Chapter Text
A soft yellow glow spread around the edges of the velvet curtain engulfing the window. It was bright, but not bright enough to disturb the quiet meeting occurring below at the long oak table. Each chair was plush and of exquisite quality, but none of these beautiful pieces of furniture compare to the throne situated at the end. The arms were sprinkled with jewels and gems, each having carved in a certain emblem to promote the savours of the underground and all the souls lost during the journey.
The room's aura was a mixture of pleasance and anxiety- the latter radiating from the table cantered in the middle of the meeting room. There Asgore sat, King of the underground, sitting in his glorious throne, of which he fit perfectly. His face held a deep frown, showing his age and highlighting the bags under his eyes. Asgore's eyes were fixed on an animated talking Skeleton- a friend, the Great Papyrus. The stress seemed to reach this character too, for even his white form seemed grey. The other organless monster, his brother Sans, a usually carefree creature, appeared to be in distress aswell, as the blue was making an appearance in his hollow eyesocket.
Undyne took her place on the other side of Asgore to Papyrus, her concern showing through the look of dryness that her vibrant blue skin held. She was the one who normally preserved her tough facade at the worst of times, but even she looked overcome with fatigue, though behind her eyes she showed the rage of a thousand burning suns.
The small doctor, Alphys, looked as thought she had cowered away from her partner. Undyne sat ever fierce, but Alphys had her six fingers, looking as though she was praying- and maybe she was. Praying for a goddamn break from all the hard ship they always had to undergo.
To the side of Sans there was Toriel, whose motherliness and caring nature had made the stress take it's toll on her worst of all. The usually tidy and humble looking Toriel had contorted into a dark monster with black lacing her facial features like tear trials. Her eyes had darkened and her robe had shifted to a deep shade of purple due to the pitch black aura her soul was radiating.
As bright and happy as the room looked, it could not mask over the a sense that was left at the table. And as hard as the table's occupants tried, they could not mask over this absence. A small golden flower grew from this seat, however it was concealed and hidden, so the others would not notice. With a heavy breath and an even heavier heart, Asgore spoke:
"Frisk is gone."