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Description
Here’s the completed piece! Riku wrote a literary piece to go with it [see below!!]

~~~~

“c’mon, kiddo,” Sans knelt in the soggy muck, the tuxedo pants soaking in the water and pulling him down. He could feel the weight of the mud compressing his bones. “let’s go back together, ’kay?” The flood of rain obscured the burning tears on his cheekbones. “please?”

*There needs to … be …* Frisk slowly shifted and flicked the fingers of her left hand. It shook with pain, leaving the gestures jumbled; Sans could understand the words well enough. Her right stayed resting across her chest, limp against her shoulder. *A winner …*

“no, there doesn’t!” Sans flinched at the blood darkening the ground beneath her. How had she lost so much already? He wanted to pick her up but feared he’d hurt her more. His bones rattled with tremors, a sound buried beneath the rain. “majority vote ends it, r-remember?”

*M-my dear …* Frisk’s complexion was pale, so so ashen; it emphasized the brilliant cobalt of her eyes. A shining, beautiful blue no stone could ever replicate. The gash across her right hand wouldn’t stop bleeding, now that the bone shard had been pulled free. Crimson liquid flowed faster when she flexed her fingers. Her left still shook as she signed. *Apologies … I should not put that decision on you …*

“wait, frisk …” Sans shuddered, far too familiar with those words. He tried to reach for her, but she intercepted. Her small, frozen fingers patted his phalanges, curled around a couple and weakly squeezed. The skeleton sobbed, glancing at their tangled digits. “k-kid …”

And not the slow, deliberate movement of her right hand.

He’d lost track of that blade during the scuffle; though Chara had buried it in Sans’s femur, he’d yanked it free and threw it away. When he … she managed to reclaim it, Sans didn’t know. A glint of dirtied platinum caught his gaze before Frisk thrust it into the side of her neck.

In true Frisk fashion, she made no sound, not even as blood splattered from her lips, filled her punctured throat. Sans clutched at her shuddering left hand, screamed her name. “no! why?!” He whipped his skull around frantically, yelled at the pink-clad, masked soldiers stationed around the arena, demanded they help her before—

She squeezed his phalanges, but not as strongly as before. Sans stared down at her, tears burning his sockets like acid. “no, ya can’t …” Sobs nearly tore his chest apart, almost broke his soul in two. Even as her body involuntarily convulsed, struggling to survive against her wish, she kept her other hand calmly on the blade’s handle. “why?” he cried again, even though he knew the answer. Etched into his bones from countless timelines. As her body stilled, Frisk regained her soft smile, lips soaked with blood. She closed her eyes, extinguishing his favourite blue from the world.

“frisk!”

Description
Here’s the completed piece! Riku wrote a literary piece to go with it [see below!!]

~~~~

“c’mon, kiddo,” Sans knelt in the soggy muck, the tuxedo pants soaking in the water and pulling him down. He could feel the weight of the mud compressing his bones. “let’s go back together, ’kay?” The flood of rain obscured the burning tears on his cheekbones. “please?”

*There needs to … be …* Frisk slowly shifted and flicked the fingers of her left hand. It shook with pain, leaving the gestures jumbled; Sans could understand the words well enough. Her right stayed resting across her chest, limp against her shoulder. *A winner …*

“no, there doesn’t!” Sans flinched at the blood darkening the ground beneath her. How had she lost so much already? He wanted to pick her up but feared he’d hurt her more. His bones rattled with tremors, a sound buried beneath the rain. “majority vote ends it, r-remember?”

*M-my dear …* Frisk’s complexion was pale, so so ashen; it emphasized the brilliant cobalt of her eyes. A shining, beautiful blue no stone could ever replicate. The gash across her right hand wouldn’t stop bleeding, now that the bone shard had been pulled free. Crimson liquid flowed faster when she flexed her fingers. Her left still shook as she signed. *Apologies … I should not put that decision on you …*

“wait, frisk …” Sans shuddered, far too familiar with those words. He tried to reach for her, but she intercepted. Her small, frozen fingers patted his phalanges, curled around a couple and weakly squeezed. The skeleton sobbed, glancing at their tangled digits. “k-kid …”

And not the slow, deliberate movement of her right hand.

He’d lost track of that blade during the scuffle; though Chara had buried it in Sans’s femur, he’d yanked it free and threw it away. When he … she managed to reclaim it, Sans didn’t know. A glint of dirtied platinum caught his gaze before Frisk thrust it into the side of her neck.

In true Frisk fashion, she made no sound, not even as blood splattered from her lips, filled her punctured throat. Sans clutched at her shuddering left hand, screamed her name. “no! why?!” He whipped his skull around frantically, yelled at the pink-clad, masked soldiers stationed around the arena, demanded they help her before—

She squeezed his phalanges, but not as strongly as before. Sans stared down at her, tears burning his sockets like acid. “no, ya can’t …” Sobs nearly tore his chest apart, almost broke his soul in two. Even as her body involuntarily convulsed, struggling to survive against her wish, she kept her other hand calmly on the blade’s handle. “why?” he cried again, even though he knew the answer. Etched into his bones from countless timelines. As her body stilled, Frisk regained her soft smile, lips soaked with blood. She closed her eyes, extinguishing his favourite blue from the world.

“frisk!”