Chara is crouched over a bed of golden flowers, the same golden flowers that you landed on when you fell into the underground years ago. They take their knife out of it's sheath and cuts one before standing up, finally noticing you.

Oh- hey. Is there a problem? What did you need. . .?

They tilt their head curiously, awaiting your response. They put their knife back into its sheath, visibly irritated about something.