Daybreak [ Error!Sans x Reader ]

6. Monody

"[Y/N]!"

A child's voice rang out clear through the whispers, calling you, beckoning you. "[Y/N] why did you have to leave us? We never got to finish our game!" A small hand wrapped around your wrist with the feeble grasp of a child. It wasn't real, what was happening was simply impossible and devoid of all reason. But yet here Frisk stood, your Frisk, the Frisk you had befriended in your village, sat next to every dusk and sang the village songs of old.

"You're dead," you whispered, staring into their questioning eyes. Were you going insane? Was this what Ink meant when he said that the Void changed someone? Tears welled in the corners of your eyes, not wanting to look at Frisk for a moment longer. "You never existed, not a trace of you is left. I'm sorry."

"I-I don't understand." It was Frisk's turn to cry now. "[Y/N], I'm right here talking with you! Please, let's just go back home. They're about to light the campfire right now but no one can find you, everyone's been looking for days! I thought that you had run away, but you're right here, with me! I can take you home!"

And for a moment, for a brief, brief moment in all of time and space, you simply forgot. It was a fog that diluted your senses, blocked out any memory, any thought or will but the simple and raw emotion to follow Frisk, to return to your dead world and live as a forgotten memory alongside all of those that had perished. And you could forget it all, forget about the war and the conflict that was tearing the multiverse in two. For what were the wars of the living to the dead, the forgotten?

Frisk seemed to pick on your gathering sense of resolve, the want to follow them. "We can go home [Y/N]," they promised, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. But there was something about Frisk's touch, the cold, dead feel to their skin. There was not one trace of life within their body, not one drop of blood still flowed through their veins. The Frisk that you were looking at, the Frisk that was speaking to you now was nothing more than an echo, some hallucination feeding off your memories.

"You're not real," you shuddered, taking a step back from them. "We can't ever go home, no matter how much I want. There's no where to go, no where to run or hide because our world is gone, our world is dead. It never existed and it never will exist again."

"I can take you home," Frisk growled, their voice much more demonic. Their mouth became a jagged red smile, eyes glowing a deep crimson. You looked over your shoulder in order to divert the attention of one of the other skeletons but they too seemed to be trapped in some hellish fantasy as the one you were in now. What the hell was going on?

Frisk's face was melting now, drops of black liquid that streamed down their face and onto the floor beneath. "Going to take you home," the demon gurgled and dissolved into a black puddle. You stared at the liquid for a moment, not fully understanding what was happening. And then a black hand shot up from the puddle, jagged fingernails filed into claws that reached for your heart. "Home..." The puddle snarled and the claw struck the ground with a brute force into the area you had been standing only seconds ago.

"They're not real!" you shouted at the top of your lungs, attempting to pry the other skeletons from their fantasies. "It's a trick!" You flung yourself onto Error's shoulders and began to shake him rapidly, hoping to detect a sign of recognition in the skeleton. "Wake up!" you screamed, looking behind you to see the black demon lumbering towards you. Its shape flickered, sometimes taking on the appearance of Frisk and your siblings to the mutilated corpse of the painter.

All your fault.

When Error showed no signs of leaving his mental prison, you turned to Fresh and Geno, both whom stood side by side. They stood rigid, interlocked as whatever invisible demons worked their way through their mental defences. "Home." The words left Fresh's mouth.