[It's more than their SOUL, pounding inside them like a feverish palpitation; they continue staring at Tim, and a line of faint confusion draws between their eyebrows. The disconnect of him being there. He's not warm, cinnamon-burnt fur or hard and unforgiving bone. He's not a scar-lined hand, small and similar, folded into theirs. The things they still remember, associate with --]
[That tone of voice.]
[Closer pieces lock in, the more recent memories of a dark and dusty room of some other world's ruin. Tim. The man from the Castle in the Mist, whose memories survived what nothing else about him did. His dark, haunted eyes, rings and shadows; an adult voice using words that were for a child. For them. Like almost nobody else ever had before.]
[You deserve someone in your corner.]
[Frisk looks at him, and feels the staunch line of their mouth crumple, and their eyes stinging, because...]
[That's where he is now, isn't it?]
[Frisk feels their chest heave, and drop their face into their hand.]
no subject
[It's more than their SOUL, pounding inside them like a feverish palpitation; they continue staring at Tim, and a line of faint confusion draws between their eyebrows. The disconnect of him being there. He's not warm, cinnamon-burnt fur or hard and unforgiving bone. He's not a scar-lined hand, small and similar, folded into theirs. The things they still remember, associate with --]
[That tone of voice.]
[Closer pieces lock in, the more recent memories of a dark and dusty room of some other world's ruin. Tim. The man from the Castle in the Mist, whose memories survived what nothing else about him did. His dark, haunted eyes, rings and shadows; an adult voice using words that were for a child. For them. Like almost nobody else ever had before.]
[You deserve someone in your corner.]
[Frisk looks at him, and feels the staunch line of their mouth crumple, and their eyes stinging, because...]
[That's where he is now, isn't it?]
[Frisk feels their chest heave, and drop their face into their hand.]
T... they hate me.