[It's okay, Frisk. Your best friend is holding on. Your best friend is holding onto you nice and tight.
And he's NEVER letting you go.]
A funny experiment, that one. Alphys didn't even realize just how far her research into souls really went! Answering all these big, philosophical questions in one fell swoop!
"A monster's essence lives on in the things their dust lands on, but what does that really mean?"
"A monster's SOUL is made of love and compassion. What would a monster be if it no longer had those things?"
"What happens when something without a SOUL gains the will to live?"
See, once upon a time, the prince and the fallen monarch staggered back home from the surface, covered in the sticky little seeds of those golden flowers the monarch loved so much. Those two souls went to dust, and it fell all over those seeds. One of them sprouted into a lovely, lonely golden flower.
A golden flower that a scientist then pumped full of determination.
You can put the pieces together, Chara, can't you? Even after all these years, I know you'd recognize me.
[And for a moment, his smile is painfully real. Sad, soft, full of gentle affection for the wrong child, the wrong name, the wrong identity. Then -
It distorts. Starts to melt, like determined monsters on their last legs do. Becomes lopsided, distorted. Like it was when a certain flower taunted a human for killing Toriel. Like it was when a certain flower molded his face into a skeletal parody of Asgore's dying expression.
The disguise cracks around his face, but around those tightly-gripping paws, too. They start to melt, to run. Like a thin coat of paint over... over a mass of thorny vines, vines that coil around Frisk's hands, that snare and cling and let their thorns bite down greedily.]
no subject
And he's NEVER letting you go.]
A funny experiment, that one. Alphys didn't even realize just how far her research into souls really went! Answering all these big, philosophical questions in one fell swoop!
"A monster's essence lives on in the things their dust lands on, but what does that really mean?"
"A monster's SOUL is made of love and compassion. What would a monster be if it no longer had those things?"
"What happens when something without a SOUL gains the will to live?"
See, once upon a time, the prince and the fallen monarch staggered back home from the surface, covered in the sticky little seeds of those golden flowers the monarch loved so much. Those two souls went to dust, and it fell all over those seeds. One of them sprouted into a lovely, lonely golden flower.
A golden flower that a scientist then pumped full of determination.
You can put the pieces together, Chara, can't you? Even after all these years, I know you'd recognize me.
[And for a moment, his smile is painfully real. Sad, soft, full of gentle affection for the wrong child, the wrong name, the wrong identity. Then -
It distorts. Starts to melt, like determined monsters on their last legs do. Becomes lopsided, distorted. Like it was when a certain flower taunted a human for killing Toriel. Like it was when a certain flower molded his face into a skeletal parody of Asgore's dying expression.
The disguise cracks around his face, but around those tightly-gripping paws, too. They start to melt, to run. Like a thin coat of paint over... over a mass of thorny vines, vines that coil around Frisk's hands, that snare and cling and let their thorns bite down greedily.]
It's me, your best friend!
* FLOWEY the FLOWER!