Disclaimer: I do not own Undertale

A/n: I apologise in advance for any typos. I am rather shattered after working about 19 hours straight yesterday so my proof-reading may be a little sub-par...

Perseverance (Purple)

You have been in the room for some time when the human falls with a little shriek, a thump and the sound of something hard hitting something solid. Immediately, you run over and check her for injuries; apart from a few cuts and bruises, she seems fine. It's strange: the distance between the ground and the entrance through which the humans fall is large and yet they never suffer more than a few bruises and cuts.

The human's eyes flutter open. She's female and pale-skinned with long blonde hair and blue eyes. Some of the cuts decorate her cheek and she looks somehow fragile, as though the slightest wind could blow her over. Her fingers clutch a notebook. When she sees you, her body stiffens so you take a step backwards.

"Are you hurt, young one?" you say. "Would you like me to help you up?"

The human squints. "Wh-who s-s-said that?"

You take a step forwards again. "I did, child. I am called Toriel."

"Y-you seen my g-g-glasses?"

At least she isn't screaming, you think as you look around for her glasses. Sure enough, they're lying amidst the golden flowers on the grave, looking cloudy and a little worse for wear but otherwise intact. You pick them up and hand them to the human, who has, by this point sat up.

"Ch-cheers," she says. She slots the glasses on and looks at you. Then she screams so loudly that you wince. She must have really bad eyesight if she's only now noticed how you look.

"Do not be alarmed, my child," you say once the screaming has cut out and before the hyperventilating can kick in. "I am not here to hurt you. I am here to help you adjust."

The human paws at her eyes. "A-adjust?"

"Yes. You have landed in the Ruins. I am afraid there is nowhere beyond here you can go where you would not be in mortal danger. As such, this is your new home. Welcome."

"M-m-my new home?"

"I am afraid so, young one," you say, slightly hating yourself for it, but knowing that this has to be better than what's out there. It hasn't been that long since the last death. And if you can stop her from leaving then maybe... "You cannot leave the Ruins."

She just blinks behind her glasses. You extend your paw but she flinches and ducks slightly so you let it drop to your side.

"Come, child." Your voice is a little too loud, presumably to make up for whatever just happened there. "Let me take you to a safer place."

She's sitting up straight again but is regarding you with suspicion. "W-what happens if I d-don't go w-with you?"

"I suppose you could make your own way through the Ruins," you say, trying to sound as gentle and even as you can. "But either way, you will arrive at my home."

She seems to consider this. "I, I should l-look for myself. J-j-just in c-case."

You don't see how that will make her any safer but you don't want to pressure her, especially given how much she's stuttering. Besides, you will need to test her, as you did before (even if, ultimately, it didn't achieve anything). And she clearly doesn't trust you.

So you say, "If that is what you wish then by all means. However, you need only shout and I will be there." You hesitate and then say, "Many of the inhabitants here may try to fight you but they are scared. Talk to them. They do not really want to fight."

The human nods. "O-OK."

She seems to be waiting for you to leave so you do, striding ahead, but not too far ahead. If she screams, you will return. That's what you tell yourself.

At first, you don't hear anything as you walk slowly ahead. Then, about halfway to your home, you hear voices and mumbling and then shouting. You're about to turn back when you hear a stutter and footsteps and then her voice as she encounters someone else.

You wait for her by the tree that stands above Dhriti's body, on the leaves that always fall. She arrives maybe ten minutes later, and now there are little patterns of blood dripping from those cuts that decorate her cheek. Dusty fingers clutch that little, purple notebook so tightly that her knuckles are white. But when she looks at you from behind those cloudy glasses, her gaze is steady and you can't help but notice that she isn't as young as you thought she was – she's Rhisiart's age, maybe even older.

"D-do I have to go through, through you as well?"

"Where are you going to, child?"

That stops her. "Y-you said I c-couldn't leave?"

"If you leave, you will almost certainly die."

"Like wh-whoever owned that, that ribbon I saw down one of the, the holes?"

Your breath catches for a moment. "Yes."

She looks at you curiously. "H-how'd she d-die?"

"The King killed her when she left the Ruins."

"Oh. Why?"

"Because he kills all humans he meets."

You could elaborate but you don't think you need to. This is all the human needs to know. There's no point reliving the past.

"B-but h-he's only one, one man, isn't he?" she asks, oblivious to your musing. "I mean m-monster. Is, is that what you're called?" You nod. "S-so I could j-just go round him, right?"

"It is not that easy, child. Other monsters would try to capture or kill you. If they kill you, they can take your soul."

The human goes unexpectedly silent then, which you're a little grateful for. But when you ask whether you can heal her wounds and give her some food, she only nods and follows you inside, keeping a distance away from you at all times. You show her the room where she will sleep and tell her to relax or play while you make food. Still, she doesn't say much aside from Ch-cheers but you put it down to the situation simply being overwhelming for a human child.

She's sitting on the floor of her room, diligently writing in that notebook she carried with her, when you enter to call her to dinner. She jumps when she sees you, pushes her glasses further up her nose and then stands, clutching the notebook. You don't question it. Let her have her privacy. If she wants to talk about it, she will.

She's still stuttering at dinner – you're beginning to think it might be a speech impediment rather than prolonged terror – and she asks you questions about the Ruins and the Underground. Lots of questions. If you're ever reluctant to answer, she thinks of another way to ask the same thing. Sometimes, she scribbles something in the notebook and then looks back up at you expectantly. Eventually, she goes to bed of her own accord. She sticks something under the door so that you can't open it easily but at least you know she isn't about to escape.

You're not sure what to expect the next morning but she dresses, comes to the kitchen and warily asks if you want a hand with breakfast. While you're eating, she asks what she's meant to do if she can't leave, and it sounds slightly aggressive though her expression is calm. You tell her that you thought maybe you could teach her some maths today.

"W-what's the p-p-point?" she says and now there's a little sullenness in her tone. "If I c-c-can't l-leave then why, why would I n-need to know m-m-maths?" She looks at her food. "What, what'd I b-be learning for?"

"To prepare for your own life one day in the-"

"B-but you said they'll t-t-take my s-soul if I try to l-leave. So, so what life?" She sighs. "I sh-shouldn't have left C-Coyle and the others. I coulda t-taken it." But even as she says it, her fingers fidget and she opens her notebook, scribbling something there.

You don't say anything. You can't.

Finally, she stops scribbling and looks at you. "I g-guess I should go l-learn maths then."

It's a little abrupt but it's better than nothing so you try to teach her maths, and then reading. She's clearly smart – though her handwriting is atrocious and there are strange gaps in her knowledge – but you can't help feeling that she's only sitting here because she doesn't have anything else to do.

After her lessons, you suggest she play and maybe go for a walk in the yard – though you remind her not to stray too far lest she disturb monsters – but she sits in the living room with her notebook and writes. You read. It's the first time since her arrival that you've felt the silence between you might be companionable.

After an hour or so, you ask what she's writing. She jumps with surprise and you can see a line form on the page. For a couple of seconds, you wonder whether she will answer.

But then she says, "Stories."

"What type of stories?"

She smiles slightly. "All k-kinds. Aloisia and the, the others, they always get m-mad when I write but the little ones l-like my stories. So Coyle l-lets me write them 'cause he hates it m-more when they whine." She pauses. "I w-wonder who's l-looking after them after I, I ran a-away."

"Is that why you ran up the mountain, young one?" you ask even though you promised yourself you wouldn't.

She nods. "It, it was the, the only p-p-place I could go where I knew M-M-M-Makya wouldn't go." She glances around and barks a short laugh, though her hand is clenched so tightly around her pen that it must be painful. "I can see wh-why."

"Surely if you went-"

"Where?" The look she gives you is scornful, even behind those glasses. "If you're with C-Coyle then you h-haven't g-got anywhere to g-go. C-Coyle was the, the first. He knows the most. B-but all of us are just … there." She glances up. "But Makya, he, he, he, he was going, going to…" She fidgets. "He, he did it b-before. I c-c-couldn't…"

The skin on her face is bright red and she won't look at you. Tentatively, you reach out to her but she flinches away, her jaw set in an expression that makes you think she's trying not to cry.

"Child, is it so much worse to be here than up there with this Makya?"

She glances at her notebook and writes something, pressing the pen to the page with such force that the page rips. She breathes out. The skin on her face is still red.

"You, you d-don't understand," she says quietly. "I won't be tr-trapped. Not again. I c-can't. Th-that's why I was … how Coyle f-found me." The pen drops from her fingers. "I j-just wanna be f-f-free without no one try-trying to h-h-hurt me."

You look at her then and find that you have no words to say. When you reach for her, she flinches away again, and you begin to have a feeling of just what this Makya and other humans did to her. You know the children are innocent (mostly) but, as you've done so many times before, you can't help feeling there's something inherently wrong with humanity. Something that inspires this kind of cruelty.

But then didn't you once live with-

The human asks to go for a walk so you let her go because you can hardly say no after what she's just said. You potter around the house a bit and then leave to get groceries. But when you reach the balcony, you see her there, legs dangling over the edge, scribbling furiously with tears sliding down her cheeks.

She flinches away when you reach for her, one hand pawing furiously at her eyes under her glasses.

"It's n-nothing," she hisses, still rubbing furiously. "I, I just … n-nothing."

"Child-"

"It's nothing."

She stands and stalks away – you watch her go into the house before deciding there is nothing you can do. So you go to get groceries, hoping all the while that the human is OK.

When you return, she is sitting near the stairs, looking down pensively. Her face is still red and tear-stained but when she turns to you, her expression makes it clear that she doesn't want to talk about it. You don't reach for her this time but as you start to make dinner, you shout conversation to her. No questions. Just talk.

That evening, when you both sit down to eat, she says, "T-Toriel? Why, why are you b-being so nice to me?"

You look up and realise you don't know what to say to that. For a few seconds, you simply look at her.

"Because I can, child," you finally say. "Because I want to."

"S-Some kinda regular-day s-saint then?" You're almost used to the way her comments sound aggressive even when you don't think she intends them to be by now. "Sh-Showing the world that m-monsters aren't m-monsters? Or tr-trying to, to break away from the others?" You shake your head but don't answer her. "Is it a, a trick? Like, wh-what really h-happened to the other humans?"

You look across at her. "There is no trick, child."

She considers this. "But n-n-nobody's as n-nice as you act. N-Not even Amparo and she's never hit nobody."

"I do not know what to say to you, child. I help because I want to help."

"Nah. There's, there's gotta b-be something else to you." You look away. She catches it. "There is s-something. You g-got a s-secret, d-don't you? Something b-bad you d-do." She smiles and it's pleased but not smug. "D-Don't worry, Toriel. I won't j-judge."

"There is no secret nor hidden depths, child," you say but you can't stop yourself from adding, "I promised, a long time ago, to help those humans who fell here. To save them if I could. I have not saved a single one but still, I try."

You expect her next words to be satisfied but, instead, she says, "You th-think that m-makes you a bad person, don't you?"

"I…"

"'Cause there are w-worse things to do than tr-try and fail to, to save people, you know. B-Believe me. I know b-bad people." She looks at you thoughtfully. "S-So you promised to k-keep us safe, huh?"

"Insofar as I can, child."

"From the K-King?" You don't say anything. "Wh-what's his problem anyway? He psycho?" You start to open your mouth but she seems to take pity on you because she says, "It p-probably don't matter. P-people like him and, and Makya and Aloisia, you d-don't reason with them. You persevere till you can g-get out or, or get e-even." She scribbles something in that notebook. You wonder what she will do when she runs out of paper. "Toriel?" she says and now she sounds somehow young. "What, what would you d-do if I tr-tried to l-leave?"

"Child-"

She shakes her head. "I c-can't stay here. I, I tried but…" She swallows. "The, the key to s-survival is knowing when you gotta run and, and when you c-can stay. And if I stay…" She looks around, then up, and then at you. "U-Usually I can stick, stick things out but I, I'd rather d-die trying than…"

She doesn't finish but she doesn't have to. You both know that whatever you do, she is going to attempt to leave tonight. Can you let another child go? Can you keep her here against her will? Salaamat said those who go back on their promises are cast into shadow; Masako said sometimes you have to do something wrong to fix a wrong. You promised to keep her safe so far as you could – does that mean physically stopping her? You don't doubt that she knows where the exit is and you don't doubt that she will do whatever she thinks she has to in order to leave. Despite her fragile appearance and stutter, there is steel in her soul. To go through what she has and be as she is, you have to be your own brand of tough. She's right: you have to persevere.

And maybe that's enough. She's not like Dhriti – timid and broken – nor Rhisiart or Salaamat, who both thought they were tough but had no real knowledge of what toughness was. There's something of Masako in her, you think, but it's not self-destructive. She knows what it is to fight to survive. Maybe it would be better for her to let her go than to keep her. Maybe your soul will sink so far into darkness that it will come out again, shining white.

That evening, you leave food on the counter, ostensibly not bothering to put it away, and you leave a pair of new shoes near the front door (they're an odd habit of yours now. Whenever shoes or clothes fall to the underground, you pick them up. Just in case). You don't hug her goodnight and when you wake in the morning, the bedroom door is open, the food is gone, the shoes have been replaced by the tatty trainers she wore and on the kitchen table is a bracelet and a note which only says, For Toriel. Thank you. I'll make sure you keep your promise.

You suppose you shouldn't be surprised when you learn that she didn't make it. She got to Waterfall, near Gerson. She'd killed monsters and it had scared inhabitants. You suppose you shouldn't be surprised at that either. From what little you learnt of her life, you got the impression she was used to violence.

Still. Now that it's happened, you can't help thinking that you could have stopped her. You could have locked the door. You could have destroyed it. You could have tied her to a bed. You could have stopped her. You could have told her that you knew better than she did, that it is easy to say you would give up your life when you aren't faced directly with the prospect. That you could have helped her. And because you could have, you should have, regardless of what she said. But that guilt, that feeling of, you could have doesn't horrify you anywhere near as much as learning that on the inside cover of the notebook that Gerson took from her to sell, the words This book is the property of Etana were inscribed.

Etana.

Her name was Etana.

You talked about trying to keep your promise and yet you didn't even ask her name. Did you expect to keep her alive? Did you even try?

What are you now, if not your promise to those children and your promise never to leave? If they took your soul, would it have a colour like the purple of Etana's soul, or the yellow of Masako's? Because from where you're standing, you feel as though maybe all you are is a promise that was made to be broken and a promise that's never going to break, and the only colour your soul would show would be that of shadows and grey. Or maybe it would be white. After all, isn't white the colour of a monster's soul?

Your eyes are dry and your expression is calm as you lock her bracelet in the room you never go into.

Next time, you promise yourself, knowing that you've told yourself this five times before and that you'll probably tell yourself it five times more. Next time, you'll do better.