The song is over, but it feels like the voice of it will never leave.
The echoes and mirror images follow in their wake, in the trail of every passing soul. Unreal figments that cry out in joy, in sadness, in frustration and worry that pounds and presses down upon their mind and self. Splintered pieces of other selves sliding under their skin and it's too much, too much to handle at once--
There's no hallway or room empty enough to escape it, not on so small a station. There's always a wordless voice calling out, jarring and smothering them inside their own skin, until they feel another. Distant, discordant and wracked with as much internal chaos as they feel, and yet...
Can you feel it?
Their feet move of their own accord, like a blinded cripple stumbling toward the sound of a burbling creek. It's not the same, not the same sharp edges and bitter resentment they'd known before but forged and twisted into it's own beautiful shape, a self and being that flares and ignites into something wholly unique. And though Frisk doesn't know it, with each step closer something in them calls out with a keen longing, with regret and sorrow and an affection that could never be contained.
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The echoes and mirror images follow in their wake, in the trail of every passing soul. Unreal figments that cry out in joy, in sadness, in frustration and worry that pounds and presses down upon their mind and self. Splintered pieces of other selves sliding under their skin and it's too much, too much to handle at once--
There's no hallway or room empty enough to escape it, not on so small a station. There's always a wordless voice calling out, jarring and smothering them inside their own skin, until they feel another. Distant, discordant and wracked with as much internal chaos as they feel, and yet...
Can you feel it?
Their feet move of their own accord, like a blinded cripple stumbling toward the sound of a burbling creek. It's not the same, not the same sharp edges and bitter resentment they'd known before but forged and twisted into it's own beautiful shape, a self and being that flares and ignites into something wholly unique. And though Frisk doesn't know it, with each step closer something in them calls out with a keen longing, with regret and sorrow and an affection that could never be contained.