Chara stares at their knees for a long time, picking away. Their mouth is slightly open, and Frisk's question is one that begs an answer.

It's not one they can give. Does Frisk even know the full extent of what they did? Probably not, or they'd be asking what made you turn into a total psychopath maniac, Chara thinks, closing their mouth again. Answering is like being asked to cut out the chunk of flesh that a wound is attached to and hold it up for inspection.

They bow their head a little more, shaking it slightly. They feel locked in place, like they can't tear away from that stupid thread. Stupid. Worthless, too, but what else is new.