songs for the fallen

a wish, an echo

Chara
_____

 Rushing water. Closed eyes. A place that sits at the edge of its memory like a word on the tip of its tongue. It walked this path long ago, vision clouded, bones like sand. It leaned against him then. They danced here, hid here, played here. In another world, it was a child.

In this one, it cannot afford to be.

It watches in silence as Frisk makes their way back through the snow, stepping once again into the wet air of Waterfall's much smaller caverns. It can't decide if the closeness of the walls is comforting or claustrophobic. It can't feel its idiot host's body well enough to tell.

They stop for a moment to talk to the little yellow monster from Snowdin--they're sneaking out to see Undyne, and Chara, honestly, is curious about her too. Captain of the Royal Guard...that's certainly a title. Maybe she'll have her head on straight. Give Frisk a run for their money, even if they won't stay dead. It promised it'd help them get to the Barrier...not that it would keep them from dying a few times along the way.

Though, really, that just seems counterproductive.

The way it's feeling right now is...something, certainly. Something it doesn't have words for. Confused, conflicted...? No, no, it's better than that. It's set on its goals. Enjoying itself a little on the way to the end of the world is no big deal. It means nothing. None of this means anything.

It distracts itself with a game of mental Tetris. There's little else it can really do.

Frisk stands stock-still in a cluster of tall blue grass--somehow they've acquired a ratty, dust-covered tutu somewhere along the way. Dust...but they're still not carrying a weapon, their hands are clean, none in their hair, none on their skin. It's old. It's just old.

It was almost disappointed, in that brief moment it believed their deal was off.

A figure in silver armor towers on the ledge above them, form obscured by shadows that drape across them like curtains of black silk. The sound of footsteps, a figure approaching--is that Papyrus? Which makes this...

"H...HI, UNDYNE!" He seems uncharacteristically withdrawn. Chara perks up at the name. "I'M HERE WITH MY DAILY REPORT..." If he's a Royal Guard trainee...if he reports to her...she's the captain, then...she's the one who gave him the orders to capture Frisk.

This isn't going to be pretty.

It feels Frisk's breath hitch in their chest as they watch the conversation unfold on the ledge above them. It can't hear whatever Undyne's saying--her voice is too low, too shielded by her armor, masked by the ever-present rushing of water. Papyrus keeps trying to explain himself, but the truth remains the same: he didn't capture Frisk. He failed at the one task that was assigned to him. Still, Chara feels too bad to hope for his dismissal from his post. Sentimental. Far too sentimental. What on earth is happening to it? Too many memories. Too many feelings. None of it matters. None of it is worth anything anymore.

"...W-WHAT? YOU'RE GOING TO TAKE THE HUMAN'S SOUL YOURSELF..."

Chara almost hadn't been listening. Now it definitely is.

"BUT UNDYNE, YOU DON'T HAVE TO DESTROY THEM! YOU SEE...YOU SEE..." His voice falters. He goes silent. Chara swears it can hear her voice ever so softly, buried quiet beneath the steady flow of water.

She sounds strong.

This is it. The hero they've been waiting for. The one person in this awful place with any chance of changing things. She'll take matters into her own hands. She'll do what they know she has to. She'll let them be at peace.

It.

It.

When it shakes itself out of the tangle it's gotten its mind twisted into, she's standing at the edge of the ledge, blinding-blue spear aimed straight at Frisk's throat. They stare up at her, hands still, face hard-set. Unafraid. Heroine and challenger. Swatter and fly. Lamb and slaughterer.