"You're right," says Frisk again, louder. The thinness of their breath in their chest, the fluttering of their trapped-bird heart beating its way against their ribs, all of it lends the impression of someone whose toes are scraping the edge of a long, long drop. A terrible, shearing fall.
5/
"You're right," says Frisk again, louder. The thinness of their breath in their chest, the fluttering of their trapped-bird heart beating its way against their ribs, all of it lends the impression of someone whose toes are scraping the edge of a long, long drop. A terrible, shearing fall.
It's not the falling that's hard.
It's hitting the ground that aches at them so.