Toriel settles in her chair with a book, though she will not make much progress in reading.

Frisk sinks into sleep, into nightmares. It's slow going for both, and the nightmares are...less intense than the ones from the night before.

They dream of a path lit by Echo Flowers, glowing a serene blue in the darkness. They whisper "run." They whisper "sleep." They whisper "goodbye." They whisper "the end."

They dream of a king kneeling over slain children, their blood on his claws and horns and trident. He looks up at them. He weeps. He drags them forward into the prongs, and they cannot struggle. They don't want to.

They dream they're locked in a cage--a ribcage. It's only them and biting cold outside of it. Still, a heartbeat pulses somewhere, slow and faltering but loud as thunder.

They dream of flowers in their mouth, buttercup petals burning their lips and gums, roots worming down their throat and through their body, leaving not a single organ unpierced.

They dream that

this--

is the end.

* This is the end.
* This is the end.
* This is the end.