[Within a few moments, she’s clambering from her brother’s lap and walking over to him, doll still at her side. She takes the hand tentatively, her handshake loose and more of a few seconds of hand holding than a proper greeting. The bow, however lax, does win a larger smile from her. It’s clear she’s happy to have someone playing along. She answers it with a curtesy, lopsided and nearly loosing her balance by the time she’s straightened.]

Because I’m royalty. I’m gonna marry a prince one day and own a castle. [She pauses.] But I’m gonna be really tall too. Taller than Peter even.

[Peter snorts from where he’s still lazing on the couch, a pile of popsicle wrappers suddenly in his lap betraying what he’s using their short conversation to do. He gets up, taking slow steps over to the little girl to ruffle her hair before zipping around the room to start his stereo and a few of the TVs.]

Don’t let her fool you Sans. She’s not allowed to get married. Not even to a prince.