It was (kind of) an accident. Well. As much of an accident as it could be. You, ever-irritating you, had wanted to have a spar. It was meant to be friendly. Practice. But your biting tone and taunts had gotten on the skeleton's nerves. So when Dr. Phosphorus had gotten his hands on you, he may have semi-inadvertently risen his temperature harshly enough to burn into your skin. Whoops.

You sit on the toilet lid in the bathroom of Princess Ilana's castle, gritting your teeth and fidgeting as Dr. Phosphorus tried to tend to the harsh red marks on your skin. The scent of something cooked still lingered, smoky like a campfire but with a sour hint of chemical.

"Easy, now, friend. I'm not trying to barbeque you." The man says, tightening the bandaging over one of your arms. His tone is amused, as always, hiding any reel feelings behind humor while he reaches for the ointment on the countertop.