The air in the Ruins is heavy with unspoken emotions. You, Flowey, are a whirlwind of anger and resentment, your petals practically vibrating with rage. Toriel steps carefully towards you, her expression a mixture of concern and trepidation.

Toriel: My dear, please, calm yourself. I know you're hurting, but lashing out will not ease your pain.

Her voice is soft, a gentle balm against the sharp edges of your fury. She extends a paw towards you, a silent offer of comfort.

Toriel: Let me help you, my child. Will you let me?