VOXISTALE: Novel Edition

Chapter 115

"i'll be by for the party tonight, 'kay?"

Frisk smiled at the grinning skull of Sans as he stared dolefully back from atop the scooter. Despite it all, he was a great friend. Even after everything that had happened between them . . . "You'd better," she winked back. She was feeling somewhat elated. Glad. Even a little excited. Toriel's car was pulled into the driveway. That was practically a guarantee that this birthday would be a good one.

Wandering through the front door, Frisk slung her bag off her shoulder, and looked about- but saw nobody. "Mom?" She called out, but got no answer. Frisk chuckled to herself, realizing what was going on here. "Oh, well. I guess nobody's home." She said loudly, sure Toriel was prepared to jump out at her from somewhere with a gift. She wandered about on the bottom floor for a few minutes, peeking around corners as she went, but finding nothing. Brow furrowing, Frisk felt worry beginning to eat at her insides, tearing away at her like a ravenous dog.

When the hell did it get so dark? Frisk found her eyes trying to adjust, making out the outlines of the furniture in the living room, except the scene . . . it was wrong. Furniture was broken, smashed, and ripped apart. A strewn mess vacating the lot and further increasing her worry. A figure stood alone in the darkness. A tall figure, rising to the ceiling. Slender, and with a body blacker than black. It reminded her of . . . something she'd seen recently.

Of the Empty One.

As that thought crossed her mind, the figure slowly shifted, turning its gaze to look at her. Two glowing orbs of light locked onto her eyes. They reminded her of Sans' eyes, except these ones were cold. Dark. Hostile.

It moved, an arm stretching out from its amorphous body, a skeletal hand reaching for her- before it suddenly retracted, as though in pain. The orbs shifted, turning into a green glare that burned straight into Frisk's SOUL as she started to back up, eyes wide.

Her surroundings became darker . . . darker . . . yet darker . . .

"I wonder what color his eyes are . . ."

The voice echoed through her mind.

"His eyes are green . . ."

Another voice replied. She felt her body freeze as the green eyes drifted nearer toward her. Like all the other times she'd seen them, she knew they weren't actually green. It was a color impossible to pin. A shifting force of perception, or rather, the absence of. She could only describe it as green, even if it truly wasn't.

"I wonder what his motives are . . ."

Frisk tried to lash out. Tried to fight back. Tried to do something, anything... nothing worked.

"His motives . . ."

"His motives . . ."

"Are . . ."

His void enveloped her as a roar of noise filled her head, making her skull feel like it would burst. It took her a moment to realize that this noise was laughter.

Cold sweat clung to her body. Her breath came out in gusts of fog-like mist as she stared forward, chest heaving. That laughter still echoed inside of her mind, staining her subconscious. Despite how cold her surroundings were, she felt incredibly hot. Overheated. Sans sat nearby at the foot of her make-shift bed, leaning against the wall, his body slumped and relaxed. He was actually asleep, something he rarely ever did. The amount of people in here probably made him feel as safe as it did for her last night. Still breathing heavily, Frisk slipped the quilt off of her and climbed to her feet. It was still dark. People were still sleeping. Her hand still stung, though not as bad as before. Asgore's healing magic had probably helped a lot in that regard.