HEY THERE, DAYDREAMER .. [deltarune] kris x reader

i. CREATION

Ignore me, child, the voice speaks. Comfort floods through her being, an eery one that she can't help but obey. It almost hurts how lax she feels her being become. Do as you wish.

Inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter, the vessel becomes something pleasing to her gaze. The eyes were still dull and the hair was stringy, but she's sure it'd look better if it had something alive inside of it.

It's still naked.

Dress it.

She's not one for fashion. Comfortability would be nice, but she didn't want it to go into straight degenerate or hideous category.

Colors.. Colors were difficult. Most were to bright for the black abyss they were in. It hurt everywhere just to look at it.

The voice quickly removed them upon feeling her discomfort.

She couldn't tell whether or not the process took long, but she felt as though it did. The numerous trials and errors that came with it was tiring, even if she wasn't sure what it truly felt like.

The touch moves down. On the vessel, it looks like it was the shoulder that was being touched. Excellent, the voice hums thoughtfully. It was examining the vessel. What we have created is wonderful.

(We? [name] decides not to question it.)

[name], the voice repeats. Is that the vessel's name, or your name?

Confusion bumbles through her being. She hadn't thought of it when she initially thought it. She was just thinking when she said it.

The voice is silent. It was waiting.

It wasn't that bad of a name, all-in-all. She'd use it for herself if it weren't such a strange scenario she found herself in.

Then the vessel's name it shall be.

(Did she even have a name?)

They may very well differ. We will know in due time.

The vessel's eyes open, flickering around this way and that before finally settling on what she thinks is her being. There was nothing surrounding them, and she couldn't see herself, so there was no alternative.

She can feel something when the voice speaks again, but she isn't sure what the sense is to describe it. Something relating to a food, maybe, but she couldn't taste or smell it.

Let us now shape it's mind as your own. We will begin with it's favorite food.

The feeling changes into another; the vessel responds negatively to it. Then another, it's face becomes neutral.

It's uncanny how she watches the vessel respond to each food, feeling as it does with each option.

The one before was the best and the vessel seemed to agree.

A previous one? The question is rhetorical but she and the vessel still feel the need to answer, a nod coming from the latter. The options cycle back slowly, stopping upon sensing and seeing pleasure in both she and the vessel.

A wide variety of colors fill their senses, pain filling them at the sudden change of brightness. A color, now. Pick your favorite.

If they could, she and the vessel would look at the voice in confusion. Suddenly they were the same person now? That didn't make sense.

You are to inhabit the vessel, the voice informs. It was amused at their lack of inference skills. Yours to live in. To control. To befriend.

Weird, but definitely not the weirdest thing happening.

Though she prides herself on viewing everything in the nothingness that surrounds them and being acutely aware of everything happening, she's surprised when she senses the vessel press itself against what she thinks is her being.

The vessel wraps its arm around what she thinks is her (their?) own, hands encapsulating her's.

They look at the hues of colors together, pain filling them whenever one was particularly bright or over-saturated.

Together, the two point to a color.

(She's finally able to see something that made up her being. An arm, she assumes. It was black and white, a marbled pattern causing them to swirl disturbingly.)

Fantastic. The colors disappear. A gift, now.

More confusion.

A voice. A personality. A companion. An ability. Anything you wish will do.

Though she felt she had all the time in the world, she felt as though the voice was on a pinched amount of time.

She racks her brain for something to give the vessel. Nothing comes to mind.

We can revisit it, another day.

Another day? They'd have to come back to this dreary, black, nothingness?

That sucks.

The voice feels displeased but doesn't do anything the express it or seem to actively notice it itself.

You've done well, it instead congratulates. You must also acknowledge the possibility of pain and seizure. Pleasure and obliviousness.

She and the vessel offer a terse nod, expressions tensing.

Understood. Thank you for your time. Your answers, your wonderful creation, are all appreciated.

Go forth, now.

Do as you please until I require your assistance again.