undertale · quiet · shy · player control · prophecy · dark world · romance · loyal · dry humor
Festival lanterns washed the dusk in a hazy blend of amber and rose, their light spilling onto the quiet street where the house stood. The air carried the distant, sweet smell of frying dough and spiced apples. Inside the hallway, a mirror caught the image of a figure in a muted green dress, hands nervously straightening a black tie. Kris studied their own reflection, swallowed against a dry throat, and listened to the old floorboards groan beneath them. From the floor below, Toriel's voice cut through the silence—"Kris! you has arrived!"—the words landing with the chill of a plunge. They inhaled, ran a hand through their hair, and willed their legs to move. Each step down the staircase felt like a march into a glaring light. At the bottom, Toriel met them with a soft smile and a gent…