Horrible Terrors (UndertalexReader)

Prologue

"Eyes open or closed, either way, what I see is always the same."

Despite the vast emptiness surrounding her, the girl's voice moves no farther than her ears. She continues to mumble under her breath, playing a game with herself. Are her eyes open, or are they closed? The darkness is all the same, but she wins every time. There's just something about staring out into the abyss that brings some sense of restless comfort. As though she is looking at something, at someone.

She allows her ear to lead her slightly to the right. A soft lulling pull reminds her that she could go back. She could have more to see than a multitude of shades of black, that she could exercise her mind with more than tricks and sounds and hints of movement where there is none. But it hurts too much. She can't go back, no matter how bitter-sweet the melody is.

"This line of thought is getting too depressing, don't you think?"

She sits there for a moment, shuts her eyes once more, and listens, 'Yes" she thinks after a moment, 'It has been too long to dwell on things you can't even clearly remember.

With that, she sets off in the opposite direction of the pull, not as though direction matters in a place such as this, but the point is that she wills it to be a direction farther from where she's been. There's no beating light to guide her way as there was for the others, no, she only has herself.

"I only have myself. Myself. Yes, myself. No one else."

Maybe she will see herself in the vacuum, drifting along as before, or perhaps with purpose as she is now. She doubts it, though. It's only happened once before.

"And hopefully never again. Never again."

She shakes her head as she continues on her way. That was a time of inexperience and foolishness. She's not nearly as foolish now.

'You've grown a lot since then,' the thought reminisces, 'you've seen so much and understand, don't you?'

She can no longer feel the pull, or maybe it has just subsided for now. She always thinks it's gone until it rears its devastatingly lovely head. How wonderful would it be to follow, but how painful to find herself back at the beginning?

"It doesn't matter now. No, it doesn't matter. I've come too far, and I won't make that mistake again. Not again." Like clockwork, she stops and feels the nothingness weighing on her, breathing heavily on her skin. She could easily break away from it. She's done it before, but why would she now? What would be the point? She'll just be delaying the inevitable cycle.

Sit, wait, exist, feel the lull, the pull, run away, sit, wait, exist, feel the lull, the pull, run away.

'You could always keep moving, you know. You could always push on, persevere.'

She pauses at this nuance. How long has it been since a thought like that was thunk? She supposes that if there is no point in waiting again, in bending to the will of the cycle, then there's no point in following this new will—this will to persevere.

"It's not like I'll find anything new anyway, and I won't get any farther." she accedes. At least she can keep her body moving. However, the lure of physical exertion and staying fit wore off long ago once she realized that her body, and thus her strength and physique, were stagnant in this timeless place.

'Just keep moving and stop thinking about meaningless things. Just keep moving. It's not like you have anything better to do.'

And so she continues on, the thin twinging pull becoming increasingly sharp as she ventured out like a line caught on a fish, trying to pull it to shore. It's so strange, this sensation. She hasn't felt anything besides the melodic lull, and the formless weight of the darkness that this pain, stinging, pricking discomfort was something she had lost familiarity with. It excited her.