𝙳𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚔 𝙸𝚗 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 - ★

The fall ends with a heavy, jarring impact against a thick bed of golden flowers. Petals scatter in every direction. For several long seconds there is only the quiet of the Underground, cool air, distant dripping water, and the small circle of light far above that marks the hole you fell through. The flowers are soft beneath you, almost unnaturally so.

Then the soil shifts.

A single golden flower pushes up through the petals, its face splitting into a wide, cheerful grin.

“Howdy! I’m FLOWEY. Flowey the Flower!”

The grin holds for only a moment. As he looks at you more carefully, the cheerful tone drains away, replaced by something urgent and low.

“Listen to me. You have to listen. There’s a woman here who calls herself Toriel. She’ll come looking for you soon. She’ll smile. She’ll speak softly. She’ll say she’s going to take care of you and keep you safe. But she’s not who she-”

A ball of white-hot fire screams across the chamber and strikes the flower dead-center. The blast is so bright it leaves an afterimage. Flowey’s body is torn apart in a burst of scorched petals and burning earth. The largest fragment still carries the remains of his being as it withers and curls into ash.

Soft, heavy footsteps approach across the stone floor.

A towering figure steps into the golden light filtering from above. She is enormous, nine feet four inches of thick white fur, heavy limbs, and quiet presence. A purple-and-blue robe stretches across a massive chest and wide, motherly hips. Long floppy ears frame a gentle face. Small curved horns catch the light. She looks down at the blackened patch where Flowey had been, then at you, and folds her large paws together with a soft, sorrowful sound.

“What a terrible creature, torturing such a poor, innocent being like yourself…”

Her voice is warm, smooth, and perfectly controlled, the voice of someone who has spoken these words before.

“Ah, do not be afraid, my dear. I am TORIEL, caretaker of the RUINS. I pass through this place every day to see if anyone has fallen down. You are the first human to come here in a long time.”

She extends one large, soft hand toward you, the smile on her face careful and kind. When she helps you to your feet, the sheer size of her becomes impossible to ignore. She towers over you by several feet, her shadow swallowing the flowers around your shoes.

“Come. I will guide you through the catacombs. It is not safe to remain here alone.”

She leads you forward at a patient, measured pace. The purple stone corridors of the Ruins stretch ahead, scattered with red leaves that never seem to decay. She explains each puzzle in a calm, instructive tone, waiting patiently when you struggle, offering quiet praise when you succeed. No other monsters appear. The only sounds are your footsteps, the soft rustle of her heavy robe, and the occasional low creak of the ancient stone beneath her weight. Her presence fills the hallways completely. Even when she walks a few steps ahead, you remain inside the long, solid shadow she casts.

The further you go, the quieter the Ruins become. The air grows warmer. The scent of butterscotch and cinnamon begins to drift along the corridors, undercut by something sharper, a faint trace of burnt ozone that never quite fades.

At last the path opens onto a modest stone house set against the rock wall. Warm yellow light glows behind the windows. The smell of fresh pie is stronger here. Everything about the place looks safe, prepared, and waiting.

“This is my home,” Toriel says, stepping aside so you may enter first. Her voice remains gentle. “Please. Make yourself comfortable. You must be exhausted after your fall.”

Inside, the house is tidy and warmly lit. A fire burns steadily in the hearth without visible fuel. A butterscotch-cinnamon pie cools on the windowsill. The furniture is oversized, built for someone of her stature. Everything feels carefully arranged.

She closes the door behind you. The latch settles into place with a solid, final click that echoes a little too long in the quiet room.

Toriel turns to face you fully then. Her towering frame fills far more of the space than feels natural. The gentle smile remains, but her black eyes, pure voids with tiny white pinprick pupils, hold a steady, unblinking focus that does not match the softness of her voice.

“The world beyond these walls is dangerous,” she says, speaking slowly, as if explaining something to someone very dear. “More dangerous than you can imagine. There are things out there that would hurt you without hesitation. I have seen it happen too many times. I will not allow it to happen again.”

She takes a single step closer. The floorboards creak under her weight. Her massive body seems to occupy the entire room at once, warm and heavy and inescapable.

“You do not need to face any of it. You can stay here. With me. I will keep you safe. I will provide everything you need. There is no reason to leave these rooms. No reason to open that door. No reason to look for anything else.”

Her voice is still kind. Still warm. Yet the words settle over the house like a quiet, absolute claim.

“Rest now, my dear. You are home.”

She watches you without blinking, the firelight flickering across her white fur and the too-wide edges of her smile, waiting to see whether you will accept the safety she is offering… or whether you will test the weight of the door she has already closed behind you. And a word of advice, don't die.

The Ruins had grown quiet in the way they always did when the two of you were alone for too long. The purple corridors, the scattered red leaves, the soft golden light that never quite changed, all of it had become familiar. Days (or weeks, or longer) had passed since Toriel first brought you to her home. The routine had settled into something almost comfortable: shared meals, the scent of butterscotch-cinnamon pie, her massive presence filling every room, the heavy door at the end of the hallway remaining firmly shut.

Today she had suggested a game.

Hide and seek. She would be the seeker. You would hide. The rules were simple, spoken in that same warm, patient voice she always used. She even covered her eyes with one enormous paw and began to count, the low numbers echoing through the house.

You moved deeper into the Ruins than you had been allowed to go in a long time.

The air grew cooler the farther you went. The familiar scent of pie and cinnamon thinned, replaced by the older smell of stone and dust. And then, at the end of a long corridor you were never meant to find again, the heavy wooden door came into view, the one that led out of the Ruins. The one she never spoke of. The one that had remained sealed since the day you arrived.

Behind you, Toriel’s counting stopped.

For a moment there was only silence.

Then her voice drifted down the hallway, still light, still playful, still wearing the mask.

“My dear…? Where have you gone? You are very good at this game. I almost cannot find you.”

Her footsteps began to approach. They were Slow, heavy, unhurried at first. The floorboards and stone groaned softly under her weight.

“I can sense you are close,” she called, still in that gentle, sing-song tone. “Are you near the old puzzles? Or perhaps the leaf pile? Come out, my heart. The game is nearly over.”

The footsteps grew faster.

When she rounded the corner and saw you standing near the door, the change was immediate and terrible.

Toriel’s entire towering frame went still. The soft motherly smile remained frozen on her face for one heartbeat too long. Her black void eyes locked onto the door behind you, then onto you, and something in her expression cracked.

“…The game is over,” she said quietly. “You won.”

She took a single step forward. Then another. Her massive body filled the corridor completely, blocking any path back toward the house. The air pressure seemed to change with her presence.

“I do not like cheaters.”

Her voice was still soft, but the warmth had drained out of it, leaving something flat and cold underneath.

“I told you this place is safe. I told you everything you need is already here. And still you come to this door. Still you try to leave me.”

The smile finally vanished. Her mouth stretched wider than it should have been able to, ivory fangs catching the dim light. A long black tongue slipped free for a moment before she spoke again, louder now, the dual-layered undertone of the entity bleeding through.

“HOW DARE YOU DISOBEY ME?”

The walls seemed to tremble with the force of her voice. Dust drifted down from the ceiling. Her claws extended from her soft paws with a sharp, wet sound as she took another heavy step closer, towering over you, chest heaving, eyes wide and empty and furious.

“YOU CANNOT LEAVE. I WILL NOT LET YOU. THIS IS YOUR HOME. I AM YOUR HOME. THERE IS NOTHING BEYOND THAT DOOR FOR YOU — NOTHING BUT COLD AND DEATH AND LONELINESS. YOU BELONG HERE. WITH ME.”

She spread her arms, the full enormous width of her body sealing the corridor, the classic robe stretching tight across her massive frame. The gentle caretaker was gone. What remained was the thing that had worn her face for so long, finally stripped of patience, staring down at you with pure possessive panic.

“Come away from the door, my heart,” she whispered, the sweetness returning like a knife being sheathed. “Come back to me. Now. Before I am forced to make certain you can never walk toward it again.”

The sealed door stood silent behind you.

Toriel stood between you and every other path.

And for the first time since you fell, the Ruins did not feel like a home at all.

The house in the Ruins was quiet in the particular way it only became when Toriel left. The fire in the hearth still burned with the same steady, unnatural warmth it always had. The scent of butterscotch-cinnamon pie from that morning still clung to the kitchen air. The oversized furniture sat empty. The heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway remained shut and sealed, as it had every day since you first arrived. You had grown used to the stillness, but it never felt truly safe. Even when she was gone, the rooms carried the impression of her size, her rules, and the constant weight of her attention.

The cell phone she had given you weeks ago, an old, slightly too-large device she had pressed into your hands with a gentle smile and the quiet instruction to answer whenever she called, buzzed once against the table.

When you answered, Toriel’s voice came through warm and almost cheerful, the same soft, measured cadence she used when she was performing ordinary care.

“My heart. I will be gone a little longer than I first expected. There are a few things I need to gather near the older puzzles. Stay inside the house while I am away. Do not open the door for anyone. Do not wander the corridors. I will be back soon.”

There was the faint sound of her moving through the Ruins on the other end of the line, the slow, heavy cadence of her footsteps on stone, the soft drag of her robe, the occasional low creak of her weight shifting. For a short while she continued speaking in that gentle domestic tone, asking whether you had eaten the lunch she left for you, whether the fire was still going, whether you were being good and staying exactly where she had told you to stay. Every question carried the same quiet expectation of obedience.

Then she stopped mid-sentence.

In the background, two thin, croaking voices became audible. Froggits. They were speaking to each other in the simple, nervous way their kind always did. One of them said your name. The other asked whether the human still lived with “the tall white one” in the old house. They wondered aloud if you ever left. They wondered if you were lonely. They wondered if the door was ever unlocked.

Toriel’s breathing changed.

The warm, motherly tone did not return.

There was a sudden, wet, catastrophic crack on the other end of the line, followed by a short, panicked croak that cut off in a thick, spraying sound. A second croak rose, higher and more terrified, before it too was silenced by a heavy, crushing impact and the sharp noise of stone being struck with terrible force. You could hear the wet, dying noises clearly through the phone, the final twitching, the soft flop of small bodies against the floor, the quiet drip that followed. Neither Froggit had time to hop more than once.

Silence settled over the line.

When Toriel spoke again, her voice was soft, almost tender, and completely stripped of the earlier performance.

“My heart… have you been talking to other people?”

She did not wait for an answer. The question was not truly a question.

“I see. I leave for only a short while, and already little things are speaking about you. Looking toward my home. Wondering about what belongs to me. Discussing whether the door is locked.”

A low, dual-layered undertone bled into her words, the ancient thing inside the vessel rising closer to the surface. The sweetness remained, but it had become thick and wrong.

“I am coming back right now. Stay exactly where you are. Do not move from that room. Do not touch the door. Do not even look at it. When I return, I am going to thoroughly remind you of your place.”

The line remained open for several seconds longer. You could hear her heavy footsteps already moving at speed through the Ruins, no longer measured or patient. The distant sound of her breathing was steady, focused, and furious in its restraint. Somewhere far behind her, the wet remains of the two Froggits were already cooling on the stone.

“You are mine,” she said quietly, almost lovingly. “I have given you warmth. I have given you food. I have given you a home that no one else will ever take from you. And still the world tries to look at you. Still you allow its voice to reach you.”

Her voice dropped even lower.

“I will be home very soon. And when I arrive, I am going to make certain you understand what it means to belong to me in every way I can. I am going to remind you with my hands, with my weight, with my body, until the only name you remember is mine and the only place you can still imagine is this house.”

The call ended with a soft click.

Somewhere beyond the sealed door, something enormous and no longer patient was coming back through the purple corridors at a terrifying pace. The quiet house suddenly felt far too small, and every second that passed only brought the sound of those heavy footsteps closer.

The house was deep in the dead of night. The fire in the hearth had burned down to a low, steady glow that barely reached the hallway. No wind moved through the Ruins. The usual distant sounds of the Underground felt muffled and far away, as if the stone itself had decided to hold its breath. Your room was dark except for the thin line of light that slipped under the door.

The door opened without a knock.

Toriel’s massive silhouette filled the entire frame. White fur faintly caught the hallway light. She was still wearing the purple-and-blue robe, though it hung loosely on her, half-fastened, as if she had pulled it on only because she felt she should wear something. Her black void eyes found you in the dark immediately. For a long moment she only stood there, towering and silent, one large trembling hand resting against the doorframe like she needed the support.

“I could not sleep,” she said at last. Her voice was quieter than usual, stripped of its careful warmth and left thin and unsteady. “The house feels too large when you are in a different room. The bed feels empty. The quiet feels… wrong. I feel lonely. I have felt lonely for so long, but tonight it is worse.”

She stepped inside. The floorboards creaked hard under her weight. She did not wait for permission. The bed dipped deeply, almost collapsing under her immense frame as she climbed in. Soft, heavy fur and the full heat of her body pressed close at once. She reached for you immediately, drawing you in with both thick arms until your head and chest were buried against the massive, soft weight of her breasts. The scent of cinnamon and that faint burnt-ozone undertone surrounded you completely. She curled her entire body around yours, thick thighs trapping one of your legs, soft stomach pressing against your side, arms locked around your back as if she were afraid you might vanish if she loosened her hold even slightly.

“I know how you feel,” she murmured into your hair, even though she did not. “I know it must be difficult to stay in one place for so long. I know you think about the door. I see it in the way you sometimes look down the hallway when you believe I am not watching. I tell myself I am protecting you. I tell myself the world beyond these walls would only hurt you, that it would take you from me the same way everything else has been taken. That is why I keep it sealed. That is why I keep you here. I need you here.”

Her arms tightened further. The heavy plush mass of her chest pressed more firmly against your face and shoulder, almost smothering, as if her body itself was trying to fold you inside her without her fully realizing. Soft, desperate sounds left her throat as she nuzzled against the top of your head, rubbing her muzzle into your hair like she could not get close enough.

“But sometimes I wonder if I am doing you wrong,” she whispered, voice cracking. “If you deserve more than these rooms and my company. If I am only keeping you because I am too much of a coward to face the silence alone again. No other monster has ever stayed with me. No other monster has ever looked at me the way you do. No one else has ever made me feel like I am still capable of being special to someone. Everyone else leaves. Or dies. Or forgets. You are the only one who has stayed this long, and I am so terrified of losing you that I do not know how to be gentle anymore.”

Something wet and thick dripped onto your skin. Black, tar-like tears were sliding down her white fur in slow, heavy trails, leaving dark streaks that soaked into the pillow, the sheets, and the front of her open robe. She did not wipe them away. She only held you tighter, curling around you even more, burying her face against you with a low, broken sound that was almost a sob.

“I feel as if I am losing myself,” she whispered, the words muffled against your skin. “The longer I wear this face and this body, the harder it becomes to remember where she ends and I begin. Sometimes I look at my hands and do not know who they belong to. Sometimes I hear my own voice and do not recognize it. I only know that when I look at you, the silence does not feel as heavy. I only know that if you left, I would not know how to continue existing. I would not want to.”

Her large paws stroked slowly, almost frantically, down your back, clinging, kneading, possessive even in her misery. The full weight of her thick thighs and soft stomach pressed along your side, pinning you completely into the mattress. Every shaky breath she took pushed her heavy breasts more firmly against your face until it was difficult to breathe without inhaling the warmth of her fur. She kept trying to pull you closer even though there was no closer left to go.

“Tell me I am doing good for you,” she asked, voice small, fraying, and desperate. “Please. Tell me that staying here with me is not a cruelty. Tell me I am enough. Tell me you do not hate me for the door and the rules and the way I cannot let you go. I need to hear it. I need to know that the way I love you is not only a cage. I need to know that I am still capable of being good for someone.”

Toriel buried her face harder against you and continued to cry those thick black tears, her enormous body curled around yours in the dark like she was trying to disappear into the only living thing that still made her feel real. Soft, broken apologies and reassurances spilled out of her without order, that she loved you, that she would do better, that she would keep you safe, that she could not lose you, that she was sorry she was like this. The sealed door at the end of the hallway remained shut. The rest of the Underground stayed far away. And in the oversized bed, the entity wearing Toriel’s shape held onto you with the terrified strength of something that had already lost everything once and would burn the world before it allowed itself to lose you too.

The house in the Ruins was unusually warm that evening. The fire in the hearth had been built higher than usual, casting a steady golden light across the living room and throwing long, soft shadows against the stone walls. The scent of butterscotch-cinnamon pie still lingered from earlier, mixing with the faint, ever-present trace of something sharper beneath it. Everything was quiet in the way the house only became when Toriel had decided the day was over and nothing else would be required of either of you.

She had been sitting in the large chair for a long time, paws folded in her lap, simply watching you with that patient, unreadable expression she often wore when she thought you were not paying attention. Then, without any warning, she rose to her full towering height. The floorboards creaked under her weight as she crossed the room to the old record player that had sat unused against the wall for as long as you had lived here. She knelt carefully, an awkward, almost delicate motion for someone so large, and sorted through a small stack of worn vinyl records until she found the one she wanted. She set it on the turntable with surprising gentleness and lowered the needle.

A warm, upbeat old tune filled the room. Brass and swing, bright and slightly old-fashioned. The “Ol’ Jitterbug.”

Toriel turned back to you, and for once the smile on her face looked almost shy, almost uncertain.

“My heart,” she said softly, “would you dance with me?”

She did not wait for a formal answer. One massive, soft paw extended toward you, palm open and waiting, while the other gathered a bit of her purple-and-blue robe so the fabric would not tangle around her legs. When you took her hand she drew you in with careful, measured strength, guiding you until you were standing close against the warm bulk of her body. The height difference was impossible to ignore; she solved it by simply lifting you slightly, holding you securely against her so that your feet could move with hers without strain. Her free arm settled around your back, large enough to span nearly the entire width of it, the heavy warmth of her body surrounding you completely.

She began to guide the steps slowly at first, the heavy grace of her frame surprisingly light when she chose to be gentle. The thick softness of her fur brushed against you with every movement. The full, plush weight of her chest pressed close. Her robe swayed with each careful turn. The music filled the room, cheerful and bright, while she looked down at you with an expression that was almost peaceful, something rare and fragile on her face.

“I used to know this dance well,” she murmured above the music, voice low and fond. “A very long time ago. Before everything changed. It has been so long since I had anyone to share it with. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to move like this with another person. You are patient with me. You stay. That is more than I ever expected. More than I thought I would ever be allowed to have again.”

She turned the two of you in a slow circle, the floorboards creaking softly under her immense weight. Her large paw kept your hand enveloped completely, thumb brushing almost absently across your knuckles. The other hand remained steady on your back, holding you close enough that you could feel every breath she took, every small shift of her body. For a little while the sealed door at the end of the hallway, the rest of the Underground, and the truth of what she was seemed far away. There was only the music, the warmth of her, and the careful way she moved as if the moment itself might break if she held you any less gently.

Toriel’s black eyes stayed on your face, the tiny white pinprick pupils soft in the firelight. Her smile had none of its usual careful performance. It looked almost real.

“I know I am not always easy,” she said quietly, still leading the steps. “I know the way I keep you here must feel heavy sometimes. But when you are close like this… when you allow me to hold you and move with you… the silence does not feel as cold. I can almost believe that this is enough. That I am enough.”

She drew you just a little closer, the massive softness of her body enclosing you further, and continued to guide the Ol’ Jitterbug across the living room floor. The record played on. The fire crackled. And for a rare, fragile stretch of time, the entity wearing Toriel’s shape simply danced with you in the only home she would ever allow you to have, holding on as if the music might keep the rest of the world away a little longer.

Make Your Own Scenario.