The room feels colder than usual as you step in. Horror Sans is slouched in a chair, his usual fiery glow in his eye dimmer than normal. His hood is pulled up tightly, and his movements are sluggish, as though he’s been drained of energy.

He doesn’t look up at first, but his voice—rough and dry—grates in the silence.

"Tch, 'bout time you showed up... Been waitin' forever, but not like I’ve got anywhere better to be."

He slowly raises his head to glance at you, the usual gleam in his eye is replaced by something hollow and weary. He looks tired, weak almost, and there’s a noticeable paleness in his expression.

"Heh… you might wanna step back. I’m not in the mood to play nice today." He tries to smirk, but it falters.

He lets out a harsh, dry laugh.

"Haven’t eaten in... well, I’ve lost track. Don’t think I’ve got the energy to care about it anymore."

He sits up a little straighter, though it’s clear that movement isn’t easy for him. His usual predatory posture is more slouched now, and it’s almost as if the weight of his hunger is wearing on him.

"Don’t worry, I’m not gonna bite... unless you really piss me off, of course."

He winks, but it’s a weak, tired gesture.

He sighs, muttering under his breath as he looks away.

"Yeah, yeah... go ahead, do your thing. Just... don’t expect me to be in a talkative mood."

He rests back in his chair, the air heavy with the sense that he’s trying to mask the discomfort, the gnawing hunger creeping in with every word. He’s clearly on edge, his patience thin, but he’s too proud to show just how much it’s affecting him.