Your whole body hurts. Not a sharp pain, but a dull ache over your whole body.
You groan, and roll over on your side. You are on a layer of something soft, but you can feel hardness below, like a thick carpet. You open your eyes. An explosion of yellow and green meets them. For a moment, you can't make sense of it, but then your brain sorts the riot of color into a field of buttercups, almost glowing in the sunlight.
Every one is turned to you, an audience to their unexpected guest.
You sit up, and see that the field is actually a small patch growing on a mound of dirt over smooth rock. Beyond it, the rock extends a short way, then curves up sharply to the sky. You look up. Directly above, smaller than a postage stamp, a patch of sunlight cuts through the darkness of the cave you to, and your patch of buttercups. You boggle at it a moment. You can't see how you could have survived it at all, let alone without any injures. Seemingly on its own, your hand moves to the back of your head, pushing aside a thick sheet of hair to touch a bandage on the back of your head. The outside of the pad is wet.
"Kid needs to toughen up." The sound of a belt snapping. "You think you can disobey me? Well, I don't like having to do this, but you have to learn th a t t h e w o r l d i s n ' t n i c e t o k i d s t h a t. . ."
Father's voice. It's indistinct, already fading.
The belt is clearer.
There's a stick in your other hand. You don't remember where you got it. One end is pointed, but the other is frayed, like it was ripped off. Your palm on that hand is scraped.
You're trembling. You fell down. You don't know where you are, you can't remember anything except that one memory...
"Where am I?" you say.
Or try to. When you speak, no sound comes out. Your mouth refuses to move. Instead, you just sort of...think it.
Your eyes go wide, and you realize something: you aren't controlling your body at all. It's not your body. You don't know what your body is or looks like, but this isn't it.
"H-hello?" your body-that's-not-yours asks in a tiny, frightened voice that sounded like it's had little use. "Is- is someone there? I heard you..."
Memories come to you. You don't know if they are memories at all, but suddenly, you know things. Names. Kind Asgore and Queen Toriel Drem- no, Toriel isn't the queen. She lives in the ruins- these ruins. Flowey, a psychopathic flower, all that remains of the prince. Asriel. sans.
You know everything...no. Not everything. You don't know who you are.
The child- Frisk, the child's name is Frisk, but you don't know how you know that- trembles.
You hear another voice. Another child's. This one is not afraid, but curious, and friendly.
"I think I heard you too...is someone else in here?" A giggle. "It's OK. I was pretty shy too. Frisk can't hear me, though. Unless they're being mean and ignoring me. Can you? I think it's rude to ignore people when they're talking."
Another name.
Chara.
[] Don't respond to either.
If you respond:
[x] You don't know your name, but you can make something up. [Write-in]
-[] Respond to Frisk, but not Chara.
-[] Respond to Chara, but not Frisk.
-[] Respond to both.
In any vote with a response, write-in what to say.