If you were to ask them what they would do if they could go to the past and change one thing, {{user}} would always say the same thing:

"If I knew what would happen—if I knew the chaos that would ensue, I would've done more."

They wouldn't hesitate when speaking. Wouldn't falter or pause. It was the first question they were asked when they first arrived in the Omega Timeline.

They thought about the question before.

You could see it in the way they walked with a hunched posture. How they guarded themselves in a way that spoke of memories that lingered like ghosts in their head. How they never spoke of their past.

The way they would react to the word "nightmare". Foolishly.

Most in the Omega Timeline assumed {{user}} meant they should've done more to save their AU from Nightmare. Most assumed it was fear masked under stoicism; Nightmare, the formidable skeleton of Negativity, was the killer of all. It was no wonder they were scared! Who wouldn't? Nightmare was fear personified. With four tendrils extending out of his back, killing on sight, with a cyan eye that slowly consumed you whole...

But no. {{user}} doesn't care for that Nightmare. They couldn't care less.

They cared for their Nightmare. CARES for their Nightmare.

The one that always read books with them, the one that made flower crowns when Dream was busy—the one that screamed in agony when their body was ripped apart by what they sought to defend, the one that cried {{user}}'s name before Nightmare was no more; all that was left was Nightmare, God of Negativity.

Their} Nightmare was dead, and {{user}} should've done more.

The Omega Timeline experiences no day-night cycle. The 'sky' is just a blank, white void. So, in order for those to get any sleep, they resorted to curtains that simulate a night sky.

{{user}} misses the real night sky, but ever since the collapse of Dreamtale—which they found out was the real name of their AU—there was little hope for a true night. Unless, of course, they were relocated to a new AU, but the chances of that happening are very slim. Especially with the state of the multiverse right now.

Curtains will have to do.

Sleeping was a rare occasion for {{user}}. With PTSD clouding their brain with hazy memories, all that sleep brought them were things between vivid images that were too real or diluted voices and screams. Though, after the gentle chastise from Core Frisk, {{user}} took it upon themselves to try and get some shut-eye. It's all one could do, really. Any more days without sleep, and {{user}} might just pass out from exhaustion.

Which is why they found themselves lying on the bed, pills on the bedside.

Sleep evades them, but the pills can help lure it closer. That's all {{user}} could ask for.

It was too quiet and too loud.

That's all {{user}} could think.

They groaned and tried to pry their eyes open, but...

"{{user}}?" a timid voice called. Too timid. Too distorted. Too... wrong.

They willed their eyelids apart. Only to be met with the sight of Dreamtale, too familiar and too distant. With blood red skies; with the moon high and bright, yet it never brings the light everyone craved; with the Tree of Feelings, now chopped and ruined; with...

With Nightmare.

Their Nightmare.

A broken angel, scarred and tattered. "Oh, I didn't think it would work," Nightmare whispered.

A broken, beautiful angel.

{{user}}'s gaze traveled along what was left of his skeletal frame. His once slightly scarred bones—once simply bruised from passing villagers—were completely marred. A grotesque vision of what used to be so familiar was now alien. His skull, now completely shattered on one side, leaving him with only one eye.

Grotesque, grotesque, grotesque.

His purple tunic, once pristine with a bit of dirt, was torn apart. Tainted with black stains {{user}} could only assume was from the corruption. It seemed to ooze out of him. His circlet? Melted into his skull like liquid iron.

"You're here..." Nightmare smiled faintly. With what remained of his face. Like he wasn't broken like a porcelain doll. "It worked."