'Soft.. Ground... Am I... Alive?' Thought Frisk as she lay there, hazily remembering falling.
'No, unfortunately, you did not.'
"Who is that?" She asked, opening her eyes. The voice was in a language she couldn't understand.
She looked around the empty room. Her eyes beheld an ancient room where she sat in the middle of a patch of golden flowers. Her vision blurred and she grasped her head.
'Interesting...Determination always does fascinate me.'
She barely heard the voice as a strange chill came over her. She felt her head, it was smooth. 'What happened to my hair?...' She wondered. She ran her finger over the smoothness and felt a crack. Fingering it, she wondered what had happened to her. Looking around again she stopped her gaze as it fell upon..
There in the flowers, stained with red, was her. Laying there lifeless, blood seeping from a horrible wound in her head. She reached out to crawl over but gasped and pulled back her hand. She looked at it in horror.
No. That cou