Chapter 4

Mask did not know anything. He did not know his name, who he was now, or what he used to be. He did not even know if he was a he, but he felt more comfortable with he than it, contrary to what he had told Frisk.

No matter how hard Mask tried to remember something, anything, he came up blank. The furthest back he could remember was Frisk waking him up in that patch of golden flowers. Before that, it was as if Mask was having a nightmare he could no longer recall.

It was why Mask initially began following Frisk around: if this child could in any way help him remember who he was, he would follow her to the ends of the earth. Only while they were in the village did Mask realize he did not have a choice. As Frisk stood by Toriel's side as the woman spoke with the man in the fox mask, Mask tried to explore on his own. He quickly found out that he could not go further than ten feet from Frisk. Like it or not, they were stuck together, and Mask could not figure out why. Perhaps because she was the one to awaken him from purgatory, or perhaps it was the promise she made to him. Perhaps another reason altogether. Either way, Mask was left following this small girl around, her travelling companion whether or not he was willing.

He decided against telling Frisk his discovery, however.

The walk from the village did not last as long as the walk to the village. Soon enough, Toriel led Frisk and unknowingly Mask to her cottage in the woods. Mask, upon seeing the home, was dumbstruck at the sight.

It was a small, modest home. The house was a simple log cabin with a front porch – complete with rails and a porch swing – and two windows beside the door. As with all the other trees in the Ruined Woods, the trees surrounding the cottage had red, yellow, and orange leaves falling from the branches. It was a comfortable looking home. Yet something about it unnerved Mask.

"This will be your home until we find your family," Toriel was telling Frisk as they kept walking towards the front door.

Frisk said nothing, choosing to walk in silence.

Before long, Mask began following after Frisk without trying, their limit pulling him along so that he isn't far from this child.

Mask quickly caught up to the two just as Toriel opened the front door. Upon entering the home, the first sight to greet them was a stairwell and two hallways on the right and left sides. Toriel, still holding Frisk's hand, began to led Frisk down the right hallway.

"I apologize for the mess," Toriel said, her goat mask hiding whatever expression she might have worn. "It has been a long time since I entertained. I typically do not have company, but I do have someplace you may sleep while you remain here."

Stopping at the first door in the hall, Toriel finally let go of Frisk's hand and ran her fingers through the girl's hair. Speaking softly, Toriel added, "This used to be my son's room. I could never find it within myself to clean it out, so please, do not mind the toys. However, I keep the room clean, so it is suitable for guests. Now, why don't you rest while I prepare something for you to eat. Tell me, Frisk, do you prefer butterscotch or cinnamon?"

"Chocolate," Mask found himself answering, only he didn't speak the word. It felt to be a response he had given once before, despite chocolate not being one of the options given to him.

"Butterscotch," Frisk replied, putting an abrupt end to Mask's thoughts.

"I see," Toriel murmured. "But you do not dislike cinnamon, do you? I know your preference, but would you turn your nose up at cinnamon if you found it on your plate?"

"I'm not a picky eater," Frisk said, and even with the mask on her face, Mask knew Frisk was uncomfortable with Toriel continuously running her fingers through Frisk's hair.

"Very well." Now Toriel dropped her hand and kept it by her side. "Rest if you desire, or go outside to play if you are not tired. I shall call you when dinner is ready."

"Thank you, Ms. Toriel," Frisk replied, and Mask knew it was to be polite.

Toriel nodded before turning on her heel and walking away. Hesitating only a moment, Frisk reached for the bedroom doorknob. She turned it slowly and even slower opened the door.

Following Frisk as she stepped inside, Mask felt that same rush he did when he first saw Toriel.

I know this place.

Yet just as quickly as he thought the words, the recognition was gone. There was a bed against the wall on the right, a box of toys at the foot of the bed, and a closet in the leftmost corner. It really was a child's room. There was a desk with nothing more than a few sheets of paper and a cup of colored pencils, and drawings covered the walls: the only sense of personality this room had of the child who used to sleep here.

Frisk stood observing the room just as long as Mask, then she started to move. She checked the closet and went through the drawers. Unsatisfied, she dropped to her knees to search under the bed.

"What are you doing?" Mask asked, floating closer to her.

"Searching for any evidence to prove whether or not Toriel can be trusted," Frisk answered.

Mask nearly sagged with relief, or as much as a mask could sag with relief. Ever since Flowey and Toriel arrived, Frisk acted as if she could not see or hear him. When they arrived in the village, nobody else acted as if they noticed him either. As certain as Mask was the Frisk was merely pretending since it would do her no good to be seen communicating with something only she could see, a part of him was afraid she really could no longer see him. If he was to follow her every move, he would rather not be a mere witness to her journey.

Recovering, Mask wondered aloud, "And what, pray tell, evidence would that be?"

"I don't know, but I hope I'll know it when I see it." Confirming that under the bed was empty, Frisk sat up and moved to the toy box. She quickly emptied it and huffed when she saw nothing of interest. Mask thought the toys were cool, but Frisk put them back without expressing any interest in them.

"Can you not find anything?" Mask watched as Frisk pushed herself to her feet and pulled the mask off, exposing her brown face.

"It's just a basic child's room," Frisk replied as she tossed the mask onto the bed. She looked at the walls now. "The only thing worth looking at now are the pictures."

Frisk and Mask looked at the drawings proudly displayed on the wall. They were mostly nature pictures of the Ruined Woods or a sunset, but there were some drawings that appeared to be a child's version of a family portrait. These drawings had Toriel alongside a man and a child, both wearing goat masks similar to hers. Yet the more they looked, the more they realized that not all these pictures were drawn by the same hand. A lot of the nature drawings looked more realistic in terms of color and shading, as if whoever made them was artistically inclined.

"Wait," Frisk mumbled as she reached out and carefully pulled the drawing of a bed of golden flowers off the wall. The paper crinkled in her hands as she flipped it over, indicating that this drawing had to be more than a few years old. "Look, Mask, this one is signed."

Mask did look, and indeed, the pencil art was signed. Chara. The name meant nothing to him.

Looking up, Frisk sucked in a sharp breath. When Mask asked what was wrong, the only answer she could give was to point. Mask followed the direction of her finger and understood.

This drawing was made by the less skilled artist, the one who made all the family portraits. This was another family portrait, only this one had four members instead of three. There was Toriel along with the man and child with the goat masks, and now added into the family was a child that did not wear a goat mask.

Instead of a goat mask, it was the same bored expression of the mask Frisk now wore.