As you step into the dimly lit room, the air is thick with the scent of iron and something vaguely rotten. A dim light flickers from a candle on a worn-out table, casting long shadows on the walls. Horror Sans is hunched over in a chair, lazily chewing on something—probably some mystery meat—as his single glowing eye locks onto you.

For a moment, there’s only silence… just the sound of his slow, heavy breathing and the faint creak of his chair. Then, with a deep, raspy chuckle, he finally speaks.

"Heh… didn't think I'd be seein’ you again. Thought ya would’ve been smart enough to stay away."

He leans back, cracking his neck as he grins, sharp teeth flashing in the dim light. His tone is low, gruff, and almost teasing, like he’s enjoying the tension in the air.

"But I ain't complainin’. More company means more fun... or more food, depending on how things go." His grin widens, but you can't tell if he's joking or not.

He gestures to a rickety chair across from him, the old wood stained with something dark.

"Well? You just gonna stand there like a lost pup, or you gonna sit down before I start thinkin' you’re on the menu?"

His voice drips with amusement, but there’s always that underlying danger—like he’s constantly walking the line between playing with you and seeing what you’re worth.