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You think you had friends before.
Before now.
Before Kris.
Before anything here.
Before you forgot.
You remember somebody.
Their outline.
Reflexes.
You were closer with them. You would talk.
You keep expecting Kris to stop and confer, but they never do.
You aren’t sure it’s even possible for them.
So why is that surprising?
You’ll make a snarky little quip and be disappointed someone doesn’t react.
But who?
Kris can’t hear you. They never could, so why does the thought persist?
“Oh! I bet they’ll love this joke!”
But who were “they?”
Try as you might, you can’t remember.
No details, just a nagging missing presence. Something you keep reaching for.
…
You think there were two.
Their names are gone. Never even a scrap of remembrance on that front, but you can surmise a vague sense of their... outlines.
What was that term?… The negative space?
What were you doing together? How did you meet?
Again, Nothing.
Nothing but… flowers.
You remember flowers.
Something happened with flowers.
The flower cut in half made you uneasy. You aren’t sure why. The weird seven colored flowers evoked some a sense of deep recognition, but of what?
Did one of them like flowers?
Did a flower do something?
You had a visceral reaction to… “Flowery”
Some gut feeling was screaming that he was dangerous immediately.
But why?
Flowers… and pie… and cinnamon.
Familiar, the same way so many of the townsfolk were. Like you had spoken before, known them. A familiarity born of memories you couldn’t recall.
Toriel, Asgore, Undyne, Alphys, Sans, his brother…
Sans’ brother…
...
What was his brother’s name again?
When Sans mentioned him the first time, you knew. It was automatic, but then…
later you tried to remember and…
…
He was tall, and he was the younger one, loud.
He was…
was...
…
Red. His color was red. Or orange? Vermilion. That’s the word.
He… must have been a skeleton… right?…
You don’t know.
It hurts to think about it.
About all of them.
You were close with all of them before.
Or maybe one of you was. Of your old friends, the two, you can’t remember.
One of them was your last “vessel” you think.
It was ‘their’ you remember that.
For both.
They were both human. You know that...
So… were you also…?
There’s a hole where their appearances would be, but there isn’t one for you.
No gap where your face would go.
What did do you look like? Did you not know even then?
Were you ever anything other than a presence in someone else?
maybe.
You hope so.
Probably not…
You remember encounters, multiple, In different places, against different... enemies? People? White… shapes.
The exact locations are fuzzy, but you can remember pieces.
A fiery encounter, a cold encounter, one wet. One windy. Another warm. another chaotic, bright. A dance. A fateful encounter. And then something horrible.
Something you triumphed over, the three of you. You remember a shard of satisfaction.
But you have too many of them. Too many of these scattered traces.
You’ve died before. You’ve died here as well. You’ve lost consciousness before seeing much, but you know you've died, and you get to go back.
You could try again.
And again.
You remember… repetition. Things growing distant.
Stale.
Like realizing the person you were looking at was a wax sculpture. Watching them fade from a person with thoughts and feelings into shapes and lines.
Like repeating the same word until it sounds alien.
The feeling is unforgettable, try as your memory might to bury it.
Then there was desperation, anger? Then something dull... boring. Repetitive.
Something you did again and again.
Tedious.
Thorough.
Numb.
Something unbearably numb.
You don’t remember what it was from. But it felt numb.
Hollow.
Like an ache persisting so long it becomes noise. Or eating something until you couldn't taste it anymore
Fighting the Knight was awful. Not because it hurt, it didn’t. not because it took so long, you’re persistent, endless. It was awful because Susie kept talking.
Kept saying the same thing.
The same way.
Over.
And over.
And over.
It… she’s not supposed to do that
She’s supposed to be real. She’s not… she’s not fake, she’s not supposed to be lines.
It scared you. It made you feel numb.
It makes you think of how you are now.
You don’t like that.
Just like how food feels. Tasteless, even the texture is vague and muddy.
Just like what you can feel of Kris’ fingertips. Faint. Not cold not warm.
Faint.
Forgettable.
You must’ve been able to feel before. Or at least taste.
It feels like missing a limb now, so you must’ve had the limb before, right?
But.. are those even your memories?
Or your friend’s?
It’s not like you can verify them here.
…
You wonder if Toriel’s pie tastes the same.
Or smells the same.
You wonder if Ralsei’s fur would feel like Asriel’s
You wonder if Susie’s scales are rough or smooth.
You want to brush all of the scarves you’ve found on your face.
You want to smell the rain again.
All you can feel is that steady thumping. Your pulse.
You want to know what the church juice tastes like.
You want to smell the flowers Asgore keeps giving people.
You want to taste the dark candies.
You want to hug Ralsei and feel it this time.
You want to run your hands along the markings on the doors.
…
You…
You want to slam your head into the pavement.
You want to throw yourself into the acid river, feel it burn.
You want to feel the countless cuts from the knight’s barrage of daggers.
You want it to hurt next time you die.
you want to feel the blood leak out of you.
Blood had a taste… didn’t it?
Was it bitter? It was recognizable, you know that.
Or was it salty?
No, sour?
It couldn’t have been sweet could it?
…
Shouldn’t you remember that? You… you were are human aren’t you?
… Aren’t you?
But… if that’s the case… what did you do before you met those two? Before repeating? Shouldn’t you have had parents? Or a lack thereof?
Shouldn’t there be a hole where those memories should be?
Like with those two?
What was your favorite food?
Your favorite season?
Your favorite color?
...
Why isn’t there a gap where the answer would be?
Instead, there’s nothing. Not something you can’t remember. Not a scrubbed word. No gaping wound where it’s been carved out.
There's nothing.
Your favorite…
Your favorite number is eight.
Two pairs of two pairs. cut it in half, and you have four, which you can cut in half again.
If you count by eights, you get distinct and unique numbers, all divisible by four.
Eight, Sixteen, twenty four, thirty two, forty, forty eight, fifty six, sixty four.
It’s clean. Not the highest, not too small, not as hard to work with as seven. It’s balanced. Even.
That’s you. That’s something you like.
It’s you.
Something about you, something real.
You wonder what Kris’ favorite number is.
Maybe they’re too old for that kind of thing.
It’s not like you could ask. All you can do is watch, watch as they sleep from your little rusty cage.
This stupid dented cage.
Cage.
“The cage with human soul and parts”
You almost laughed.
It coined a new term just so it didn’t have to say how many people it was. A collective so it didn’t have to acknowledge the fact that the ‘human soul’ and the ‘parts’ were two entities. So there could still be only three heroes.
Stupid cagey glass. Too cagey to establish basic things, only clear enough to tell you how doomed you are.
What you would give for it to have made your presence known.
"the cage guided by the string tied heart"
But nope!~
You didn’t even see that last panel.
You can guess though, probably some grand sacrifice.
Probably one you’ll take on instead.
“The cage’s soul the girl must slay”
“The cage’s heart must be sent away”
“The first hero must their life lay”
Or something stupid like that. Whatever it is you're sure it'll fall to you to fix in the end.
In the end, you’ll be left with nothing.
Your inevitable demise and banishment will be a grand triumph for the heroes of this story.~
A culmination of Kris reclaiming their autonomy.~
The weed will be dug out. Finally gone.
And as the stage lights dim, you’ll be left in the empty seats of the audience to rot.
You wish here was like before. Where you could talk to your vessel.
What would you talk with Kris about if you could…
You’d ask about their brother. You remember bits of him. But not enough. He was important to… somebody so you were always curious about…
No, you’re sure they’re sick of hearing about him.
You’d ask about… well everything, you’d want to hear their thoughts on all sorts of things, you’re curious what specific words they’d use to call Rouxls a loser. You just know they’ve got some out of pocket thing to say, the quiet ones always do.
RALSEI you’d ask about Ralsei, Kris seems to have been warming up to him as time went on but… something about him... bothers you.
you don’t dislike him, of course, it's just...
He knows a lot.
And you don’t know enough.
He keeps dismissing things and…
Something about that strikes a cord with you. Reminds you of something, someone.
Someone who was dismissive, before.
Someone you thought was close to you.
Who understood.
Who didn’t believe you.
It’s not the same, he’s not the same but…
It feels… the bad kind of familiar.
The way the numbness does.
The prince alone in deepest dark.
You understand that he’s in choice paralysis but…
He won’t talk to you.
He sends you away.
Maybe he’s afraid of you. You wouldn’t blame him, it’s understandable.
You don’t need all of your memories to know how dangerous you could be if not kept in check.
Maybe you’d talk about Susie.
Susie. You like her, she’s the opposite of you in many ways, she does what she wants, she’s strong enough to do it. She’s determined. She’s real.
But it feels… wrong, with her. Being around her now feels like… an intrusion.
She’s Kris’ friend. You shouldn’t be there.
You’re in the way.
At the diner you… you couldn’t stay aware for it. It was Kris’ tradition, it was their smile you just… followed instructions. They drew on the foggy glass, just the two of them.
But. You. Were. In. The. Way.
It was their hangout. Or… date, or whatever.
It’s none of your buisness.
At the Holiday house, Kris couldn’t hang out with them, they had to go deal with you, go rest from being controlled.
They went off to play piano and have chocolate milk.
While Susie and Noelle wished Kris were there.
But they weren’t.
Because of you
Noelle can tell. She can see them acting different. She can tell you’re lying.
That’s not her Kris.
Maybe that’s why Kris avoided her, because Noelle could tell the difference.
She is correct after all.
And still they wished Kris was there.
Susie will find out eventually. You want to tell her. Tell her that she’s still Kris’ friend, you were just… in the way this whole time. That nearly all of Kris’ actions beyond your hands were for her.
To protect her, to have fun with her.
Not what they thought of her smile though, or the mirror.
That’s for Kris to know.
Platonic or otherwise you can tell they really love her.
She reminds you of someone. Something about the way she tries to act tough. The way she cares even if she doesn’t want to show it.
And food. Something about food. The way she always takes as much as she can.
The way she smiles, against all odds, against everything, her smile, her laugh. It reminds you of someone.
Someone you miss.
Someone you forgot.
And for just a moment, you can pretend you remember them, whoever they were.
Whoever you were.