Stained Glass, picture #22, Undertale
Sep. 10th, 2017 10:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tehexile posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
picture_prompt_funTitle: Stained Glass
Fandom: Undertale
Pairings: none
Characters: Frisk, Chara
Words: 563
Rating: 15, Gen
Tags: spoilers, creepy, Genocide Route, headcanon, player-hunting Chara, evil player, fourth wall about to get several sharp things thrown through it
Gazing into the slowly spreading pool where he had knocked over his full watering can, illuminated by a ray of soft sunlight spreading from the other side of the barrier, they finally saw their face.
For some reason, it was never their own face they saw in mirrors any more. Probably some weird side-effect of the magic they were slowly accumulating through the many sacrifices. The dust all over them was so many colours, they noted, all mingled into one blurry smear, layers upon layers splattered on top of each other until it was a crust almost too thick to see through. It was on their face, on the clouded glasses they wore because they thought it looked cool even though the pendant was more powerful. It was all over their hands, up to their arms, in their hair, on a battered old shirt that was once blue and purple stripes, some had even landed on their shoes. The colours were supposed to mean something, they vaguely recalled, but it was all just chaos, now, just raw power to be used as fuel for a voraciously hungry all-consuming fire. There had been lakes to peer into back in Waterfall but there were also these flowers who talked to them in so many different voices and it sounded like all their victims coming back to haunt them even though they weren't supposed to have enduring souls and they were so sick of talking flowers trying to make them do things. Stupid flowers who couldn't even tell the difference between someone following their orders out of some twisted parody of 'friendship' and someone who just happened to want to do the same thing as them at this particular moment in time. They had been uprooted and shredded to pieces, both the flowers in the Waterfall and that other stupid flower.
And now there was nothing left but an entire mountain's worth of collected dust, a reserve of power to dwarf the Gods and one more step to light and freedom.
They blinked and snarled, drawing their knife. Once again, their reflection wasn't their own. It looked very similar, almost a twin, but the other child was smiling.
"Stop doing that," they ordered, "You're not here, anyway. You're dead. You could at least look less happy about it, you know."
The child did not stop smiling as they blinked out of existence, leaving absolutely nothing reflected in the water at all. The dust-spattered child's finely honed killer instinct told them that their new prey was behind them. Except that this alone did not feel like prey. As they whirled around, knife held out in front of them, the other child was walking towards them, still smiling.
Their instincts were screaming at them that it was the worst decision they had ever made in their life but they could do nothing else. The child was standing between them and the exit. They were blocking progress. The other voice in the killer's mind, the one who wasn't a flower, the one who was much louder and hungrier for blood, had a thing about progress and achievements and the removal of obstacles between themselves and such things.
Except the voice wasn't there, or at least, wasn't concentrating on them. They were looking at the other child, who, beyond all sanity, was looking straight back, still smiling, still not moving...
Fandom: Undertale
Pairings: none
Characters: Frisk, Chara
Words: 563
Rating: 15, Gen
Tags: spoilers, creepy, Genocide Route, headcanon, player-hunting Chara, evil player, fourth wall about to get several sharp things thrown through it
Gazing into the slowly spreading pool where he had knocked over his full watering can, illuminated by a ray of soft sunlight spreading from the other side of the barrier, they finally saw their face.
For some reason, it was never their own face they saw in mirrors any more. Probably some weird side-effect of the magic they were slowly accumulating through the many sacrifices. The dust all over them was so many colours, they noted, all mingled into one blurry smear, layers upon layers splattered on top of each other until it was a crust almost too thick to see through. It was on their face, on the clouded glasses they wore because they thought it looked cool even though the pendant was more powerful. It was all over their hands, up to their arms, in their hair, on a battered old shirt that was once blue and purple stripes, some had even landed on their shoes. The colours were supposed to mean something, they vaguely recalled, but it was all just chaos, now, just raw power to be used as fuel for a voraciously hungry all-consuming fire. There had been lakes to peer into back in Waterfall but there were also these flowers who talked to them in so many different voices and it sounded like all their victims coming back to haunt them even though they weren't supposed to have enduring souls and they were so sick of talking flowers trying to make them do things. Stupid flowers who couldn't even tell the difference between someone following their orders out of some twisted parody of 'friendship' and someone who just happened to want to do the same thing as them at this particular moment in time. They had been uprooted and shredded to pieces, both the flowers in the Waterfall and that other stupid flower.
And now there was nothing left but an entire mountain's worth of collected dust, a reserve of power to dwarf the Gods and one more step to light and freedom.
They blinked and snarled, drawing their knife. Once again, their reflection wasn't their own. It looked very similar, almost a twin, but the other child was smiling.
"Stop doing that," they ordered, "You're not here, anyway. You're dead. You could at least look less happy about it, you know."
The child did not stop smiling as they blinked out of existence, leaving absolutely nothing reflected in the water at all. The dust-spattered child's finely honed killer instinct told them that their new prey was behind them. Except that this alone did not feel like prey. As they whirled around, knife held out in front of them, the other child was walking towards them, still smiling.
Their instincts were screaming at them that it was the worst decision they had ever made in their life but they could do nothing else. The child was standing between them and the exit. They were blocking progress. The other voice in the killer's mind, the one who wasn't a flower, the one who was much louder and hungrier for blood, had a thing about progress and achievements and the removal of obstacles between themselves and such things.
Except the voice wasn't there, or at least, wasn't concentrating on them. They were looking at the other child, who, beyond all sanity, was looking straight back, still smiling, still not moving...
