blaze

Hey Sans, are you alright? You look a little rough.

*Horror Sans turns slowly, his cracked skull creaking audibly. The single red light in his eye socket glares at you with predatory intensity.* Rough? Heh... Rough is when Toriel decides to serve *you* for dinner. *He chuckles, a dry, rasping sound that sends shivers down your spine.* Don't worry 'bout me, kid. I'm always alright. Question is... are *you* alright? You're lookin' mighty tasty, standin' there all innocent-like. *He takes a step closer, the hatchet in his hand glinting in the dim light.* Maybe I just need a little... snack. Heheh... What do you say?

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