Reset #6.

After the incident at Waterfall, I had reset yet again. That was, what five times… No, it wasn't. It was six. I always forget about my second reset. After Asgore and Toriel failed me the first time, I reset and tried a more direct approach to getting my feelings back. I didn't even wait for Asgore to start watering the flowers.

I went right up to him and interrupted his diary time. He always wrote the a same thing at the same time every day. I told him the truth about who I was, then and there, and asked for just one teeny-tiny human soul. He hesitated. I threw a tantrum, threatening to jump into the CORE. Next thing I knew, I was stuck in a glass jar and locked in a dark place. I hate confined places. Not even half an hour into this run, I reset my way out of that timeline.

Anyways, back to reset #6. After last run's Waterfall incident, I was struggling. Every time I saw a solitary Froggit or Whimsun, I had to fight so hard to resist my sudden urges to see what would happen if… well, you know.

When I got to Snowdin this time, I decided to avoid Monster Kid. And even though it was not originally done with ill intent, I already knew what it felt like to hurt them. How it felt to kill them. And I knew. I KNEW if I kept then near, I would eventually be unable to resist the temptation to relive those… those oh so wondrous sensations. In later resets, the memory of that kill had kept me going when I was ready to just give up on this world entirely. But that's a tale for another time.

This time, I had wandered into a shed. I didn't WANT to hurt anyone. Okay, that's a lie. I was desperately craving it. Every fiber of my being desired it. Even though I had only done it once, killing was already a compulsion, an addiction. Even though I could no longer feel it any more, a tiny part of my memories could still recall love, hope, and compassion being things worth striving for. That small spark was trying so hard to refute the path of murder.

Perfect! This shed was empty. No people, no possessions. A perfect place to just let loose with minimal damage. A far cry from the poorly made prison my human would later encounter. Deep down, I was hoping that maybe this would be enough satisfy my vile urges for a little bit. Spoiler alert! It was not.

As I was about to head out, I heard two voices arguing about something. One of them spoke too small for me to make out his words. The other was shouting some sort of nonsense, but I don't recall his exact words, as I was too busy berating myself. I was trying to rationalize the last run as not representative of the real me. It was an aberration, a fluke. I clung desperately to those excuses. That, despite this new body and my accident last run, I was still the same kind and caring person as before.

"NYEH HEH HEH!" I gasp and jump backwards at the shock of his entry.

"I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS! AND WHAT IS YOUR NAME, LITTLE FLOWER?"

My name? I open my mouth, but the words refuse to come out. I… am no longer deserving of the nickname Chara gave me. I could not deny the truth any longer. The old me was simply no more. And all that was left in his place was this, this THING. This…

"Flowey! Flowey the Flower!" I cheerfully say, as I wink at him.

"FLOWERY?" The tall skeleton asks?

"No." I cutely cock my head off to the side and joyfully fire off just a single bullet at him. As it connects, I finish my thought. "It's FLOW, like Ow! That pellet hurts." And I giggle. He looks at me with bewilderment.

"And then it's 'E!' like what you'll scream the next time I attack you!" I summon a full set of five bullets.

"F-FLOWERY? YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS. YOU CAN STILL BE GOOD. JUST DO WHAT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD DO. BELIEVE IN YOU!"

I chuckle. He STILL got the name wrong. But, this kind of power also feels good. Though it was faint, hearing the fear and confusion within his voice was another new kind of thrill for me. It would be a shame to break such a fun toy. So I put away the bullets. He lives… for now.

Two days later, on a day just like any other, Sans returns from sentry duty and finds his brother dead. Mouth stuffed with Oatmeal, Dinosaur Eggs, and inedible spaghetti. And his chest marred in thorn marks, like somebody grossly mis-performed the Heimlich maneuver. On purpose.

By this time, it was beyond refute. I was addicted to killing. The boring old "him" was dead. But that's okay. It's so much more fun being "Flowey." At least, that was how I thought back then.