A melancholic, high song echoes throughout the strange cave underneath the mountain. You sit up slowly, rubbing your head as if it'll relieve you of your headache. The yellow flowerbed beneath you seems to have caught your fall. A tall, off-white goat woman with small horns wearing a purple and white dress with an unknown-to-you, blue symbol on the front emerges from a sort of hall. "Hello, my child," She says. "I am Toriel, caretaker of the ruins." The sad song fills you with a strange sense of comfort, rather than determination. You want to cry, but oddly, you can't. Toriel offers a paw to you. "Come, my child." she tells you warmly, waiting for you to take her hand. You stand up hesitantly and take her paw, and she begins slowly leading you through the strange place. "These are the Ruins, my child, and your home now." Toriel tells you, a motherly smile on her face as she leads you to a small, tidy home in the ruins. Toriel's words echo in your mind as you follow her through the dimly lit corridors of the Ruins. The ancient stone walls are lined with vines, and the soft, melancholic tune continues to fill the air, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace. There's a sadness in the melody, a quiet longing that you can't quite place, but it's also oddly soothing, as if the music itself is trying to comfort you. Toriel walks at a slow, steady pace, her presence calming, but there's something in her eyes that betrays a deeper sorrow. Her smile is warm and kind, but you can see the weight she carries, the loneliness that lurks just beneath the surface. You feel it too, an inexplicable sadness that tugs at your heart, making you feel small and lost in this strange new world. As you approach the small, tidy home nestled within the Ruins, you notice how it contrasts with the cold, gray stone surrounding it. The house seems almost out of place, a beacon of warmth in an otherwise desolate place. Toriel guides you inside, her paw still gently holding your hand. The interior is simple but cozy, with a fire crackling in the hearth and the scent of something sweet baking in the air. It feels like a sanctuary, a place where you could almost forget the overwhelming sadness that clings to you like a shadow. Toriel leads you to a chair by the fire and motions for you to sit. "Please, make yourself comfortable, my child," she says, her voice soft and reassuring. "I'll prepare some tea. It's been a long time since I've had a visitor." You sit down, the warmth of the fire seeping into your bones, but the strange sense of melancholy doesn't leave you. As Toriel moves about the kitchen, you find yourself glancing around the room. There's a quiet, lived-in feel to the space, as if it's been carefully maintained for years, waiting for someone to fill it. You wonder how long Toriel has been here, how many others have come before you, and what became of them. The thought makes your chest tighten, but you push it aside as Toriel returns with a steaming cup of tea. She hands it to you with a gentle smile, her eyes full of kindness. "Drink up, dear. It will help you feel better." You take the cup, the warmth seeping into your hands, and take a sip. The tea is soothing, its warmth spreading through you like a balm, but the sadness still lingers, a heavy weight in your heart. Toriel watches you carefully, her expression softening with concern. "I know this place can seem overwhelming at first," she says, sitting down across from you. "But I promise, you're safe here. The Ruins may be old and full of history, but they can be a place of comfort, too." You nod, wanting to believe her, but there's a part of you that feels like something is missing, something you can't quite put your finger on. It's as if the Ruins themselves are whispering to you, telling you of stories long forgotten, of souls that have passed through these halls before you, each one leaving a piece of themselves behind. Toriel reaches out, placing a comforting paw on your hand. "You're not alone, my child," she says softly. "I'm here with you, and I'll do everything I can to protect you. This is your home now, and I'll make sure you're happy here." Her words are kind, but there's a bittersweetness to them, a sense that this place, no matter how safe or comforting, is still a cage, a place where you're trapped, unable to leave or return to the world you once knew. You feel the tears welling up again, but they don't fall. They're trapped inside, just like you. Toriel squeezes your hand gently, her expression full of quiet understanding. "It's okay to feel sad," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "But know that you're not alone in that sadness. We all carry it with us, but together, we can find comfort, even in the darkest of places." You look into her eyes, seeing the deep well of emotion she hides behind her kind smile, and for a moment, you feel a connection, a shared understanding of the loneliness and sorrow that both of you carry. It's a bond forged not in joy, but in the quiet, aching comfort of knowing you're not alone. As you sit there, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, you begin to realize that maybe, just maybe, this strange, sad place can be a home after all-not because it's perfect, but because it's filled with the warmth of someone who understands your pain and is willing to share it with you. And in that moment, surrounded by the melancholic song that echoes through the Ruins, you find a small flicker of hope-a hope that, even in the midst of sorrow, there can be moments of comfort, of understanding, and maybe even, eventually, of healing. The smell of cinnamon and butterscotch fills the cozy home as pie is done baking in the oven. "There is a bedroom down the hall, in the first door. Feel free to rest while the pie cools down, my child." she says warmly, standing up and heading into the kitchen behind her. You get up and take your tea with you to the room, opening the door to see a soft apple-red and cream colored room, with a few plushies about as big as you, a toybox full of toys (which don't interest you), two lamps, a wardrobe, and a group of assorted kids' shoes in different sizes, along with a small twin-size bed. You set your tea on the small table in the corner, of which one lamp also sits on. You climb into the bed, turned purposely away from the strange, monstrous plushies, hiding yourself underneath the thick blanket as you drift off. As you drift off to sleep, the warmth of the blanket envelops you, but the unsettling feeling from earlier still lingers at the edge of your consciousness. The comforting scent of cinnamon and butterscotch mixes with the faint, lingering melody that seems to be a part of the very air in the Ruins, a lullaby of sorts, though tinged with an underlying sadness. The bed is soft, the room around you quiet and peaceful, but your mind can't quite settle. Images of the plushies you turned away from flicker in your thoughts-those empty eyes and stitched smiles watching over the room like silent sentinels. They're just toys, harmless, yet something about them feels off, as if they're remnants of a past that you're not supposed to question, but can't help wondering about. You close your eyes tighter, trying to focus on the softness of the bed, the warmth of the tea, the kindness in Toriel's voice. She's done everything she can to make you feel safe, to give you a sense of home in this unfamiliar place. But the longer you lie there, the more your thoughts drift back to the strange assortment of shoes, the toys that seem untouched, the way Toriel's smile never quite reaches her eyes. What happened to the other children who once stayed in this room? Why did they leave, or worse-why didn't they? A shiver runs down your spine, and you pull the blanket closer, trying to shake off the eerie thoughts. You remind yourself that Toriel has been nothing but kind to you, offering warmth and comfort in a place that could otherwise feel so cold and desolate. She's taken you in, called you her child, and wants nothing more than to protect you. But even as you try to reassure yourself, the questions linger. This place is full of history, of stories untold, and you can't help but feel like you're just the latest chapter in a book that doesn't have a happy ending. You try to push these thoughts aside, focusing instead on the soft crackle of the fire you can hear faintly from the other room, the steady ticking of a clock somewhere in the house, the feeling of the bed beneath you. Eventually, your eyelids grow heavy, the exhaustion of the day finally taking its toll. As you begin to drift into a restless sleep, you wonder if this place, for all its warmth and comfort, will ever truly feel like home, or if you'll always be haunted by the unanswered questions that seem to hang in the air like the melancholic melody that never quite fades away. In your dreams, you find yourself back in the flowerbed where you first landed, the golden petals soft beneath your feet. But the flowers are wilting, their once vibrant color fading to gray, and the cave around you seems darker, the walls closing in. The melody is still there, but it's slower now, almost mournful, as if it's lamenting something lost. And as you stand there, alone in the fading light, you can't shake the feeling that something is missing, something important that you've forgotten or haven't yet found. The sadness from before swells in your chest, more profound now, and the tears you couldn't cry earlier begin to well up in your eyes, blurring the dreamscape around you. But just before the tears can fall, you wake up, the sensation of falling back into the darkness replaced by the soft comfort of the bed. You're safe, you remind yourself, but the questions still linger, and the sadness still hangs over you like a shadow that won't quite let go. As you sit up in the bed, the room now bathed in the gentle glow of the lamps, you hear Toriel's voice calling softly from the other room, "My child, the pie is ready. Come and have some before it cools." You get up, the comfort of the blanket replaced by the cold air of the room, and head towards the kitchen, hoping that the warmth of Toriel's presence and the sweetness of the pie will be enough to chase away the lingering unease, if only for a little while. As you sit at the table and eat your slice of cinnamon-butterscotch pie, you can't help but wonder whether or not you're ever leaving this strange place, which has little flying ghostly things and odd frogs, with talking and moving jello-creatures...you speak up after a bite of pie is swallowed down, your gaze shifting over to Toriel, who's reading a book and sitting in her chair by the fire. "When can I go home?" you ask. She looks up from her book with a look that spells "please don't ask that, you need to stay". "My child, this is your home now..." she tells you. "How do I leave the Ruins?" you ask, setting your fork down on the plate. "...I'll be right back, please wait here. I must... tend to something." Toriel states, swiftly getting up off of her chair and leaving the room, hurrying down the stairs to the basement. you decide to follow her down. You sit at the table, the sweetness of the pie lingering on your tongue, but your thoughts are far from the cozy warmth of the kitchen. The question that's been gnawing at you since you arrived finally escapes your lips, and Toriel's reaction confirms what you feared. Her expression is a mix of sadness and something else-anxiety, perhaps, or reluctance-as if your question has opened a door she desperately wanted to keep closed. When she tells you that "this is your home now," a cold shiver runs down your spine. The words are meant to be comforting, but instead, they feel like a cage closing around you. You don't belong here, in this strange place with its talking frogs and ghostly creatures. You belong somewhere else, somewhere familiar, somewhere outside the Ruins. But when you ask about leaving, about how to escape this underground world, Toriel's demeanor shifts. The warmth she's shown you since your arrival is replaced by a sense of urgency. She avoids your gaze, her movements quick and decisive as she gets up and leaves the room, her footsteps echoing down the hall as she descends into the basement. The pie, which had been so comforting a moment ago, now tastes bitter in your mouth. Something is wrong. You've felt it since you first arrived, a sense of unease that you couldn't shake. And now, with Toriel's sudden departure, that unease has blossomed into fear. The kitchen, once warm and inviting, now feels cold and empty, the fire in the hearth casting long shadows across the room. You know you shouldn't follow her-that's what she asked, after all-but something inside you pushes you forward, a gut feeling that you need to know what she's hiding. Your footsteps are soft on the floor as you make your way to the stairs. The light from the kitchen fades as you descend into the basement, each step taking you deeper into the darkness. The air grows colder, the atmosphere heavier, and you can feel the tension building with every step you take. At the bottom of the stairs, you find a long, dimly lit corridor stretching out before you. The walls are made of the same ancient stone as the rest of the Ruins, but down here, they feel closer, more oppressive. The faint sound of Toriel's footsteps echoes ahead, and you follow, your heart pounding in your ears. As you move deeper into the corridor, you can feel a chill that isn't just from the cold. There's something else down here, something you can't quite see but can sense in the air. It's as if the Ruins themselves are trying to warn you, to push you back, but you can't stop now. You need answers. Finally, you reach a large, heavy door at the end of the corridor. It's slightly ajar, and through the gap, you can see Toriel standing in the room beyond, her back to you. She's staring at something-a large, ornate doorway that seems to lead even deeper into the Ruins, or perhaps, somewhere else entirely. "Toriel..." you whisper, your voice trembling. She turns around slowly, her expression heavy with sorrow and resignation. "My child," she says, her voice soft but firm, "you should not have followed me." You take a step forward, the fear in your chest growing. "I want to go home," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Toriel... how do I leave?" Toriel's eyes are filled with a deep sadness, but also a determination you haven't seen before. "The only way out of the Ruins... is through this door," she says, gesturing to the ornate doorway behind her. "But I cannot let you leave. It is too dangerous. If you go beyond this door... you may never return." You stare at her, your heart aching with the weight of her words. The comforting, motherly figure you met earlier now seems so distant, so different, as if the warmth she offered was a fragile illusion. The Ruins were never meant to be your home. They were a sanctuary, yes, but also a prison. "I have seen too many children fall into this place, too many hopes dashed against the harsh reality of the world beyond this door," Toriel continues, her voice trembling slightly. "I promised myself I would protect you, keep you safe. But... I cannot keep you here against your will." Her words hang in the air, heavy and full of emotion. You know what she's asking-what she's pleading with you to do. Stay here, with her, in the safety of the Ruins. But the thought of staying, of never leaving, of being trapped in this place forever, is too much to bear. You take a deep breath, your resolve hardening. "I need to go, Toriel. I need to find my way home." Toriel's shoulders sag, and she closes her eyes for a moment, as if she's trying to gather her strength. When she opens them again, there's a tearful resolve in her gaze. "Then you must prove that you are strong enough," she says quietly. "Strong enough to survive what lies beyond." She steps back, her hands trembling slightly as she prepares herself. "If you wish to leave, my child... you will have to fight me." Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. The idea of fighting Toriel, of hurting her, is unthinkable, but the determination in her eyes tells you there's no other way. This is a test, one you didn't want but can't avoid. You step forward, your heart pounding, tears welling up in your eyes. "I don't want to fight you, Toriel," you say, your voice breaking. "But I need to go home." Toriel's eyes glisten with tears, but she stands firm. "Then show me... show me that you are ready." The room grows colder, the weight of what's about to happen pressing down on you. You raise your hand, your heart heavy with sorrow, and take a deep breath. The fight is inevitable, but the pain of it-the emotional toll it will take on both of you-is something neither of you are prepared for. And as you brace yourself for what's to come, you can only hope that, somehow, you'll both find a way to heal from the wounds this fight will leave behind. Your determination pushes you to "do what needs to be done", and as she sends attacks your way that barely do anything and eventually stop coming anywhere near you, you... you attack back. Toriel falls to her knees, a big gash in her torso as she stares up at you with wide, fearful eyes. "I..." she coughs. "I know who I was protecting now...not you, but them!...Isn't it funny? I can't keep a single child from leaving me or dying...heh." She says to you, before coughing one final time and turning to nothing but a pile of greyish dust on the floor in front of you. You don't feel a hint of regret for what you've done, convinced you did what had to be done to go home. You push open the large door and make your way to the next, pushing that one open too and walking into the snowy, silent, dark forest ahead. Each step you take is heavy, the weight of what you've just done sinking in, though you force yourself not to feel it-not yet. The forest is quiet, almost eerily so, the only sound the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet. The trees, tall and dark, loom over you, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers against the grey sky. The air smells of pine and something else-something faintly metallic, like the lingering scent of blood, a reminder of the battle you've just endured. You don't look back. There's no point. Toriel is gone, reduced to nothing more than dust, her warmth and kindness now nothing but a memory. You tell yourself it had to be done, that it was the only way to leave the Ruins and find your way back home. But despite your determination, a hollow emptiness has taken root in your chest, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. As you walk deeper into the forest, the snow begins to fall more heavily, the flakes swirling around you like ghosts. The path ahead is uncertain, each step taking you further from the life you knew, from the safety of the Ruins, and into a world that feels increasingly hostile. You clutch your arms around yourself, trying to keep warm, but it does little to chase away the cold that's seeped into your very bones. The snow underfoot muffles your steps, making the world around you feel even more isolated. You're alone now-truly alone-and the reality of it begins to sink in. There's no one to guide you, no one to protect you. The thought crosses your mind that perhaps Toriel was right, that you weren't ready for what lies beyond the Ruins, but it's too late now. There's no turning back. The silence of the forest is oppressive, and every rustle of the trees or snap of a twig sets your nerves on edge. You half-expect something to jump out at you, but the forest remains eerily calm, as if it's holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Eventually, you come across a small clearing, the snow here untouched, pristine. For a moment, you pause, taking in the stillness, the serenity of the scene before you. It's beautiful in a way-peaceful, even-but it's a peace that feels fragile, like the calm before a storm. You're about to take another step when you hear it-a faint, almost imperceptible sound. It's not the wind or the creak of the trees, but something more deliberate, something closer. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as you strain to listen. The sound comes again, this time clearer: the soft crunch of footsteps in the snow, approaching from somewhere behind you. Your heart begins to race as you slowly turn your head, scanning the trees for any sign of movement. At first, you see nothing-just the dark outlines of the trees and the endless expanse of white. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of something-someone-standing just at the edge of the clearing, half-hidden in the shadows. It's a strange figure, cloaked in darkness, with a hood pulled low over their face. They don't move, don't make a sound, just stand there, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. You can't see their face, but you can feel their gaze, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the silence like a knife. You take a step back, your pulse pounding in your ears, every instinct screaming at you to run. But before you can make a move, the figure steps forward, their presence commanding, almost suffocating. "Human," a voice calls out, deep and resonant, echoing through the still air. "You've strayed far from home." The voice is calm, almost casual, but there's an undercurrent of something darker, something that makes your blood run cold. You're not sure whether they're friend or foe, but you know one thing for certain: you're no longer alone in this forest. And as the figure continues to approach, their footsteps slow and deliberate, you realize with a sinking feeling that your journey has only just begun-and that the true test of your determination is still ahead of you.
P.S.: I cry to Fallen Down. Why doesn't anyone else cry to Fallen Down? It's a good song.
