"Nothing I have is truly mine," they murmur, laughing that quiet, weird laugh they do sometimes. The kind that's maybe more creepy than funny. The locket and knife that prove they existed, they mattered, they were once more than a demon? They didn't come here holding them. Frisk brought them, not Chara. This shell they're piloting, the thin pale lines that litter its surface? The things that rattle around their head? The things they did and the EXP they carried? What do you hold onto when everything is replicable, meaningless, when everyone around you can point to all of it and effortlessly declare it fake?
"I have known that for much longer than a year, Frisk." You didn't teach me that.
They reached it on their own, when they found the word demon. When they decided that Chara was an avatar, a metaphor, just the insubstantial feeling of numbers climbing higher. They'd grappled with it when the red voice came out of Frisk's lips and they'd reeled with horror as they wondered who was piloting this shell if - if that marker of identity was coming from another shell entirely. They'd tripped over it when gravity had flickered away and the unreal sensation of drifting insubstantially away had lead them to assume that the other half could take over talking to Sans. Where's Frisk, Chara? Why are you acting so weird?
"I'd just... forgotten I'm not supposed to talk about it. It's like - it's one of those Surface things, is it not?" You're the only one with a problem. Trying to talk to people about it just makes them uncomfortable, makes them like you less. There's never any winning with you, after all. Do you want them to prove you right? Is that what you want?
"You don't have to talk about this, you know." Why are they circling back to it when they already know what happens? Why are they back to just trying to make Frisk suffer? "It's..." Not a big deal. They have to say it's not a big deal. Why can't they just say it's not a big deal?
They're good with words. They're manipulative. They can connive their way around it. Just... reach for a truth that you can say. "I don't want to argue. I'm sick of making you feel bad."
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"I have known that for much longer than a year, Frisk." You didn't teach me that.
They reached it on their own, when they found the word demon. When they decided that Chara was an avatar, a metaphor, just the insubstantial feeling of numbers climbing higher. They'd grappled with it when the red voice came out of Frisk's lips and they'd reeled with horror as they wondered who was piloting this shell if - if that marker of identity was coming from another shell entirely. They'd tripped over it when gravity had flickered away and the unreal sensation of drifting insubstantially away had lead them to assume that the other half could take over talking to Sans. Where's Frisk, Chara? Why are you acting so weird?
"I'd just... forgotten I'm not supposed to talk about it. It's like - it's one of those Surface things, is it not?" You're the only one with a problem. Trying to talk to people about it just makes them uncomfortable, makes them like you less. There's never any winning with you, after all. Do you want them to prove you right? Is that what you want?
"You don't have to talk about this, you know." Why are they circling back to it when they already know what happens? Why are they back to just trying to make Frisk suffer? "It's..." Not a big deal. They have to say it's not a big deal. Why can't they just say it's not a big deal?
They're good with words. They're manipulative. They can connive their way around it. Just... reach for a truth that you can say. "I don't want to argue. I'm sick of making you feel bad."