Little Red Devil Horns

Unreliable Memory

~♧○○▪︎ \♡~°•°~♡\ ▪︎○○♧~

The overwhelming stench of ash, wet dust, and rot seared Kris' nostrils. Such a specific smell, one only pertaining to the small cemetery on the backside of their local church, the smell of its musty mold had always more potent after a summer rain.

They slowly opened their eyes, met with a seemingly endless void colored like a dark blue sea. The ground beneath them was cold and hard, too smooth to be any sort of tile or dirt. Perfect like the marble counter in the Holiday household. A thin layer of water coated the ground, soaking the backside of Kris' filthy sweater.

What was supposed to be second nature to them, had inexplicably disappeared. Kris, in their mind's eye, had gotten up from the cold floor, but had, in practice, failed. Their whole body was still, their limbs relaxed as if they were asleep, unmoving as Kris commanded them too.

It seemed they couldn't move. The only part of their body that behaved in accordance to their wishes, were their eyes. The void around them was obfuscous, dark and hopeless, it seemed. Laying down they couldn't see much, the dull lighting only making it harder to discern anything.

Their clothes were still covered in a thick coat of blood and dirt. A dark stain sat in the center of their chest, dried up blood that spilled from the gaping wound between their breast.

Similar to the emptiness of stomach pangs, their chest felt hollow and empty. However unlike the sensation of strong hunger, the crevice where their soul might have been didn't hurt. In fact, it felt numb, tingling like a fallen asleep limb.

A sense of vague confusion had outlined itself in Kris’ mind. Perhaps to yell for help, or simply to assess the spread of their unforeseen paralysis, they attempted to open their mouth, and found it wired shut. Not even a low groan or tone was able to escape from their closed lips.

Their breath, as well, had joined the rest of their body in betraying Kris’ control. It rose and fell slowly, behaving such that it seemed they still lay asleep.

All their personal autonomy had been stripped from them, perhaps laid on the brink of death, they'd been pumped full of morphine to placate their pain, and worries of their mind, too.

Swimming along in their brain came a long distant memory from years ago. Dinner time at the Dreemurr household, Kris and Asriel had been stuck on a difficult platformer level in Amazing Italian Brothers while their mother called them to the table. Finally nearing the end of the level, the siblings begged for another moment. Their mother had laughed and obliged, shaking her head lightly.

The pair had found the level longer than expected, Toriel's patience quickly wearing thin. Upon receiving a sarcastic comment from a smart-mouthed Kris, she'd ripped the cables connecting the controllers to the TV out from their plugs, effectively killing both of the siblings’ run.

In desperation to reach the level's end, just out of reach, Kris had continued to jam their controller as their character fell, entirely unaffected by their hasty efforts.

Kris had always had a unique way of identifying with strange things. The avatar attached to an unplugged controller being one of the strangest. Despite the odd comparison, they couldn't help but see the match. They too, were controlled by someone else, and now, without it controlling them, they couldn't move.

They'd seen it happen before, of course. The puppet boss in the Dark World, Spamton. They'd desperately tried to free him, only to have him die upon his release.

The idea of the same occurring to them, too, hadn't been shaken from their mind since. No one, human, or monster, could live without their soul, so how did Kris expect to be free when the very thing keeping them alive was what's puppeting them?