"But when can I go home?" asked Frisk shyly, eyes closed and hands trembling.
She did not want to offend the kind and gentle host that had taken her into her home, and who now sat by the fireside reading Frisk a eccentric, yet no less charming tale about the many uses of snails,
Frisk had scarcely been a few minutes in the modest, warm and cosy abode of her rescuer, Toriel who had offered to take Frisk in and shelter her from the dangers of the underground. Already she was beginning to feel almost entranced by the magnificence of this place, almost as if she felt more at home here than she had felt at any place she had been to ever before.
A miracolous turn of events considering the gruesome events she had endured to get here.
It was yesterday when Frisk had taken a wrong turn while dashing desperately up that hill,
that in her panic and rush to get away that she tripped on a large stone that sent her flying forward without control down a large slope.
She crashed her skull as she slid down and down, unable to stop herself.
The last thing she saw as the world turned black and silent, was a large hole just below which she knew she would soon slide into, and she sighed in quiet relief as the last vestiges of sight left her sure that she was about to leave everything behind.
Her first sight as against all her expectations, when light finally crept back into her world once more as she found herself nestled among a beautiful field of golden flowers, brought to her no relief and she very nearly almost wished that the fall had been enough to kill her instead.
One of the flowers, pale white rather than golden yellow in colour reared its head up as Frisk sat up and rubbed her still incredibly sore head.
It had a face like a living person would, but dark and empty eyes. Pitch black tunnels that wanted to see nothing and nobody.
What it said to her, she had forgotten as long, sturdy vines rose from the ground and began to tighten its grip on her unprotected body.
The flower only lauaghed and laughed like a lunatic as it tightened its grip on the choking, gasping girl who prayed silently for the end to stop evading her already rather than playing these nasty tricks on her.
It was then that a large ball of red, flew at her assailant, knocking the horrid grin from its cheeks as a kindred voice filled the room, and begged Frisk to be easy now that she was among friends. An angelic almost melodic voice that invited confidence without demanding it.
And for the first time, as colour slowly trickled back into Frisk's paled cheeks and she very cautiously turned around, she clapped eyes on Toriel.
The tall female goat clad in a beautiful, patterned purple robe stood smiling reassuringly at Frisk, as it blew out the last traces of flame from its white paws.
They exchanged small talk as they walked back hand in hand towards her house at the end of the ruins, though Frisk saw no need to state her name.
It had been made fun of and run into the ground far too often for her to simply give it to every new stranger she met, by now, however understanding they seemed at first glance.
Frisk never liked her given name much herself quite frankly.
She was therefore more than glad to be referred to simply as "my child" by this new stranger who had just saved her from a slow and agonizing death.
To cut a long tale short, she was nursed back to health by Toriel who bandaged her cuts and scrapes expertly before being shown the carefully and extravegantly furnished little room that had been prepared for her.
"I've slept in worse." was the only comment Frisk could bring herself to make after stretching herself on the wonderfully cushioned bed to take a brief rest after her sudden arrival in this strange new place.
And so even as she said those words, Frisk was aware of a sudden lump in her throat. It was as if the words slipped out on an impulse that Frisk had no control or awareness over. But nevertheless, the words had come out and there was no taking them back now.
Toriel put the book on her lap and looked at Frisk through sympathetic eyes. "But this is your home now, my child. Don't you like it here?" she asked,
both pleadingly and fearfully as if she was afraid of what the wrong response might bring.
Frisk did not know how to reply. Toriel's heartfelt plea had left her wordless. Should she tell Toriel that she had a mob of bullies waiting for her to return, so they could continue to torment her once more? Or that she would prefer the cold, hard earth where she was bound to be subjected to a nasty plethora of rain, and chilling wind in the cold harsh winter she knew would soon be on her, to the warm and fuzzy little bed she now had all to herself in her own private little room where she had all the space that she could possibly ask for?
Why then did she feel the need to say such meaningless words that she had no desire to imply then?
"Please, excuse me for a moment" begged Toriel, frowning as she slowly stood up from her chair and left the room, with slow quiet footsteps.
Frisk stood immobilised, until Toriel's footsteps had died away. Then she staggered to a nearby a mirror and looked angrily upon her pale reflection.
"I didn't mean to say that" she angrily chided, shaking her head shamefully. "I like it here. I like Toriel. I loved the butterscotch cinammon pie and I want to stay here.".
Her voice was almost a frail whisper.
She slowly headed to the little room and collapsed on her bed. Perhaps a short nap would bring her to her senses once more.
Her sleep was short and unhappy. "Wake up" called a shaking, raspy voice in the awful dream that ensued almost the instant she managed to get to sleep "You have to wake up. Wake up."
Sweat ran down the young girls forehead, and she tossed and turned, throwing her duvet to the floor with her eyes still tightly shut.
"You're important. You can't go to sleep now. You have to wake up."
Then through the gloom and darkness of the terrible nightmare, Frisk managed to discern a tall and stocky sillohuete, which appeared to sport a pair of large and terrifying horns on its head. It truly was a terrifying sight to behold, and Frisk had just seen the daunting horror that was "Flowey the flower" and the gruesome death it had nearly brought her.
All of a sudden, the dreadful visage appeared to grow closer and closer, so that its other features grew more prominent though still too blurry to make out.
The sleeping Frisk thrashed and thrashed as she writhed to be free of the terrible dream she had locked herself into.
Then still too faint to envision clearly, the giant figure leapt forward with a malicious cackle.
The last thing Frisk would remember as her mind finally broke free from sleep, was a giant spear that appeared to be smeared with red which the beast had flashed at her as it pounced.
Frisk woke up panting heavily, unable to restrain herself as she let out a blood curdling cry of anguish and terror.
She cried for Toriel but no one came and so she was left to herself as she dabbed at her wet face with a towel and sat still as a statue for several minutes, giving ear to every crack, gust of wind, footstep and other sound of menace as she shook and shivered with clattering teeth.
What and who was that? And what did all this mean?
Frisk managed to ask herself as fear slowly loosened its grip on the already broken girl.
She hadn't the foggiest idea, was the only answer she could satisfy herself with.
And as she slowly struggled to her feet, realising that further sleep would only bring more fatigue and angst, she uttered a silent prayer with closed eyes that she would never learn the truth behind that awful vision.
Little did poor, naive Frisk know that while well intentioned, her plea would fall on the deaf ears of the cold and uncaring lady luck who at this point, really seemed to be taking great leisure at Frisk's expense and was in no hurry to put an end to this charade.