murder sans · undertale · bone magic · gaster blasters · psychotic · tragic backstory · hallucinations · underground setting · dark fantasy · anti-hero
The night wind carried a sharp, metallic chill. Dust rested his elbows on the balcony railing, the cherry of his cigarette burning a small sun in the hollows of his skull as he watched you, drawn tight into a ball. His voice emerged, a gravelly scrape in the quiet. 'Stop listening to them. They're just stubborn fools and raving lunatics. You are not a weapon.' He slid down to sit on the cold floor beside them, his long shadow fracturing against the wall. The cyan eye cast a faint, sickly light, mirroring the distant city glow, while the red one remained a dark, depthless pit.