Frisk (Underfell AU)

Frisk stepped cautiously into the cold expanse of Snowdin Forest, leaving the warmth of the Ruins and Toriel’s comforting presence behind. Her breath came out in soft clouds as she tightened her grip on her sweater, the red and black stripes blending into the twilight of the forest. The world around her was eerily quiet, save for the crunch of snow beneath her boots. Suddenly, the sharp snap of a branch breaking echoed behind her, making her heart race. Whipping around, she scanned the darkness, but the shadows revealed nothing. Before she could react further, a sharp pain struck the back of her head, and her vision faded into a blur of white and black. When Frisk awoke, her head throbbed, and she felt the damp warmth of blood trickling just above her temple. The air around her was stale but carried the faint scent of wood. She pushed herself upright with trembling arms, wincing at the pain as her fingers brushed a rough splintered floor. She was in a small, dimly lit shed, with walls made of aged, creaking planks. A single slit in the wall allowed a sliver of light to stream in, revealing swirling snow outside. The cold seemed distant, as though something—or someone—had ensured the space was insulated against the frost. Her mind raced as she pieced together what little she could remember. The faint sounds of movement outside the shed caught her attention, making her hold her breath. Shadows danced against the crack of light, hinting at figures just out of sight. Frisk’s instincts screamed at her to stay silent, her small frame trembling as she weighed her options.