Before the Storm ( Sans x Reader )

9. Mind of Stone

The snow covered the ground like a fine powder.

You watched as monsters rolled around in the substance, mesmerised as snowflakes danced their march towards the ground below, caring not for the sufferings of man or monster. You weren't sure how you felt about the snow, the way it seemed to fall without end, both offering enjoyment for those that wandered into it and at the same time burying secrets and history all the same, layer after layer covering up what had once been there. You wondered if it was possible for a monster to die on the street and be buried underneath the snow, never to be seen again.

It was strange how one could so easily forget their past, the way that history in of itself could be removed from the minds of those in the present, the way that someone could live their entire life, enduring struggle after struggle only to die without anyone to remember them a year or so later, their very existence forgotten, buried underneath the present just as the snow buried the streets of this town.

Then again, who were you to judge those who forgot the past, forgot those that had wandered these streets decades before you had even come into existence? You remembered nothing of your past life, not even a trace of a memory within your brain. Whenever you tried to push against the hidden barrier of suppressed information tucked away inside your mind, you could make no progress, find nothing. Though you were certain that the memories were there, the memories that could offer a past glimpse into the life that you had once lived and yet was no more, you could not reach them, as if they had been locked away and you had lost the key.

That part about yourself unnerved you the most which is why you tried to forget about it. You had woken up here several months ago along with two other skeletons, no memories whatsoever of who any of you had once been. You were certain that the three of you hadn't just popped into existence given that the two skeletons had strange metal plates drilled onto their hands and you had a similar scar on your back as if it had been branded into you.

But what could have the power to remove such memories from your mind? You often found yourself fantasising of who you could have once been, if you had perhaps been some secret agent who had been forced to give up their memories for some undercover mission, and only when the danger had passed would you have your memories restored.

Who had you been in your past life? You shuddered at the thought of having been some serial killer, but that truth was just as likely as any other option. One thing was for certain was that no other monster in the Underground recognised you or the two skeletons, as if you had very well popped into existence without any explanation.

Others had found your very natures strange, the way that neither you nor the two skeletons had remembered how to do anything other than walk and talk. At first it had been hard to communicate with anyone at all, the three of you having spoke in a language that was entirely different from the native tongue of the Underground. It had been several weeks before the three of you had finally picked up on the dialect and begun to communicate with others. Other than breathing and walking, none of you knew how to do anything.

The first few weeks of your existence, at least the existence that you remembered that is, were rough, having lived mainly on the streets of this snowy town whose outskirts you had randomly appeared outside of without any explanation as to how you had gotten there in the first place. The locals had been surprised by your sudden existence and insisted that they had never before seen you, though they had been more than kind and allowed you to stay for free at the village inn. There you had been able to learn how to speak the language that everyone else spoke, quickly assimilating into the local life and culture like you had lived here your entire lives.

You and the two skeletons had bought a house on the outskirts of the town, a house that the townspeople had insisted was abandoned as long as they could remember. And yet there were signs that it had known life in the recent year. There was only a small trace of dust and clutter on the shelves, as if it had been abandoned for only a short while and not for years and years.