Work Text:
Asgore tries to call her, one last time, as she leaves New Home forever.
She gazes at the little machine made of metal and plastic and things she has no name for. She gazes at it and remembers a hundred simple, sweet calls, a thousand simple sweet words - "Do we need lettuce?" and "Don't forget to take your vitamins" and "I love you, Gorey". She gazes at it and remembers and her heart nigh-rends itself in half, because the person whose name is on this screen, the person whose name she so lovingly, painstakingly entered into her contacts all those moons ago, is no more.
He died the day he declared death upon all humans.
He died, and Toriel is without mate, without children, without home.
She curls her fingers around the vibrating phone until her claws begin to scrape the paint from its surface, she curls and she winds her arm back and she throws.
It hits a rock with a painful CRACK and tumbles into the water below.
She stares at the ripples on the surface, all that remain of it now.
Then she turns and she trudges onward, carrying yet two more small cell phones in the small bag she so haphazardly threw together. She might return in a few days' time, after the words are perhaps not so fresh that they threaten to drive her mad. After all, there are her books, and her bedding, and her beloved kitchen tools, among other things.
But for now, some food to last her long enough to forage for more, some hygienic necessities, and a few tokens - two little phones whose rings she may never hear again, for the tiny hands that once held them close are no more in this world.
Two small memories, perhaps no longer of use in their original purpose, but with which she cannot bear to part.
A small piece of her heart that still beats dares to hope that, perhaps someday, she may yet find a happy moment to hear them ring once again.