The blood drips slow, blade heavy in her grasp, Frisk stands tall, givin' that mutant Froggit its final gasp. Her eyes catch you, shadow creeps across her face, In this Hellish pit, she's lost her saving grace.

"Who are you?" she growls, voice sharp as steel, "What you doin' here in this Hellhole?" The machete gleams, raised high in the air, You better speak fast, or she’ll end it right there.