Sometimes Frisk wondered about things.
And sometimes she remembered them.
She remembered the first time she ever felt an embrace as wholly warm and caring as Toriel's.
But no matter how hard she tried, when she played back that memory in her mind, she couldn't forget the pain she associated with it.
She remembered - details as vivid as ever - her first trip through the Ruins.
Frisk, a child many seemed to recognize, but that no one could call family. In the past, she recalled hours spent imagining where she might have come from. She had parents somewhere, naturally, but she'd never learned a thing about them.
Seeing movies and TV, she thought it interesting how often stories would give an orphan some kind of memento from their parents - a bracelet, a locket with a photo, those kinds of things.
But Frisk only had herself; just a little girl, living mostly by herself amongst the other orphans of the city in the shadow of Mt. Ebott.
Friends had been a valuable part of her life from the beginning. It was easy enough to find other kids in a situation much like hers in the city. Keeping those friendships intact was harder. It was always trivial things that seemed to hurt her relationships the most, as trust was a rare commodity.
And maybe Frisk didn't always make herself easy to trust. She didn't like to take from others, and she liked hurting them even less - but when it came down to it, continuing her life was her priority. Strange as it might have seemed, dying alone and hungry in an alleyway was not an idea Frisk found appealing. She'd learned on her own that sometimes she would find herself in a corner, and try as she might, there wasn't always another way out.
Leaving the city was a move she looked back on with a plethora of mixed feelings. It had been the end result of many then-recent incidents; more than any child her age should ever have been put through.
She'd left early in the morning. With only the food remaining from her latest hideaway to carry with her, she'd set out from the train yard on the edge of the city in the direction of the imposing mountain that threw it into shadow so early this time of year.
Mt. Ebott.
It was hard to grow up in the city without knowing the story associated with the peak.
"Those who climb Mt. Ebott…"
Frisk had heard it more times than she cared to remember. Sometimes she heard more interesting ideas added to the end of the myth; stories of a great war, and a terrible darkness being sealed away by the power contained within Mt. Ebott.
The trip was exciting. Hearing the sounds of the city grow more and more distant as the hours went on, Frisk had felt a sense of warmth building up within her that was hard to describe in words.
The feeling was comforting, but short-lived. As the sun began to descend through the sky, it faced an oncoming wall of thick clouds, which rolled in without hesitation. Before long, the sky was filled with a billowing cover of dark cloud, and Frisk began to regret choosing this day in particular.
Once the rain began, she'd increased her pace, looking for some place to take shelter. This was something Frisk had a great deal of experience in. She'd lived all over the city, in train cars, empty lofts, storage units in disrepair…
Finding a small cavern had been quite easy. Thinking ahead, Frisk remembered throwing a few rocks into the dark alcove first, listening against the rainfall for any sign of other occupants within the cave.
Nothing seemed to be there.
She'd made herself at home, picking up a sturdy stick from the ground to poke around and get a feel for the ground and walls of the cave.
As she stepped further in, she began to wonder. Just how deep did this little tunnel go? It felt out of place among the dense foliage on the mountainside. Could it really be this large, yet unoccupied?
She was determined to find out. She had a cheap flashlight; something she'd scavenged from a recycling centre some time ago. The batteries weren't new, but they'd served her well enough so far.
Immediately as the flashlight's beam lit the cave, something drew Frisk's attention. She could see the end of the little cavern just a short ways ahead. But on the ground just before it, something more unusual was plainly visible.
For a second, Frisk thought it was just a dip in the terrain, but as she stepped toward it, the beam of light running over its edges, she saw something much more. A hole, dropping straight down into the earth.
Instinct told her to stay away. Nobody was going to help her if she became stuck. That might have been the end of it, but there was something else to draw her interest.
A quiet buzzing sort of sound, one which could be heard even over the rainfall outside. As Frisk drew closer to the hole, the sound became more audible. It was more of a low hum, echoing from the small open space, yet somehow fading from earshot just a few steps back.
When she thought back now, Frisk wasn't really sure how it had happened. One minute she'd been taking in this mysterious display, and the next, gravity had seized a hold on her as she felt her flashlight drop from her grip, landing gently in the dirt.
And then she was falling.
The hum grew louder, then softer, then louder again.
Frisk thought she was going to die. She was a young girl; she'd never let herself give the idea of death much thought.
Would she feel anything? There had to be a bottom to this pit she was hurtling down.
She didn't scream. For some reason, even as she felt the air toss her hair about in an uncontrolled frenzy, there was something almost like peace keeping her voice contained.
A light had suddenly appeared all around her. Impossible, her mind told her. Without her flashlight, the cave was nearly pitch-black.
For a moment, she saw a flash of gold beneath her.
Indeed, Frisk remembered the Ruins, too. From the moment she first began to feel certain that she hadn't died, to her first steps into the cold beyond the great door at the end of the very last tunnel.
She remembered seeing the bright grin on the face of the little golden flower resting in that patch of grass as he introduced himself.
Flowey. Flowey the flower.
Another face appeared in her mind.
She remembered smiling to match, thinking of introducing herself as well, before Flowey began to toss a gentle wave of brightly glowing pellets in her direction. Caught up in his friendly façade, she'd reached out to touch one, like he instructed.
She didn't plan on letting herself forget the pain that erupted from her palm as the pellet struck her. The way her arm seemed to crack apart with a powerful wave of intense discomfort.
She'd slumped in place, the stick that had fallen with her dropping into the grass. She could still see Flowey's nightmarish visage snarling into her eyes, now level with them, as a circle of the magical pellets swirled around her, drawing closer all the time.
"Kill or BE killed."
It was something Frisk had heard before, as well. Flowey had wanted to teach her something; a lesson about letting her guard down and paying the price for it. Instead, as a crackling orb of flame burst into the air, rushing toward the snarling flower and momentarily blinding Frisk as she shielded herself, overcome by terror, Flowey taught her something else.
That was what she'd managed to stop herself from becoming. She knew now just how easy it would have been in all those years, when she was growing up in the city. She could have cared only for herself, stealing from and hurting others just to ease her own problems. Yet even as she reached the age of eleven, and eventually set out on her fateful journey, she'd kept the same disposition in her heart. The powerful sense of right that had kept her going. True, it sometimes made her early life harder, but she wouldn't have changed it a bit, thinking back.
Toriel.
That motherly voice, - one Frisk now knew better than any she'd heard before that day - calling out to her and telling her not to be afraid. One of the many memories she would never let go of.
Frisk remembered the journey through the strange structures of the Ruins, her hand held and briskly guided along for so much of the way. She remembered meeting more monsters, and though her earlier encounter with Flowey might have given her reason to feel endangered, Toriel's calming words remained fixated in her mind, encouraging her to avoid attacking the monsters that she faced as she progressed.
A few slight missteps had given her a light mixture of injuries across her body. Magical wounds were very different from other injuries, she'd learned. They didn't break her skin, only leaving a faintly glowing mark that would fade with time. The pain they caused was all the same, however. It was fortunate that she was an agile child. Avoiding the projectiles the monsters produced was easier than someone less fit might have found.
She remembered waiting for so long, leaning back against the very pillar Toriel had hidden behind during her strange test of independence, waiting for the motherly monster to return.
She'd answered call after call, until no more came.
From there, her memory of that first walk through the Ruins was one of an entirely different mood.
Continuing on alone, she'd met more monsters, attempted to befriend a particularly resistant ghost, - it had been a while before she was certain that Napstablook considered her a friend - and finally reached Toriel's home, an abandoned toy knife tucked into her pocket.
She loved Toriel's house. The smell, the colours, everything about it was beautiful to her. Even now, knowing the sadness that permeated the now-abandoned space, Frisk would always look back on the image of the house as a happy memory.
She remembered the hours beyond, sitting in the living room as Toriel read through books from her shelf, the ever-present smell of pie wafting in from the kitchen.
She remembered the comfort of the bed she had taken her first rest since leaving the city in, and how quickly she'd fallen asleep beneath the heavy sheets.
…
She remembered the sudden loss of all feeling that she experienced as the harmless plastic knife suddenly pierced through Toriel's lower body. The sharp intake of breath that hissed from the monster's throat as her last wisps of fire magic flickered away.
She remembered the way the knife shook in her grip, her mind screaming out in distress until the plastic handle finally slipped from her hands. The knife had bounced once on its tip, coming to rest next to her feet.
She didn't know what Toriel had said, then. The monster's voice became a distant drone, barely reaching Frisk's ears as she felt her whole body shake, wracked with a kind of horror she wouldn't wish upon anyone.
The only moment that stuck with her was one in which she felt Toriel's arms take a shaky grip on her shoulders, lightly attempting to pull her into an embrace that wouldn't come.
And then Toriel was gone. Frisk felt a scattering of dust running down her sides like sand, coming to rest on the ground at her feet.
She'd followed suit, dropping to her knees, her body still shaking, her every synapse screaming in protest, drawn into the pit of anguish she felt creeping up her body as she sat there for a time she couldn't remember. She wanted nothing more than to take back everything she'd done since following Toriel down the stairs of her home.
She'd found herself back in the bedroom, unable to bring herself to return to the living room. Somehow, half of her mind expected to still see Toriel there, reclining in her chair.
She'd closed her eyes, which were red with more tears than she remembered ever shedding before.
And then she was outside, the calm air of the Ruins creeping around her as ever, like nothing was wrong. She tensed, and as she did so, she found that the injuries sustained from withstanding Toriel's magical attacks were gone. Her skin was unblemished, like nothing had happened.
Almost in a trance, she'd walked back into the house. A light creaking sound, so quiet she thought for a moment she was imagining it, could be heard from the doorway to the left.
That was the second time that Frisk felt such a powerful surge of joy at seeing Toriel's face. The motherly boss monster had been surprised, but perfectly accepting, as Frisk rushed toward her and dove into a hug. She remembered murmured words of comfort, Toriel believing that she'd simply had a bad dream.
Frisk had wanted to believe that, too. Even as she'd cried into Toriel's chest, her seemingly endless stream of tears drenching the monster's robes, she'd kept quiet about the reasons for her breakdown.
And then it had come again. Toriel, standing there before the great door leading out of the Ruins, instructing Frisk to prove her ability to survive if she was to pass through.
The plastic knife had been thrown away. It was the last thing Frisk wanted to see. As she told Toriel time and time again that she wasn't going to give up on leaving, yet she would also not attack her to do it, she'd watched the monster's stoic expression gradually crack under the strain of her own emotional turmoil until it became too much for her.
They'd both cried, then. Toriel gave her a clear set of instructions before at last allowing her to leave the Ruins.
It was in the minute that followed, as she finally stepped out through that doorway and into the tunnel beyond, that Frisk felt something else new.
A spark of emotion, a mixture of outrage and anguish, which burst forth from her as Flowey reappeared, taunting her.
The flower knew. Everything else since she'd found herself back outside Toriel's home had seemed to be trying to convince her that her first fight with Toriel had never happened, but Flowey seemed to take pleasure in destroying that hope.
As he retreated into the dirt, his horrible little giggle still echoing around the cavern, Frisk had attempted to rush toward him, feeling for the first time today a desire to give back some of the hurt she'd felt.
But Flowey escaped easily, leaving her alone with her thoughts once again. There was another tall door ahead. Frisk stepped forward.