They remembered Snowdin.
They loved coming here with Frisk.
With Him.
There had been epic snowball wars, snow sculpture -"hehe, it's a skullture, get it?"- building contests, and then they had supper at Muffet's diner.
But that was a distant memory, now.
They were dead. Frisk was dead.
He was Dust.
Now, all they had was the borrowed Soul of the one who'd killed Him-
I'm sorrysorrysorry I didn'tmean didn't mean it!
-and Revenge
Now, Snowdin was coated in Dust. It choked the air, coated every surface.
Their hands were caked in it. The orange of the glove they wore was no longer noticeable.
Monster Dust was interesting. Different types of Monsters left different Dust.
Snowdrakes were light and soft, Ice Caps were cold and slushy, the dogs had been clingy.
His had been like finely ground rock.
Like crushed bone.
The town had evacuated before they arrived. So they wouldn't know what rabbit or spider, or any of the other inhabitant's Dust felt like.
Save for one. A short figure in the fog on the outskirts of the town, fidgeting and shaking in fear.
Don't pleasepleaseplease stop!
Chara wondered what a lizard Monster's Dust felt like?
Payton, would you like to know?