Asgore sat upon his throne, his head in his hands. The night sky made the throneroom dark, but nothing was darker than how he felt inside.
Beside him, like an open wound, was an empty throne. It would never be filled again.
Toriel had left him. While he had made his proclamation to exact revenge on the humans that had murdered his children, his wife had vanished. No note, no message left with any of the staff - nothing, save one thing: her crown, left on the seat of her throne.
She had truly left him. He had gone too far. By trying to give his people hope, he had destroyed his wife's.
So he sat in his throne, and wept.