"What the hell happened to you?"
…the bones in her hands exploded through her skin… the witch collapsed.
Chapter 21
His Wicca?
-1 month later-
Wicca opened a cabinet to her left and leafed through the contents, muttering to herself. Sans stood in front of her, arms crossed, waiting.
The witch grabbed a jug of hydrogen peroxide and proceeded to drown her wound in it. The sting from the chemicals felt trivial, a phantom of what she was used to. She almost wanted to throttle the bottle, demand it to give her more. She wanted more. She was used to more.
Sans grimaced and looked away. He felt confused, annoyed, and uncomfortable. He had never been on equal footing with the witch before, it always felt like a dance between them (one he was afraid that he wouldn't be able to keep up with) but now something had changed. There was a shift, a fissure in their dynamic that made him feel uneasy.
"How long have you been here?" The girl asked while she worked.
"Around a week, possibly a bit more." Came the reply.
The witch bit back a sneer, her nostrils flared, "A week, possibly more?" she mocked, "That's dandy. That's fantastic." Wicca shoved the bottle of chemicals off the counter, letting it spill all over the tiled floor.
Sans took an involuntary step back.
The skeleton had never been in this sort of position before. He had never…cared before. Life for him was just a means to an eventual end. His only purpose was to keep Papyrus safe from the true monster of his world, Gaster. But, lately, everything was becoming too mundane. Even saving the Snowden townspeople was becoming a drag. Because it simply didn't matter anymore. There was no way to defeat Gaster on his own. The townspeople were quietly being snatched away, and none of them knew it. Sans had tried to warn them of the danger, he had tried to tell them about the monster in the woods with his demonic pets, but they forget as soon as they were told. When Wicca had burst in, her cloak blazing behind her, her amber eyes sparking, everything became different. At first, he didn't like it. She had to go, she didn't belong. After all, she was human. Yet, she gave him something that he had always craved: challenge. He was worried that he would place a foot out of step in their winding, whirling dance of banter and insults, but it exhilarated him to a point he wasn't familiar with. He craved her.
But, when that was taken from him, when they were blown away in the small closet in Grillby's, he was left without his challenge and placed into a radically different world that contained odd copies of the monsters back home, including himself. But, it wasn't enough, it wasn't the challenge that he needed or wanted. Wicca was his challenge, and life became mundane again without her.
Sans looked at the witch, soaking in her image. Her once amber eyes appeared to be a vibrant orange, her hair seemed to breath around her (was it a dark purple now?), as if it was its own entity. Her delicate mouth was pulled back into a sneer, and she huffed in such a way that Sans could tell that her heart was beating a mile a minute.
Sans wasn't sure that the witch that sat defiantly before him was the same witch that he had confidently challenged in Grillby's closet. Something was different, something was off.
The skeleton felt a brief pang in his chest. In the week that she was missing, in the week that he was stuck in this bizarre world, surely it couldn't have been enough time to warp her, could it?
But, exactly how long was she gone in relation to him?