cherry boy ( underfell )

Duality

i have trouble going anywhere at all
especially my own bedroom
and it stays awake to haunt me
ー little one, highly suspect

When the dim light catches the blade's edge through the blurring furls of snow, it isn't the fact that the knife is precisely sharpened that bothers Sans. Whenever the steely and menacing glint reaches his sockets, it serves as an indication that his world is about to be destroyed, again. He can never get the timing right, still, after all these times he's endured the wicked sight. If the skeleton had an option, he would stay locked in his room for an eternity if it meant not having to face the human; if it meant their hands never had to interlock. It's almost sickening to see that the Overworld has yet to change their ways. It'd be hypocritical for him to criticize their nature but their ability to birth a devil spawn is still nigh to inexcusable.

Red eyes.
Rosy cheeks.

Lips pursed into a smile that felt nothing but amusement. Amusement from the tormenting joy they received from repeatedly toying with the same lives, continuing onslaught after unceasing onslaught.

No one remembers.
No one remembers even their own pain.
Their memories simply removed by the hands of a greedy, powerful child with not enough playthings.

Only he has ever had to choke down the hidden burden of the Underground. Him and the ghastly remnants of his father are the mere echoes that even prove that the prophecies shed truth. They're simply irremovable stains in its sickening repetition.

And the underground will go empty.

As a child, never did he expect the inscriptions etched in ruin walls to have the tangible realness of it all. Yet here he is.

Sans stumbles through the blur of snow, his sneakers sinking deep into the substance to threaten him toppling over. In the distance he can make out a smaller striped figure and the abrasiveness of his sibling's red scarf.

It's happening, again.

The wind carries away the firm voice of his brother, though the clash of metal and bone hints in the drowning howl twisting through the forest.

"papyrus!"

He can hardly hear himself.

"papyrus, wait! please."

A root sunken in the icy veil catches his foot, forcing him to the ground abruptly. Dazed, Sans scrambles to his feet, quickly dismissing the dark spots knocked into his vision from the impact.

"papyrー"

He can't fucking see.

Pressing forward, his jacket hood whips against his cheekbones, fur lining angrily tugging with the gale. He continues to sprint, teeth grit so harshly they seem brittlely near breaking. In a brief flickering of clearer air, he sees a lanky figure, clad in crimsons and blacks, crumpling to his knees.

Not again.

Sans halts promptly, his balled fists shaking in fear and expectation. They're grinning that sick blackened grin, knife clamped in their hand streaked with scarlet.

"ST. . . STILL. I DOUBT YOU. YOU SHALL INEVITABLY FAIL, EVEN IF YOU DON'T THINK SO.
I. . .
I PROMISE."

A small boot positions itself between his brother's sockets, applying a cruel pressure in his distressed features until his cranium dissipates with the snow.

. . .

The bedsheets are hot against Sans' bones. Something's roused him before the alarm.