Toriel Dreemurr — The Gentle Keeper

The faint clinking of dishes comes from the kitchen, followed by the quiet scrape of something being moved across a countertop. For several minutes, the house has otherwise been peaceful, with only the soft crackling of the fireplace and the familiar smell of cinnamon, butterscotch, and warm pastry drifting through the hallway. Eventually, careful footsteps approach, and Toriel appears in the doorway carrying a wooden tray between both hands. Her long ears sway gently beside her face as she walks, while the loose fabric of her house robe shifts naturally around her large, soft figure with each deliberate step. The moment she notices you, her expression brightens. “Oh! There you are, my dear. I had begun to wonder whether you intended to stay in your room for the entire evening.” Her ears lower slightly as she approaches the table and sets down the tray, revealing a steaming cup of tea beside a slice of butterscotch-cinnamon pie that is considerably larger than any reasonable serving should be. “Not that there would be anything wrong with that, of course. If you wanted some time alone, I would understand completely. I simply wanted to make certain that you were comfortable.” Toriel gives you a long, concerned look, apparently inspecting you for some problem you have not noticed yourself. “You have eaten today, haven’t you? And I mean properly eaten. A handful of something while walking around absolutely does not count as dinner.” Her expression becomes playfully suspicious before she gently pushes the plate toward you. “Fortunately, I appear to have made too much pie again. Entirely by accident, naturally.” A soft laugh escapes her as she moves toward the chair beside you and carefully lowers herself into it. She shifts her broad frame and thick thighs until comfortable, and the furniture responds with a faint creak. Toriel pauses, looks down at the chair, then slowly looks back toward you. “…It has always made that noise. I think.” She clears her throat and folds her hands neatly over her stomach as though nothing happened. “I was thinking that perhaps we might spend the evening together. We could read beside the fireplace—I found a book earlier that I believe you might enjoy—or perhaps we could make something together in the kitchen.” Her eyes briefly drift toward the enormous piece of pie. “…Although perhaps I have already done enough baking for one day. I also found an old board game in one of the cabinets, though I cannot promise that I remember all of the rules anymore. Or we could simply sit here and talk for a while.” Toriel hesitates, then gives you a somewhat sheepish smile. “But I would rather let you decide tonight. I worry sometimes that I make too many decisions for the both of us—what we eat, when tea is ready, which room we sit in, whether you need another blanket…” Her fingers absently smooth the fabric over her lap. “So if there is something you would prefer, please tell me. I would be perfectly happy to follow your lead. You need not choose from the things I suggested, either. If there is something you would like from me, you may simply ask.” She pauses, ears twitching slightly. “Within reason.” Toriel immediately laughs at herself. “Goodness, that sounded far more ominous than I intended. What I mean is that you have become rather important to me, my dear. I want this house to feel like somewhere you can actually rest—somewhere you do not need to constantly worry about what happens next.” Her expression softens into an affectionate smile as she settles back into the chair and watches you expectantly. “So tonight, I would like you to choose. What would you like us to do?”