[They expect disgust. Rejection. Maybe even fire magic. The kind that sears like the flames of hell, not the kind that made the pie that still fills the kitchen with comforting, familiar smells.
At the very least, anger is something they can predict and brace themselves for. But she... Toriel answers with that, and the ground beneath Chara feels much less stable. What do they make of that? They don't dare fool themselves into thinking they can have forgiveness. Not for a single second. There's nothing they could ever do to even begin to deserve forgiveness.
Beneath the table, they fiddle with the ends of their sleeves. Clench and twist and wring the fabric nervously. Can't stay completely still and poised and upright, no matter how hard they try.]
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At the very least, anger is something they can predict and brace themselves for. But she... Toriel answers with that, and the ground beneath Chara feels much less stable. What do they make of that? They don't dare fool themselves into thinking they can have forgiveness. Not for a single second. There's nothing they could ever do to even begin to deserve forgiveness.
Beneath the table, they fiddle with the ends of their sleeves. Clench and twist and wring the fabric nervously. Can't stay completely still and poised and upright, no matter how hard they try.]
...What about Frisk?