Chapter Text
You've never been in Noelle's room. The house is sprawling enough to sate your curiosity.
She keeps things neat like her mom. Noelle takes your hand, guiding you over to sit on the couch.
A vent above the wall groans as the heating system kicks in. It's chilly in here. Noelle seems not to notice as she talks. Mostly about what happened a couple nights ago. Partly about you.
You're doing your best to be a good listener, but she keeps scooting closer, telling you how grateful she is that you spoke to her after everything that happened in the other world. There's only so far you can scoot away before you hit the corner of the couch. Noelle advances. Her sweetness veiled in a more selfish impulse. Smelling blood in the water.
Her breath puffs against your neck. You avert your gaze. Your palms clammy, curled on your knees. Guilt constricts in your stomach.
What you said, that night, it was mostly for her sake. Putting her at ease is the least you can do now that Berdly shares a hospital room with her father. He's not dead, in the cinical sense. Just sleeping.
It's a pity, the grown ups say, no one is sure why or how to wake him up.
Noelle's hand wraps around your unresponsive wrist. Her fingers are warm. Of course they would be.
The bowels of the house groan and shudder and rumble, as though congested. You're just exhausted. Unguarded and helpless when the soul seeps through your corporeal body and into your arm. Permeating the very essence of the host unlike blood and sinew, physical flesh. A soul has no such limitations. Without it, the vessel is simply dead weight.
You catch the movement. Strangle it. It's inevitable. Like Dess and Berdley and Asgore leaving your mother another bouquet to rot in the trash.
Noelle senses a shift. Simpering, frail. She slides down the couch but there's only the wall waiting for her.
The soul pulls an item from your pocket. A small thorn. Specks of blood crumble into your palm.
If you wanted to stop this, you would have stuffed this soul down the vent and shut the lid. Not left it in an open giftbox. You'd have thrown the thorn into the lake.
The soul never fights against your outbursts. It bides its time. It knows the span of your will better than you, for it doesn't need rest or emotional support.
You'_re clasping her wrist. Noelle's eyes find yours, brown and shimmering. She opens her mouth but she's choking on the words.
There's nothing to be afraid of, your voice says. It will only hurt for a second. Then you will be stronger.
Hand closes around hers. Gentle pressure turns into a firm squeeze. The thorn pierces skin. Blood oozes between you, a covenant stronger than any delusion.
Noelle cries out. Squeeze her hand tightly. The fingers bend but do not break. Burying the splinter. She's just as culpable as you.
Her nails dig into your skin. Eventually, she will be forced to reconcile that it is better to go limp in your grasp than struggle. Your thumb skirts the back of her knuckles. It's a hollow gesture.
Your will suffocates. It begs for her to slap you across the face. To claw and bite and scream for Susie or anyone. There's no weapon to tear yourself asunder and stop this. To absolve her of your actions.
She's crying into your shoulder.
You watch as your hand reaches out to cup her face. The touch to her cheek becomes a steady grip. Prying her away from the false comfort of your shoulder. Her eyes glazed over.
A voice from your throat says, there, now. You are becoming stronger.
Her ears twitch. She's shivering as you tilt her head towards you. You've shattered her trust and moulded her into someone else. Unthinking and reliant. The perfect weapon.
It isn't you. It's not her fault.
Lies for your benefit. The soul understands what is necessary.
You would never hurt Noelle.