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My eyes opened in the dead of night, heart pounding, sweat slicking down our thick hair. Why did I have to exist? Why did I have to wake up in a body that wasn't mine, from a nightmare I could never escape when it was my reality?
I stared at Frisk's night light. A star that cast its dim glow throughout the room in a variety of beautiful, slowly changing colors. From their time on the surface, Frisk had developed a fear of the dark. In trying to cope, they had specifically picked out that one, saying it reminded them of an old friend. Mom said so too. Her voice crack resounded through my memory and made me want to throw up.
I switched the night light off. The blackness of the world encompassed me in the ruins of my home. I understood Frisk's mentality. I didn't blame them anymore. But hatred was less all-consuming and numbingly soul-crushing than guilt.
And aside from that, I'd become a demon. Hell should have been my domain, not my sentence.
In the darkness of night, I let my personality slip away into a facade, hypnotizing myself with the idle motions of my body, as if waiting, waiting, waiting for my dear "partner" to show up and finish what I started. My world was a game, I could tell myself, and I but a mysterious enemy to bend to the whims of the player. It didn't matter what I felt, that I was here now, what I'd done, so long as I was presentable.
I looked up and wondered if my player was looking back down at me. I wondered if they saw the blank gaze in my eyes, watched my distress. I wondered if they cared. My thoughts slipped away into a troubled sleep. Giving up usage of our body, I could be content until another person called my name. I did not dream, nor did I wake up. Nothingness was far easier than reality.