, and it wouldn’t stop there. He needed to do what he could. There was no room for Viola here, but she was determined to know, and so, he would give her everything she asked for.

Sans reached out and took Viola’s wrist, tugging her behind him as he pressed up against the crumbling wall of the street. Peering round the side, Viola watched as a pair of men strolled leisurely towards them, each toying with switchblades, and one holding a lantern. They were chatting idly, and glancing at Sans, Viola saw his eyes narrow above the mask, tracking their movements. “Wait, did you say their dust ?” one of the men suddenly burst out. “Yeah, ‘parently it has magical energy in it or somethin’,” the other explained.
“Ew, so they’re basically handling blood?” The lackey kicked at the ground as he lowered the lantern to inspect it, and Viola now saw the strangely gritty substance under their feet; it was a thick dust, silver in colour, that shimmered somewhat beautifully as it caught the light. “Still, if it’s got magic, I guess it’s not completely worthless to have around. Beats havin’ to clean it up all the time right?” Something about that comment caused Sans to tense beside her, his jaw clenched, grip on her wrist trembling slightly. There was a slight flicker of blue hazing his eye as he lifted a hand towards the men, but then he paused as the other man continued, “still...it’s kind of sick isn’t it? Using them like that. Just doesn’t seem right to me.” 
“I know what you mean mate, but, we do what we have to ain’it? Monsters got magic for Christ sakes, we got fuck all. It’s hard enough fighting the townies. What else can we do?” The ganger shook his head sadly.
“Yeah...I gotcha.”

Sans’ posture relaxed, and he dropped his hand. The two sat there in the shadows until the men passed them by, disappearing down another alley. As Viola sat there, rigid and cold, she recognised a new smell coming off Sans, now they stood shoulder to shoulder. It was faint, but there was a definite hint of blood on his clothes, and for a moment a prickle flashed up her back, at the thought that she had been right all along. Was he a killer? But then she remembered his jokes and gentle words, and didn’t have the heart to accuse him. Maybe she was just imagining it. 

“We need to get higher,” Sans murmured, his voice a low buzz. Viola’s head lulled again as they teleported, and now the wind was hitting her full force. Her eyes flickered wide as she stared at the scene below, her hands clutching at her dress to steady herself. A mess of smoke stacks, hammers striking metal, and wailing bombarded her senses. Beyond the building where they now stood was a blackened wasteland. There was a wall surrounding the area, and it was swarming with gangers, moving this way and that like a nest of ants. There were rows upon rows of furnaces belching thick clouds into the air, the fires in their hearts pulsing like the eyes of some great beast. On closer inspection, she saw they were building weapons, the glint of metal clear to see. Guns, hundreds of them, were being moulded from great kilns of molten lead and iron. The vibrant gold liquid bounced and hissed as it was poured into moulds, and the clang of hammers and other machinery hurt her head. It was hard to breathe with all the smoke in the air, and Viola found herself coughing as her vision swam. But then she heard the wailing again, and the bundle of dread inside forced her to seek out the source of the cries. “Look over there,” Sans said dully, pointing a gloved finger into the chaos.

Then she saw them, the monsters, and horror constricted her face. Sitting in rows at the centre of the camp were about twenty smaller monsters, each shackled with an iron chain to a post in the ground. Attending each of them were two gangers, one pouring iron into bullet moulds, and the other... Viola’s breath sagged from her mouth as she saw the second ganger bring a knife up to the monster, a tiny little white creature that looked like a fairy, with antenna and wings, fluttering feebly. “They’re called a whimsun,” Sans whispered coldly in her ear, “scared of their own shadows. They would never hurt anyone .” Viola tightened her fists, digging her nails into her palms as she watched the ganger trace the knife across the whimsun’s skin, before holding out his hands to catch the dripping black substance that oozed forth, drying into dust upon contact with his gloves. The monster shrieked pitifully, and shuddered as it curled in on itself like a dead spider. The lackey then stepped over to where his cohort was pouring the metal, and Viola stared with wide eyes as he sprinkled the dust into each of the liquid iron bullets, before the mould was closed up. This process was being repeated, hundreds of times, and didn’t appear close to stopping. 

“We didn’t even know they took our people,” Sans hummed, voice bitter, “not until it was too late.” Viola stared down the row, seeing the haunted eyes of multiple monsters, some crying, some simply staring into space, their eyes sunken and lifeless. Tears welled up behind her eyes, and in seconds her face was streaked with them. “And we can’t help them.”
“Why would they do that?” Viola whispered, voice hoarse. 
“Bullets don’t do a lot to us, easy enough to repel with the right magic. But, dust contains the magic of the monster it came from.” His eyes looked black as he observed, expressionless. “Fighting magic with magic. Bullets can’t be repelled, and they burn to the touch. Just like humans to use us against our own.” Viola’s chest ached as he spoke. Despite the detached tone, his choice of words told her he truly cared for monsters, probably more so than any other human. “I’m so sorry...” she murmured. It was all she could think to say. “This is the camp of the Mauveine Dusters, and they want all monsters dead.” Sans turned away from the scene, and taking her arm, they disappeared from the rooftop.