PATCHWORK SOUL - NEW MEDIUM

purple for Perseverance Chapter 101

Beyond snow, beyond light, beyond space— out in some whirling maelstrom of memories, still, Sans fell. He plummeted from one facet of his mind to another, exhausted with each new vision. Dizzy and sick; latched onto a constant, guiding mote of red and little else.

When it all finally crashed to a halt, everything was still. Silent. His body was numb and his soul was twisted and icy in his chest. He couldn't see, but he could feel the soft nose of a dog press against his fingertips.

Then, greyness. He blinked. It wasn't just his eyes. He could see a drift, like layers of cloud shifting against each other in the wind. He held out his hand in front of his face and could see that, too.

He was standing. Unusual. Filled with vertigo. He turned. Walked a couple steps on ground that had no texture.

The second he stopped, the weight of his own bones was almost too much. His shoulders sagged and he tried to brace himself and keep upright. His eye sockets ached.

How long had he been drifting? Days? Weeks? Longer?

Just like peering through memories, any perception of the machine had vanished. But, unlike that experience, Sans had full control over his body from the get-go; the one exception being his voice. It had vanished again, in the sickness of his soul. Interesting, he thought. Did that make this more real than the rest, or was it just his expectations that had made it that way? In any case, he wasn't sure it mattered.

He braced himself and concentrated on feeling for any other energies around him. Even that small effort strained him. He braced himself, breathed slowly, and focused.

There was something there, but he couldn't pinpoint it. A shadow in the corner of his eye. A melody wove through the grey of the clouds, too quiet to hear, but he could feel it to the core of his bones.

A subtle shift in energy sent a static shock up and down his spine. A cold dread prickled in the back of his skull. He was heavy. The thought of turning around came with the intense sensation that he might simply turn to dust. A waking night terror, creeping up just behind him. He took a deep breath and turned around.

In the world of grey, he faced a copy of himself. Identical in almost every way, but drained of colour, like a monster on the verge of death. The other guy looked just as surprised to see him as he was. The only indication it was not simply a mirror image was a faint scar scratched from the corner of his left eye and down his cheek. It was hard for him to imagine anything worse. It took every ounce of Sans's fortitude to not try to leave as fast as he could.

"How did you...?" The double had Sans's voice, note for note exact.

Sans bristled. The other skeleton tilted his head, his eye lighting up. The glow in this guys's skull and shining through his shirt, faintly illuminating his ribcage, was purple. Not just any purple though. Their purple.

"Oh. Hey," the guy said. "You're a long way from home, hm?"

Sans stared at him intently. He tensed up, then grabbed the other guy by the shoulder, but his voice still wouldn't come out. He rolled his eyes and patted his pockets for paper. The other skeleton looked puzzled, but then perked up.