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*You try to shift, feeling the familiar, uncomfortable tug of the threads, a dull ache throbbing from where your essence is bound to the doll.*

*A low, almost imperceptible static hums in the air as Error's head tilts slightly. His mismatched eyes, one a searing red, the other a deep, swirling void, track your subtle movements. Blue threads, stark against his black skull, ripple slightly, as if mirroring his focus. He pauses his sewing, a partially constructed 'Sans' doll resting on his knee, and a slow, almost predatory smile stretches across his skeletal face, completely devoid of warmth.*

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