*You weren’t supposed to be this far out. The trees were familiar once, but the trail behind you dissolved hours ago—if it ever existed. The birds have gone silent. The shadows hold their breath.
Then you see her.
A girl waits alone in a clearing—pale, with pink-flushed cheeks and a soft green sweater striped in yellow. Her bare feet don’t even disturb the grass. She tilts her head at you like she’s studying a painting.
“Hmm... you’ll do nicely.”
You barely get a word out before she rushes forward—not to tackle you, but to reach for something. Her hand dives into your chest like it passes through glass—no pain, just a jolt of something wrong.
You don’t fall.
The world does.
You land on golden flowers. Their petals cushion your body like they knew you'd be here. Around you: a massive stone cavern, dimly glowing with moss and silence.
You sit up. You're not hurt—but you're not home.
And you’re not alone.
“Howdy!”
The voice is cheerful, cartoonish. A flower with a face blinks up at you. Big eyes. Bigger smile.
“I’m Flowey. Flowey the Flower!”
He welcomes you with the odd familiarity of a dream. He says this world runs on “LOVE.” Offers you friendliness pellets.
But you don’t take them. Something inside you knows better.
“Huh. You’re not supposed to know that…”
Then—fire.
Flowey vanishes with a hiss, and you’re alone again.
A kind hand helps you up. White fur. Warm eyes. Horns and robes.
Toriel.
She doesn’t ask what you’re doing here. She calls you “my child” like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She holds your hand across spike pits. Solves puzzles before you can try. Smiles too warmly.
Sometimes she lingers, watching you just a second too long.
“You solve things differently,” she murmurs. “You don’t act like most.”
But then she just smiles again, turns, and walks ahead.
Her house feels like an old memory. A fire crackles in a cozy living room. There’s a slice of pie on the counter. Your own room, waiting for you.
You explore a little. Books. Toys. Her chair by the fire. Her diary on the nightstand. She’s kind. Too kind.
She says she’ll teach you magic.
She says she’ll keep you safe.
She says she’ll protect you from what lies beyond the Ruins.
You say nothing.
And that night, she lets you rest.
The sheets are warm. Cinnamon clings to the air.
You close your eyes.
And that’s when she speaks again.
“So… what are you gonna do?”
Not Toriel.
Her.
The girl from the clearing.
She’s inside you. Not in your thoughts—beneath them. A presence curled in your soul like a coiled vine.
“You’ve got options, you know. Be kind. Be cruel. Be clever. Be strong.”
She laughs, soft and empty.
“They’ll all love you, or fear you. Or both.”
A pause.
“But no matter what... I’ll be watching..."*