#aeontale

[the-river-person]

Falling Down Around You

Sans had been helping the Guard. His shortcuts were one of the most useful things he could provide to the Underground. It was why he’d kept his job as a messenger and mail carrier despite being the Judge, despite being a practicing psychiatrist. He could jump around the Underground in a few minutes, a journey which might take several days depending on which areas you needed to go through. The fastest road might take you from Old Home to the Castle in New Home in a few hours if you ran the whole way and didn’t stop to talk to anyone. But even the Human had originally taken a few weeks to make the whole trip, because they’d been stopped by numerous puzzles, Monsters who wanted to fight them, and even things like buying things at a shop or getting a room at the Inn. A closed down elevator or a blocked tunnel could delay you even longer, and what if you kept being forced down side routes? So if someone needed a message delivered right then and there, they could either send a text or call. But what happened when you needed to deliver something? Or someone? What happened when the person you’re trying to reach wouldn’t answer? The answer was simple. Call someone who can go there in a flash. And of course he’d been happy enough to do it all. Kept things interesting, let him hear news. Occasionally important things would go through from Gaster or the Royals. He’d be the first to hear about Mettaton’s newest shows. It was he who’d been able to congratulate Undyne on her first ever action film even before Alphys could. All the best Undertube videos, the most interesting articles on the Undernet, even plans for new puzzles. He heard about all of it as he zipped back and forth. Tonight however, he’d taken more shortcuts than ever before. First the King and Queen to Snowdin for Isa, then he’d taken them back to the Palace and immediately began transporting to the furthest areas of the Underground. Looking for the most obscure and hidden Monsters to let them know about the King’s order for evacuation. And he’d even helped special cases out for the guard, transporting fire Monsters who couldn’t enter in through the Waterfall Area, or various Monsters from Old Home who couldn’t easily pass through Snowdin Caverns. Then a Guard had asked him to go down to the Lower Waterfall City in the Cliffs and the Outpost below in the Depths to help transport people out so the elevators would be freed up a little. He had to pause and crouch down, his skull nearly level with his knees. Dizziness was making his head feel fuzzy, but he didn’t want to spend too long recovering from it. A real break would be needed soon or he’d regret it. When he had enough strength back he took a shortcut to Gaster’s cave. Asgore and Toriel were up on the platform with Gaster. He headed that way. “Hey Tori,” he said, and she turned with...well... not quite a smile, but more of a flicker of polite recognition. “Have you seen Papyrus?” She shook her head. “I haven’t, but Gaster said he went to inspect the ship, I think he is still on board.” Sans gave a small sigh of relief. Really there hadn’t been too much to worry about. They were trying to hurry with the evacuation because they wanted as much time as possible in case something went wrong or some Monster was missing. And there wasn’t anyone that could really do his bro any harm, or would even want to. But he’d still felt the icy chill of panic throughout this whole thing. Over near the catwalk, Seamus was packing up the last of the recording equipment, with his husband Evan helping him. Mettaton was nowhere to be seen, and Sans decided that the robot had probably either already boarded the ship or was in line somewhere. Or maybe searching for Napstablook. Over the years the two had had a strange friendship, though neither had ever really said how it came about. And the ghost had become somewhat less self depreciating and a little more confident in their abilities. Really their music had been in the top musical hits chart for over a hundred years now, even the newer albums were popular. Even so, Napstablook was still somewhat gloomy, and that was alright. Nobody could ever match the constant energy that Papyrus had. If Napstablook wanted to be a little gloomy and enjoy long periods of solitude, that was their right. Still working at the computers in the section of the cave that served as Gaster’s lab was one of his assistants. Tertia, who was bird-like and hunched over. She poked at the keys in manner that might have seemed like boredom to anyone else, but Sans knew it was just her way. All four of Gaster’s assistants were very strange Monsters. Suddenly the cave shook.  Lights flickered as the very roof of the cave trembled, screams and gasps came from the lines of Monsters waiting to board the ships. Alarms began blaring loudly and little red lights began flashing all over the cave. Gaster whirled round. “What is it? What’s happening?” he demanded of his assistant who was now typing frantically away at the keyboard, trying to find the source. Down below the Monsters were beginning to panic and the Guard was having to step in to keep things from getting out of hand. Tertia gasped, her grey eyes going wide, the most expressive face he’d ever seen on any of the assistants. “It’s the Core! It’s experiencing an overload! It’ll go down in just a few minutes!” Gaster’s mouth fell open in shock. It was only for half a second that he stood there, but with everyone staring at him, waiting for him to carefully explain to them what that meant exactly and what they should do, it seemed like an eternity of waiting. When he finally did move it was neither carefully nor calmly. The scientist threw himself forward towards the ledge looking down on the ship, grabbing the rails to push himself up so that he was right above where the Guards were. “GET EVERYONE ON THE SHIP NOW! DON’T COUNT THEM! JUST BOARD!” Pandemonium ensued. Monsters surged towards the doors of the ship, climbing aboard with the assistance of the Royal Guards, who were doing their best to keep smaller Monsters from being trampled in the chaos. Gaster was halted by Toriel and Asgore who were demanding to know what was happening. But he had no patience for careful explanations. He dove past them and started grabbing files and notebooks off his desk and stuffing everything haphazardly into a briefcase. “It’s the core!” he screeched, almost in hysterics. “If it falls the entire grid will go down. It won’t be enough to kill anyone as long as they aren’t in the machine itself, but the shock wave will be enough to reach this cave. The ship is programmed to open a Rift in the event of an apocalyptic emergency, and it will think this is one!” Glancing behind and seeing their blank expressions he growled in frustration. “Don’t you get it?! If we don’t get on board the ship will leave without us!” That did it, horrified understanding dawned in the eyes of the two Monarchs and they ran for the stairways along with the rest of the crowds. But the lines still stretched out through Waterfall, there were still over 600 Monsters who hadn’t gotten the chance to board yet. Feeling sick to his stomach, Sans wondered for a second what he should do. Shortcuts. He could save some people. Seamus and Evan were making for the stairs as well and he ran to catch up with them. Grabbing their arms he used a shortcut to tear all three of them from their current position in space and onto the ship, where he left them confused and disoriented, and took a shortcut back. Next was Tertia, who was sitting, not moving, in her chair, staring blankly at the computer screen in shock. She didn’t thank him as he handed her over to the Guards in the ship’s hold. He’d gone back for Gaster when he spotted Realis enter the cave looking frantic. Running that way instead he brought the prince into the ship as well. Monsters outside were desperately pushing relatives, especially younger ones, forward. Though there were no real children left after three hundred years, many still appeared to be children, and their parents lifted them high, ignoring their protests, and practically handed them to the Guards, who took them into the ship. Cousins, lovers, and friends were shoved forward, and other Monsters who only had themselves to worry about pushed their way to the front. He saw Papyrus pull a Froggit as well as both Bratty and Catty into the ship all at the same time. Even Monster Kid had leaned back as far as he could to take the tiny Cinnamon with the curl of his tail while Goner helped Cinnamon’s older Sister, Lapina, climb up using his tail.  A tiny yellow bird who had once carried people across a disproportionately small gap was clinging to her fur, terrified out of its mind. Where had Gaster gone to? He spotted Gaster fiddling with the computers, Sans appeared behind him and saw the little storage chip he’d plugged into slot. The Scientist was trying to copy over his research. “Doc! Come on! There’s no time!” And there wasn’t time. The surge from the collapsing Core hit and the cavern shook again and the lights went out, leaving only the ship and it’s power system separate from the main grid still lighting the space. Screaming and panicked shouting rang out and the Monsters nearest to the ship were forced back. The Rift had begun to open up underneath the floor of the cave. Papyrus was looking frantically around the cave, pushing against his own guards as they tried to close the doors for their fall into the Void. “SANS!!!” he screamed. Sans was only a few steps from the edge of the platform, right over the ship. He didn’t think, he only moved. He was already in the air when he realized that Gaster was with him,  having tried to stop him from making the jump and fallen with him. To all those still in the cave it appeared as if a gigantic flat disk of nothingness you couldn’t describe that had no color to speak of but wasn’t black or white and could be seen even in the dark despite not giving off any light had opened up where the floor was supposed to be. The Ship and the pair of falling Monsters seemed to slow and freeze in place, then slowly... without moving, they simply began to fade away as if they had never been. And with them went the strange grey disk that made up the Rift. From San’s point of view the world around him began to warp and twist as if it were being turned inside out. He could still see the Monsters in Gaster’s cave, but instead of the cave being all around him, it was as if the space around him had been turned inside out and shaped into an orb, leaving only the Void around him as he fell away from the orb. It got smaller and smaller until it was gone, and so was the ship. He and Gaster were adrift in the Void.

[amandacheam]

I have no idea what da heck I'm drawing...

Here ya go @jadethefloatingninja a gift for u. Hope u like it Ú3Ù

[the-river-person]

The Ancient Court

The day came. Monsters gathered from all over the Underground, and others came as well. The Human looked around as the courtyard filled up. Everyone they knew was here, everyone they had met. There were far more people in the Underground, hundreds and hundreds of Monsters. But these folk they knew best. When the figure appeared at the doors, dressed in the hood and cloaked, everyone was surprised. Asgore and Toriel had appeared among those waiting in the courtyard, as if they too were somehow were supplicants instead of the King and Queen. They did not look at one another, though they stood near enough, and in between them the Human waited quietly. Quietly the large figure reached to open the doors and they caught a glimpse of his claws and fur, which was dark. His arms were muscled beneath the thick fur, as if he were used to lifting a great weight. Yet he made no noise with his footsteps, nor when he pushed open the great doors. He gestured them in and one by one the crowd began to trickle into the corridors of the castle. It was very quiet. Few people were talking, and those that were kept it to a dull murmur. As they approached the place detailed in their letters, the Human saw a set of stone doors. Before this part of the wall had been covered in vines and moss, the doors must have been hidden behind them. Now somebody had cleared all of it away, leaving the entrance visible, as well as some ornate scroll of stonework carved above it with writing in some ancient Monster language. “It says ‘Heed my words Human or Monster. The Angel’s Eye shall gaze upon you and see the sins upon your shoulders, the death upon your face, and the path beneath your feet.’” Flowey had forced his way up through a broken floor tile. “I think it was supposed to rhyme in the original, but I couldn’t make that work in the translation. Huh, sounds familiar huh?” He smirked at them. Toriel had noticed Flowey as well and came over. “Did you also receive a letter?“ she asked him politely, though her expression was wary. “Yeah, I got one.” He pulled the crimson envelope from somewhere beneath the floor. “Besides, I’d come anyway. There’s no way I’m missing something as interesting as this.” Toriel’s expression was startled and Flowey gave a loud cackle. Before she could say anything another hooded and cloaked figure appeared. This one was far shorter and had a purple tail shaped rather like a capital letter J that poked out from beneath the back of his cloak. His face, which could be seen in the shadows of his hood, was the same purple grey of his tail, and strange jester like markings were made around his yellow eyes. The smile he gave them was not reassuring, but he snapped his fingers and the stone doors slowly opened by themselves, grinding loudly against the floor. The room beyond was huge. A vast space of stone walls and floor like a great amphitheater. The ceiling was lost in shadows, but was certainly very high. The floor was carved into huge steps with stone benches on each. At the bottom there was a flat area, somewhat like a stage, but home to a small pedestal for someone to stand on, and facing the rest of the room was a throne ornately carved from the stone of the wall behind it. Someone had dusted in here, possibly using magic, for it was totally clean. But they hadn’t moved any of the broken stone or replaced missing tiles. Not even broken stone benches or cracks in the walls had been repaired, and plant life grew everywhere as golden light filtered in through windows along the edge of the curved room, light from high in the cavern ceiling above New Home. The Ancient Court was colored in gold and red, and carved into the back of the throne was the Deltarune. People found places to sit. The Human spotted Papyrus, who waved excitedly at them, as well as Monster Kid. Undyne, Seamus, Napstablook, and many more were here. Bratty and Catty were, for the first time, lost for words as they clung to each other and looked around. More and more filed in, until there was no room left in the seats. Mettaton had set up a camera and had gone live to the slowly filling room, trying to get as much of it all into the recording as possible. When at last every person had entered, the two hooded figures appeared once more and closed the stone doors and stood beside them, waiting. For a long moment everything was still. Then came the noise. Tap tap tap. Someone was approaching. Yet where it was coming from nobody could tell, not from the doors they’d come through, but there was no other entrance into the room. Tap tap tap. The sound was louder, echoing through the chamber. And suddenly everyone noticed that though it was almost certain no one had been there moments before, a figure was sitting in the throne. They too had their face obscured, but their clothing was different than the cloaks the two by the door wore. This person wore robes of deep blue, somewhat like a monk of old times, both hands were tucked into the opposite sleeve, and they bent their head beneath the hood so no one could see their face. “YIP!!!” A sudden bark made everyone jump and Papyrus dove for the small white dog that had jumped from his bag while yelling “NO YOU STUPID DOG! GET BACK HERE!!!” The dog ignored him and ran straight to the figure on the throne and to everybody’s horror, jumped straight into their lap. The figure didn’t move for a few tense seconds, then they slowly pulled one skeletal hand from their sleeve and reached down to scratch the little dog behind the ears. Papyrus stared. “SANS?” he said disbelievingly. The figure lifted its head and a skeletal grin could be seen in the shadow of the hood, and Sans winked at him and put his finger to his mouth.

[the-river-person]

Mistral Sans is now Community Shared

To echo the words of @undertaleauoc, Mistral is "open for use" without the need to request permission from the creator (me) though I’d like to be tagged and credited still. Mistral Formerly named: Sans Age: 10 to the power of 100 years (technically a little more than that by now, but the number is so huge that it's no longer relevant.) Gender: Male Appearance: Appears much like Classic Sans, except for the silvery-white crystalline formations growing all over his body. These can get quite large if he hasn’t removed them in a while, and are often quite sharp to anyone with flesh instead of bone. He makes an effort to keep the Kenón from growing up over his head and face, or from completely encasing his body, but it's difficult to keep up with since it grows faster whenever he happens to be in the Void itself. He wears a long brown overcoat, gloves, and long black trousers, mostly in effort to hide the Kenón as much as possible or keep the sharp points from cutting people by accident. He also keeps a red bandana around his neck, something given to him by Papyrus. His eyes never went back to their original state after the Void-Sickness. Instead of dark hollows with a white iris, they seem to be a pale grey, like a well of deep nothingness. Backstory: Mistral’s Universe is based upon the question “What would happen if the Human just never stopped the Resets, but went on forever?” And the resulting Tale that followed was one of mindless repetitions for time out of mind as the Human would Reset in order to prevent the Underground from being destroyed. Eventually the human, who was no longer human, stopped when Sans suggested a different means to preserve their Universe without killing. This Underground has a deep history of worship and lore that surrounds their Angel, and Sans played the role of Judge, a historical job where someone representing the Angel’s Justice would be called upon to make an absolute Judgement upon anyone or anything. The King called upon him to bring his judgement upon the entire Underground for their part in everything. Formerly a scientist under his Uncle Gaster, he helped come up with the “Solution” which the entire Underground was inoculated with to help them remember beyond Resets. He himself was a victim of the Void poisoning like that which affected Gaster’s Followers and was only saved from being wiped to a blank slate by Gaster’s efforts. A fragment of Kenón (Void-stone) and determination was placed in his soul, causing the crystals to spread from it. In later years as the Underground thrived despite the Resets, he pushed himself to get another degree, this time in psychology, and eventually became a practicing therapist/psychologist (as well as the Underground’s willing delivery boy. He liked being able to see and talk to people all the time, and get to know things.) Upon the destruction of his Universe he was thrown into the Void with his Uncle Gaster, where they were rescued by the mysterious River Person. They met with Ink!Sans who explained the Multiverse and gave them the means to travel it. Now they travel from Universe to Universe, or sometimes wander the Void itself, or the Anti-Void. Gaster (now named Majuscule) is searching for his children, and Sans (now named Mistral) is helping while searching for the Ship his brother escaped with and whatever survivors of his people there might still be. Personality: Mistral is old. Though he was in a mindless forgetful repetitive state for much of the Resets, and has few memories of his own childhood beyond what Papyrus reminded him of, he is significantly mentally older than most of the other Monsters from his Universe. The determination in his soul (along with the Kenón) makes him very strong willed and much more powerful than he was before. It also gives him a minor energy boost. His years as a scientist specializing in studies of the Soul and Physics, as well as his later degree in psychology and practice as a therapist, make him a fairly discerning person who is easily approachable and can talk about a number of different subjects with ease. Despite his actions during the Genocide Routes, he is a much more mentally stable person (possibly one of the most stable Sanses out there from what I see) and is very much a pacifist, refusing violence altogether and choosing to let his words and mind guide him out of trouble, or his teleportation to let him escape danger. Because of his refusal to consider physical violence, even in his own defense, his skill in using fighting magic has atrophied. He can no longer summon the blasters at all, and his bone attacks are weaker. His teleportation on the other hand is much stronger and he can do it more often without tiring too much. The other effects of his refusal to fight means that he must proactively avoid confrontation whenever possible. Mistral uses his knowledge of how people think and act to guide his interactions with others, putting even Monsters from the Fell Universes at ease with well timed and thought out humorous comments, as well as just generally being willing to listen and try to see from the point of view of other people. He can tell puns, but they usually sound a bit forced, like he memorized them somewhere and was just waiting for a point to use them. Very rarely he’ll come up with the perfect one on the spot and be absolutely thrilled with himself. More often he uses dry humor, throwaway lines, or Hyperbole.

His willingness to try and defuse the tension caused by aggressive Monsters he’s dealing with can sometimes backfire on him and serves to make the Monster even angrier and more violent. Mistral will then flee, not wanting to fight them, but often marking himself as guilty or suspicious in the process when this happens with an authority figure who has confronted him for his presence.

The Kenón crystal growing all over his body tends to freak people out as well, which is why he hides it as much as he can beneath the overcoat, gloves, and bandana.

Like all skeletons of his Universe, Mistral has a great knowledge of fonts and writing systems, punctuation marks, ciphers, and typography. It is a very important subject to them as it very closely ties with how they see themselves, their identity as a person. This may be rather strange to skeletons from other Universes who do not share this background. A similar problem comes when skeletons from other Universes find out how strongly he and the Monsters of his world believe in the mythical Angel of Mount Ebbot and often pray to them or swear by them (or use “Angel” as a swear).

He’s also very interested in the concept of Identity and how it can change over time or be altered by events in your life, and how names connect to the concept of identity.

Can I use Mistral in my comic/story/animation/etc?: Sure. He’s a wandering type character, so it's likely he’ll show up in countless Universes and places all over while searching for his brother and his missing cousins. Sometimes he’ll be with Gaster and sometimes not.

One thing to note is that his story will have a continuation, so if in your story you detail events that involve him beyond just a brief meeting, chat, or background character… Just be aware that it's probably not going to be canon to the story I’m planning for him (though if we take other Multiverses into account it could be canon elsewhere).

I would like to insist that you tag and credit me on his use (Credit is good. Tagging me makes it so I can come see your wonderful creations).

Can I ship Mistral with this other character/characters?: Yeah, why not?. Canonically he’s aesexual and only very passingly interested in the idea of romantic relationships. But sure, ship him with whoever you like. Just know that it's not canon to this Multiverse.

While I would still like to be tagged in stuff that involves him. I know I can’t stop nsfw art/writing and other things of that nature from happening, much as I might like to. But be warned, If I see it or am tagged with that, or am sent asks of that... I will block you. Fontcest, Incest ships, child ships, or smut in general will all get you blocked instantly.

Canon height and weight: 4-5 feet high (same as Classic Sans). Weight was trickier. He’s a skeleton. A human skeleton is only about 15% of your body weight. So classic is probably somewhere around 16 or so pounds. But Mistral is covered by continually growing crystalline structures of Kenón. Since the crystal is heavy but spread out and somewhat kept under control, it probably only doubles his weight, making him 32 pounds.

Canon strength: Mistral isn’t a fighter. His attacks are weak because his desire to actually fight is nonexistent, even if he has to defend himself or others. But his actual physical strength, as opposed to his magical attacks, sees a significant increase to that of your normal Sans. The Kenón crystals actually increase his defense by making his bones stronger and more crack resistant, and his self healing is well equipped to deal with most breaks, though they’re still quite painful.

He also has increased endurance for longer physical or magical activities so long as combat or confrontation isn’t part of it.

Since he weighs more, he can’t jump as high as a Sans who weighs less (not that it's a huge difference. He’s only 32 pounds. Plus his strength can mostly make up for it by pushing himself off harder when jumping.)

Is it okay if I draw him with another gender, age, height, or sexuality?: Go for it. Have fun. Tag and credit me. But remember that it’s not canon to THIS Multiverse that I’m working in.

Canon Birthday?: September 16th (though he hasn’t celebrated in a LONG time. He probably doesn’t remember his last actual birthday party. Papyrus might though…)

Font?: Used to be Comic Sans. But now it's Mistral (upper and lowercase).

Original AU: Aeontale by

a_river_is_a_liminal_space

(or the-river-person. basically… me)

Can I send Asks for more details if I need or want them?: Yes. My askbox is open. I’ll answer what I can. I’ve put everything I can think of on here, but inevitably there’s always something missed in things like this. So ask away.

[the-river-person]

End of Days

It was growing colder. Snowdin was unlivable now, the weather was no longer a snowstorm, but simply frozen and dark. There were parts of Waterfall that still had water, but it was all still, the falls no longer cascaded from above, having dried up or frozen solid in ice. Closer the chill crept. It had long since taken Home and New Home, Waterfall and the Depths below the Lower City on the Cliffs, and the Snowdin Caverns had been the very first place to fall. Hotland alone was still warm. But the magma had cooled and solidified on the surface of their burning lakes, leaving only what lay deep beneath. It was there the Monsters huddled. The Fire-Monsters at their center, those most susceptible to the cold. The darkness was oppressive, and only the light of these monsters, and their tiny heat, was keeping everything at bay. Keeping the darkness from falling. They’d searched for Sans and for Gaster, but there was no sign of them, they were gone. They searched every journal and book and file they could find in hopes of finding anything that could call the Ship back or open another Rift to the Void, but they found nothing that would help them. A day went by, exactly as it always had. And then another. And another after that. But the days were numbered. Three weeks before a Reset. And the first had been nearly over. Sixteen days. Sixteen days was all they had left. Fifteen days. Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve. Asgore spoke to the crowd outside the castle in New Home, telling them of the strange pall of darkness that always fell if they waited too long after the three weeks to Reset. No stars, no water, not even the garbage that fell endlessly from the falls, piling up into the Dump. It all just... stopped. And from what he could tell, the outside was cold. If one stood near the barrier, just as the time limit ran out on Tripplenight, when everyone was celebrating and holding feasts and parties, one could see glittering frost coating the rock outside, lit only by the barrier’s light. Eleven days. Toriel suggested a night to spend reading and playing and telling jokes. Everyone came. But they couldn’t bring themselves to tell any jokes, or read anything, or play. The Queen tried to read some old Monster Tales to them, but she could hardly get through the story where the Destined Heroes of Light fall into a Kingdom of Darkness and meet a lonely Prince of the Dark. And when she reached the part where the Hero tore out his very soul in despair and rage, she broke off, unable to continue. Ten Days. Nine days. Eight Days. The Core was unfixable. Alphys had everything she could ask for, the willing help of any Monster she could possibly turn to. But the explosion that resulted from its meltdown had been so hot that it melted much of the machinery and blasted other sections to fragments of metal. She was unable even to figure out why it had reacted so violently in the first place. It had been maintained until the last moment, when the engineers had headed out to evacuate. It should have been fine. What did it matter? Should have been, would have been, could have been. They couldn’t fix it, so how it got destroyed didn’t matter. Seven Days. Six Days. Five Days. Tempers running high, Undyne destroyed her own house, leaving it flaming and stuck with spears. She said she couldn’t stand being alone there. She and Alphys have taken to wandering Waterfall, speaking in low tones and sharing kisses in the soft blue light of the waters and echo flowers. Four Days. Snowdrake, Lesser Dog, and Heats Flamesman had a breakdown. Asgore found them at the Barrier in New Home, beating on the magical wall with their firsts, bodies, wings, and claws. They screamed and screamed, calling out for someone to hear them. For someone to come. They didn’t want to go with Asgore, didn’t want to go. They wanted to someone to come. Anyone. Just let them out. But nobody came. Three days. Gerson had woken a little during the evacuations, sensing that something had changed. In the terror of the moment he’d woken all the way. Now he was sinking back into despair, becoming harder and harder to speak to, to wake, to communicate with at all. Two days. Monsters want to know what will happen to them. Want to know if help is coming. If someone is coming. If they can call someone to come save them. The ship, Sans, Gaster, anyone. No one can answer their questions. Asgore and Toriel look grim, and Alphys is pale. Never had any seen Undyne cry, tears running silently down her face, her expression never wavering, her stoic stance as strong as ever. Only Gerson could really remember the last time he’d seen tears from her, and that had been when she was very small. One day. Dread. The waiting is the worst thing. Knowing you cannot prevent what is coming, and you are afraid. Mettaton had tried desperately to bring some last bit of laughter to them, but the robotic body is running out of power, and without being able to charge, since the Core was the source of the Underground’s power, they had to shut down to preserve power. Only the sad ghost was left behind, and it seemed that all the others had gone, managing to get aboard the ship. The stars are gone. The light is gone. The warmth is gone. And only the darkness remains. The darkness and the cold. Still they pushed on, refusing to give in so easily, though many were close to Falling Down. Water was stored from the river until it froze over, there was no sign of the River Person or their ferry, the Monster must have escaped into the Ship on time, though nobody could recall having seen them waiting in line, or ever having left their ferry for that matter. Days went by, at least they were almost certain it was days and not weeks or hours. The only change was that the darkness got deeper and deeper, and the cold grew and spread. When Waterfall froze over completely the light from the Echo Flowers faded, their last whispers nearly one with the silence, unheard by any living being. “But nobody came.” ... ... ... It was the End. They could hardly keep the Fire-Monsters alive, burning themselves as they pressed closer and closer together around them, staying warm and keeping in the warmth as much as they could. Any food they had left had run out, monster food, human food, it was all gone. Even the water in their storage containers was in danger of freezing over. The Underground was silent. Waiting. “It was...” said Asgore, hesitating, his voice quiet and his expression unbearably sad. “It was so nice knowing all of you. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from this fate. I failed.” Toriel embraced him, and the sight stirred what little of the light and love that was still in the hearts of the Monsters who watched them. “No! No! You have not failed!” they cried. “You did everything you could. You did more than we could have ever asked!” Mettaton turned his body back on, to use the remaining few hours of power as best he could, rushing to and fro, finding wood from houses and fences that could be burned. Seeking out forgotten bits of food that could be shared. Each moment was borrowed, but it was another moment. Crystal, Snowdrake’s mother, was snuggled up to her husband. Toriel had asked if she was alright, but the kindly monster had said that her Snowy had made it aboard just in time, pulled up by Papyrus himself in the last few moments. As long as he was safe and away from here, then she could be happy even in the face of death. As the last of their lights flickered out, leaving only the fire-monsters to light the caverns, Crystal turned to the monster she’d lived in the same town as for years and years. “Grillby,” she called out. He looked at her, waiting. The bar owner had never been much for speaking. “Do you remember when we were in year seven of secondary school? When old Maggie insisted that everyone in her classroom had to try out for Choir in order to get a grade?” Grillby nodded, looking slightly annoyed by the memory. Old Maggie hadn’t been the best at teaching, and while everyone had cared for her, they were all very relieved when she had finally retired. “I remember you didn’t want to, because you didn’t want to sing. But she made you and you got upon on the stage and looked so frightened. Nobody had ever even heard you talk before, so we didn’t know if you could sing or not. But when you did...” she paused, a light smile on her face as she remembered. “You sang like the Angel themselves. Couldn’t you sing like that again for us now? As a favor to an old friend?” A smile flickered upon Grillby’s face, hidden deep among the flames, and he nodded indulgently. Silence fell over the monsters as he stood tall and prepared himself. Only a very few had ever heard him speak at all, and when he did it was brief and to the point. What could his voice be like? The first words startled them. In a voice that rose in volume and soared through the dark empty caverns like a light he sang the first words of a familiar song. “Ebbot’s Angel hear our prayer. Are you out there somewhere? Often we have called your name, but then nobody came.” The song itself was a grim one, with all the sorrow of those first years of being trapped Underground woven into the lyrics and tune. But it was a song that everyone knew. From youngest to oldest, each Monster learned it while they were still small. Taught by parents, friends, siblings. It was a song of games played in the snow and on sidewalks, it was a song whistled by old Gerson whenever he was doing spring cleaning in his shop, it was the song Undyne had first learned to play on the piano, it was the song of the music box for the Waterfall puzzle she’d made and left near the old memorial statue, it was the song with a million covers on the Undernet by a thousand aspiring musicians who started out with a song they were most comfortable singing, it was a song that Asgore had hummed while gardening, and Toriel had sung wordlessly while baking. One by one they joined him in singing, each voice adding something indefinable yet vital to their choir. Those Monsters who could not speak simply hummed the tune, and those who could not even do that made noises in accompaniment to the tune as best they could. It was called “The Angel’s Prayer” by many, or “His Theme” by those who remember it being played by a little Music Box at the baby Prince’s first introduction to the Kingdom. He’d been upset to be at the center of so much attention and had even cried before the Captain of the Guard, old Gerson himself, had presented him with a tiny music box he’d made that played the tune. Asriel had been enchanted; cooing and gurgling happy at the music as he tried to reach for the box. But the song’s true name was written down in the oldest books, on nearly faded music sheets, and in the Histories of the Underground. It had been named “Memory”. “On the slopes we fought our war; lost all we’d known before. Humans, Monsters; who to blame? The end is all the same.” A light blossomed in the distance, over the massive stalagmites that made the border between Hotland and Waterfall. A blue light, very faint, but undeniably there. Echo Flowers. The Echo Flowers were singing with them, echoing their song so that it reverberated off the walls of the cavern and back to them again and again. “Long ago we walked with you, ‘Neath stars of many hues. You promised us you would return, and for that day we yearn.” And softly another melody was weaving its way into their song, even as Grillby sang out high, another voice was singing along with him, wordless, and a different song, but it harmonized so easily that they almost didn’t notice its presence at all. When she recognized it for what it was, Toriel stopped singing, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. She knew this tune as well. In fact, she had written it. Years and years ago for her children. For Asriel of course, but also for Chara. “Once Upon a Time”, that was its name, because she had written it as a lullaby to use after telling them a bedtime story. But where was a it coming from? She looked around, trying to see its source in the darkness. “Soon the darkness will draw near, and all light disappear. Is that when you’ll come once more? Just like you did before?” They all stopped singing as another light appeared from the shadows, and though they stopped short, the song continued without them. With their own voices the Echo Flowers continued on, repeating endlessly the grim words with a hopeful melody. And the light before them was from a Door. It stood alone in the dark, tethered to nothing at all. On either side rose stone pillars, and above the door mantel was carved the Deltarune. It looked very much like the doors found the palaces of New Home and Home. Very old gateways and posterns meant for special people to pass through, such as the Royal Family or any humans who fell down from above. Yet unlike the purplish stone of Home or the pale white marble of New Home, this was dark and nearly black. How they could see it at all was a mystery, yet it seemed to give off a strange light. And as the Echo Flowers reached the last verse, the Deltarune above the door began to glow. The song Toriel had heard, it was coming from there, from beyond the door. And everything in her longed to go and see what lay there, on the other side. To see who was waiting for her. Perhaps Frisk, or maybe even Chara. And she could wait for the others too, and for Asriel. Oh, he liked to be called Realis now, didn’t he? A soft sigh seemed to come from the door as it creaked slightly open, a fine white mist piling up from behind it until it spilled over into a drifting wave towards them. Like a breath of fresh air. That’s what it felt like. Sunshine warming you after you’ve been inside all day long, and the splash of streams and song of birds. Perhaps its too late for it here, but somehow, somewhere, it is a beautiful day outside. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming. The perfect weather for a game of catch. ... ... There is a prophecy. The Angel... The One Who Has Seen The Surface... They will return. And the underground will go empty. Only a pale white Void is left behind, like a page in a book that has not yet been written in, or a blank canvas that has not yet been touched with paint, and that too will fade to nothingness. Emptiness remains, no one is left here, except... “YIP!!!” A little white dog barks excitedly. It has several possessions it has considered bringing with it. A sock it liberated recently from its longtime home of the floor, several bone based special attacks that were absolutely delicious, a brick-like cell phone that it used to make wonderful music sometimes, a real live actual bomb, and a salad. But it left its bag at home when the world ended and now it has no choice but to go on without it. Oh well. It barks at the door, which opens slightly, and then rushes through. With a sharp click the door closes. And there is nothing more.

[the-river-person]

Epilogue

Wind swept through the red grass like a wave upon the sea, sending ripples down the slopes of the endless hills. In the lowest valleys the grass vanished into a soft white fog, making the hilltops seem as if they were detached from the earth and floating through an ocean of clouds. Sans gazed around in wonder, while also having to shield his eyes a little. Above them the sky was a thousand blending shades of purple, everything from a deep angry bruise to a very soft lilac. At the edge of the Horizon was the sun, and from here it looked a very deep red color, and though it wasn’t terribly bright, he still had to shield his eyes. It seemed that he needed some time for his eyes to properly adjust to seeing the surface in all of its overwhelming brightness after living in the muted and shadowed Underground for all his life. Well for lifetimes on end, really. Mouth open wide, and eye lights nearly pinpricks in shock, Gaster too appeared to be too stunned for words at the sight of this world. Sans knew that his uncle had been around to see the Surface of their own Universe, and judging by Gaster’s reaction, it was nothing at all like this. The River Person had taken them to this place because he said it was still a relatively safe Universe to visit for a little while. Comfortably seated in his ferry boat, the River Person didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere soon, so they’d opted to explore for a bit while staying in sight. Arriving at another Universe was just as bizarre as leaving one had been. It was as if there was a reflective orb in the distance, only when you got closer it wasn’t you that it was reflecting, but a place. And if you got close enough it was as if the reflection warped and twisted itself so that it swallowed you and you were sitting in another Universe as smoothly as if you’d landed your boat at the docks. Actually the ferryboat itself was sitting in the middle of the red grass, and looked perfectly natural there as if it were supposed to sail across the sea of red grass and plants instead of up and down a river. Out in the distance the world got even stranger. To the right, he wasn’t sure what the compass direction was because the red sun appeared to be circling the horizon instead of crossing overhead in an arc, he could see bright glow that spanned the whole edge of the sky in that direction, as if the area was filled with light. And to the left the sky seemed to get darker and darker until the horizon that way was shadowed and still. “Pretty, isn’t it?” “Yes,” he breathed, still trying to take it all in. The next moment he leaped away in shock as he realized the comment had come from someone who had unexpectedly been standing beside him. It was a skeleton, somewhat similar to himself in appearance but not quite. Wearing brown pants that might have been tucked in overalls by the green straps that were sticking out from one side of the waist, a white shirt, and a long brown scarf... the skeleton’s clothing alone made a strong first impression of him. But more interesting than that were the splotch of black ink that coated the bottom right side of his jaw and the enormous paint brush that he carried on his back like a sheathed sword. Over his chest was a belt holding a series of tiny phials with heart shaped stoppers, each phial held a different colored liquid within, and altogether and in order they formed a kind of rainbow pattern. Finally, around his neck and hanging down his back was an incredibly long scarf of some brown fabric. The Skeleton was grinning at him, mischief dancing in his eye sockets, which Sans had only just realized contained some odd shapes. In his left eye, the pupil was shaped like a bright, five pointed, golden star (☆), twinkling merrily as if to say “I’m excited!” to all the world. And in his right eye the pupil took the shape of... and this left Sans feeling more bewildered than anything else, a small purple 7. But even as he watched the pupils changed shape, and again, and again. A spiral (๑), a triangle border with nothing inside (△), a check mark (✓), an eroteme (?), a small crescent moon (☽), a pair of squiggly lines that might have been either water or a double tilde (≈), a silcrow (§), a percontation point (⸮), and a very small umbrella (☂). “Hullo!” said the skeleton. “I’m Ink! Guardian of the Multiverse and Protector of AUs!” Gaster, who had turned around to see what Sans had been reacting to, was examining the newcomer with something akin to professional curiosity. “AUs?” he asked, tilting his skull slightly to the side. “Alternate Universes,” clarified Ink. “And parallel ones. And pretty much any other kind of universe that springs up. So... now that I’ve introduced myself, who are you two?” Other universes, the thought was a little frightening. Sure he’d heard Gaster practically wax poetic on the subject numerous times, and here he was standing in another universe entirely. But it was different hearing someone else talk about them existing, as if they’d seen them with their own eyes. An entire multiverse full of them. And if Ink was truly the Guardian of that Multiverse and every universe inside of it, then he must be a really important person. “I’m Sans-” he started to say, not sure whether there was special protocol for introducing yourself to a Multiverse Guardian, but Ink was already cutting him off, flapping his hand impatiently at them. “No no no. There are way too many Sanses and Gasters floating about. Even I’m a Sans. We like to use... well I guess you’d call them nicknames. They help keep us from getting confused. More confused. Some people use the name of their AU, others ” Somewhat at a loss, Sans turned to look at Gaster, who only shrugged unhelpfully. Well alright then. A nickname huh? His thoughts raced back years and years, decades, centuries, all the way to that very first therapy session with Doctor Whimsol. She’d suggested that he didn’t have to be a Sans if he didn’t feel like one. For a while he’d toyed with various other names, mostly Fonts in the style of Skeleton naming conventions. But he’d never really made anything of it. Perhaps one of the ones he’d liked would do? Something that suited him the way that he was now. He’d changed a great deal since then. There was no way anyone would think of him in formal terms, even now. But he was a bit more serious, even though he tried to stay approachable. He wasn’t suffering from depression and guilt, and he was a lot more active than he had been. So something light-hearted but serious, informal like, with a sense of movement.... It came to him and he grinned suddenly. “Mistral,” he informed the Guardian of the Multiverse. “I’m Mistral.“ Looking intrigued, Ink nodded enthusiastically. “It suits you! A little rough of a font, sort of like brush writing, but with this... um... crystal stuff on your bones, it really works.” Oh yeah, Sans had forgotten about the Kenón still growing on him. It had sped up its growth a bit in the Void, which made sense because they were already connected. Small spikes of silvery-grey crystal were now easily seen growing up from the collar of his shirt and from his sleeves, and tiny lumps were beginning to form under his usual overcoat that betrayed the crystals growing underneath. “I think,” said Gaster suddenly, “That I would like to be known as Majuscule.” Sans stared at him. “You want to be named after Capitalized Letters?” he asked incredulously. It wasn’t a font. Though they weren’t really required to stick to those if they truly didn’t want to. But it was related enough that it was odd that Gaster would want to choose that of all things for a name. The smile the scientist gave him was a smug one. “When I use the Wingdings Sign variant it really doesn’t differentiate between Minuscule and Maguscule symbols like the font does in physical writing. And since I cannot speak it out loud and adjust the volume of my speech, it is as if I am saying everything in capitalized letters, constantly speaking with maximum intensity all the time.” Oh Angel, of course Gaster would choose something that convoluted. Sans groaned and rolled his eyes, surprisingly Ink only looked amused and actually giggled, his eyes flitting between an octothorp followed immediately by an S (#S) , an ecphoneme (!), an on/off symbol, and an asterisk (*). “I’m guessing you guys are new travelers to the Multiverse. That means you’re the ones I was looking for. You see, I felt a Universe die recently, and I went to go protect it from whatever was causing it to be destroyed. But it was dying on its own, of old age. I’ve never seen a Universe do that before, reach its natural ending. Then I found a trail in the Void, the sort of paths the River Folk make when they travel, and I knew that someone must have escaped before everything fell apart. And well... here you are!” Ink smirked and stuck out his tongue in a sort of “blep” way. Somewhere in the back of his head, Sans couldn’t help but notice that the tongue was rainbow hued. But now that he was reminded, he had more important questions. “Did you see anyone else?” He asked. “A ship in the Void? Any survivors? Papyrus? Well, my Papyrus anyway. He’s the Captain of the Royal Guard. And there were a lot of people on the ship before it fell into the Void. Please, if you’ve seen anything...” He trailed off hopefully. Ink’s eyes had suddenly become two ecphonemes (!). “Wait, there are more than just you two?” asked the Guardian excitedly. “It’s pretty rare we get more than a Sans or a Gaster. For some reason the Sanses seem to be inclined to go traveling more than others, though we do get Papyruses and Gasters here and there. But I don’t recall seeing a ship...hmmm.” Then Ink reached back and pulled on his scarf. Upon closer inspection, Sans could see all kinds of writing on it, scribbles and notes. Ink was using the thing as a planner. For a moment Ink squinted down at the scarf, searching through all the notes. They could see his mouth moving as he silently muttered some of the reminders he was reading. At last he looked up. “Nope, sorry. I haven’t seen any ship. But I’ll make a note to keep an eye out for one. I definitely don’t want to miss seeing that. Oh, but I did write down something else. I found this where your universe used to be.” And digging into his pocket, Ink produced something that was difficult to see. It was like a point, but without any width, depth, surface, or length. It flickered strangely and Sans heard Gaster’s intake of breath behind him. “There it is!” said the Scientist as he stepped forward, reaching for the thing. “The last fragment. The final percentage. What bit of me are you hiding in such a small form?” His hand closed around it and he closed his eyes, looking triumphant and relieved. Just as quickly he snapped them back open again in alarm. “Sans!” “What?” “I had three assistants, Sans. Three! Not four! I don’t know who Goner actually is!” * * * The Tem had managed to push the wreckage away from itself, freeing its trapped hind leg. Nobody else was in this part of the Ship, mostly being occupied in repair work or attempts to plan and reorganize. He’d volunteered to come out here and replace the spark plugs in this area because it would make it easier to get away from people for a while. A low creak, like metal under strain, made him turn. It was similar to the sound he’d heard earlier before the ceiling fell. This ship had taken a lot of damage in the crash, it was no wonder it was all falling apart at the seams. There was no one there. Yeah, probably just more infrastructure damage from the crash that needed to be repaired. Turning back brought him face to face with the grey torso of Goner, who was looming over him with his pale whitish-grey eyes. “Your name is Bob, right?” Said Goner in an expressionless tone. It wasn’t really a question exactly. More like a statement with a question tacked onto the end like an afterthought. Suddenly Goner’s expression seemed almost sly, sinister. Perhaps it was just the lighting, but the Tem shrank from the Monster as he leaned forward. “My name is Goner, I have a feeling we’re going to be very good friends.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ink!Sans belongs to @comyet Special Thanks to @msaoa12345 for their continued reblogging, praise, and excitable and positive commentary. Without their support, this story wouldn’t be anywhere near finished.

[the-river-person]

The Royal Judge

“This won’t satisfy them forever you know,” Asgore said as he stepped back into the room, away from the cheering crowds. Sans looked down. Yeah, he knew that. Eventually they’d want details about the Resets and the human involved. And once they got those details... they probably wouldn’t be so understanding. Of course, they couldn’t actually do anything to the Human, nothing permanent anyway.. It would either cause another reset, which wouldn’t satisfy anyone seeking justice or revenge, or the human would simply give up and die, which would be the end of all of them. Still, they’d want SOMETHING to be done. “WHAT ABOUT THE ROYAL JUDGE?” asked Papyrus. Both Sans and Asgore turned to look at him in surprise. Despite his usual nature, Papyrus hadn’t been speaking as much lately, which was worrying, but he still seemed like the Papyrus they’d always known when he did speak. Sans wasn’t sure what to make of it. And now more than ever he would ask questions or come to conclusions that were surprisingly on point, something he’d always done anyway, but usually not this often. Asgore nodded for Papyrus to elaborate and the skeleton cleared his throat nervously. “WELL. NOBODY REALLY KNOWS WHO THE JUDGE IS. BUT IF THEY WERE TO REVIEW THE WHOLE STORY, HEAR EVERY SIDE OF IT, AND PRONOUNCE A FITTING...NON-LETHAL PUNISHMENT. WOULD THAT BE ENOUGH TO SATISFY THE PEOPLE? THAT’S THEIR JOB ISN’T IT? AND I KNOW THEY DON’T USUALLY DO IT IN A PUBLIC SETTING, BUT IF THE PEOPLE COULD SEE AND HEAR THE TRIAL...” he trailed off, but the point was clear. A chill had made its way into Sans’ bones. Oh dear. It was a good idea. That was the worst of it. He’d have to reveal his position to the entire Underground. Not the jokey and lazy skeleton who always made friends with everyone, but the stern and powerful Royal Judge who had remained hidden for all this time, who had failed to stop one little human from destroying their chances at freedom. Papyrus already knew he wasn’t always full of quips and wasn’t lazy so much as depressed so much of the time. But what would his brother think of him as the Judge? Asgore was nodding thoughtfully. “An excellent suggestion, Papyrus. I shall consider it along with other options before I come to a decision. And of course, I shall have to consult the Royal Judge themselves. Traditionally they remain anonymous, but you’re right that a public trial would best serve our interests here, something that they know cannot be hidden or misrepresented by me or anyone else in power.” Looking satisfied at having found a way to properly help, Papyrus left them to go clean up the kitchen from breakfast, or as he said ‘CLEAR UP THAT ABSOLUTE DISASTER YOU MADE WITH ALL THAT STICKY AND GOOEY SYRUP, YOUR MAJESTY’. Once he was gone, Sans tried to look anywhere but at the King. It made no difference though. “He’s right you know.” “I know,” Sans sighed. “I don’t think I’m ready for it though.” There was silence for a moment as Asgore pondered the crowd outside, which had finally let their cheering die and were beginning to move about their days, although the noise level hadn’t gone down that much. Finally he spoke. “We have some time. I don’t think we need to do anything just yet. Let’s focus on getting things settled for now. You should have plenty of time to prepare and get used to the idea.” It wasn’t really what he wanted, but Sans nodded anyway. It was something at least. Time to prepare. Oh Angel, he needed a break. Needed to get away from all this. It had been a long time since he visited the door in the forest for knock knock jokes, maybe it was time he went again.

[the-river-person]

Entry Number 15

❄︎︎♓︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎ ♐︎︎●︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎⬧︎︎ ❑︎︎◆︎︎♓︎︎♍︎︎🙵●︎︎⍓︎︎📬︎︎ 💧︎︎□︎︎ ❑︎︎◆︎︎♓︎︎♍︎︎🙵●︎︎⍓︎︎📬︎︎ ✋︎︎⧫︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎ ♋︎︎ ●︎︎□︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ⬥︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎ ⬧︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♍︎︎♏︎︎ ✋︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎ ❍︎︎♋︎︎♎︎︎♏︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎ ♏︎︎■︎︎⧫︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎ ♓︎︎■︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ 🙰□︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎■︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎📬︎︎ [T︎i︎m︎e︎ f︎l︎o︎w︎s︎ q︎u︎i︎c︎kl︎y︎.︎ S︎o︎ q︎u︎i︎c︎kl︎y︎.︎ I︎t︎ h︎a︎s︎ b︎e︎e︎n︎ a︎ l︎o︎n︎g︎ w︎h︎i︎l︎e︎ s︎i︎n︎c︎e︎ I︎ h︎a︎v︎e︎ m︎a︎d︎e︎ a︎n︎ e︎n︎t︎r︎y︎ i︎n︎ t︎h︎i︎s︎ jo︎u︎r︎n︎a︎l︎.︎]

💧︎︎□︎︎ ❍︎︎◆︎︎♍︎︎♒︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎◻︎︎◻︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ 🕆︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♑︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎📪︎︎ ♓︎︎⧫︎︎ ♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ■︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎●︎︎⍓︎︎ ◆︎︎■︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎♍︎︎□︎︎♑︎︎■︎︎♓︎︎⌘︎︎♋︎︎♌︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎ ♐︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ◻︎︎●︎︎♋︎︎♍︎︎♏︎︎ ♓︎︎⧫︎︎ □︎︎■︎︎♍︎︎♏︎︎ ⬥︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎📬︎︎

[S︎o︎ m︎u︎c︎h︎ h︎a︎s︎ h︎a︎p︎p︎e︎n︎e︎d︎ t︎o︎ t︎h︎e︎ U︎n︎d︎e︎r︎g︎r︎o︎u︎n︎d︎,︎ i︎t︎ i︎s︎ n︎e︎a︎r︎l︎y︎ u︎n︎r︎e︎c︎o︎g︎n︎i︎z︎a︎b︎l︎e︎ f︎r︎o︎m︎ t︎h︎e︎ p︎l︎a︎c︎e︎ i︎t︎ o︎n︎c︎e︎ w︎a︎s︎.︎]

❄︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♐︎︎♓︎︎❒︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎ ⬧︎︎♓︎︎♑︎︎■︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♍︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♍︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎ ⬥︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ■︎︎□︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ☝︎︎❒︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ❄︎︎❒︎︎♓︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎📪︎︎ ♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ♓︎︎⧫︎︎ ♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ■︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♍︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ♓︎︎■︎︎ □︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎ ♌︎︎□︎︎□︎︎🙵⬧︎︎📬︎︎ ☠︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎ ⬥︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ♓︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ❖︎︎□︎︎♓︎︎♎︎︎📫︎︎⬧︎︎♓︎︎♍︎︎🙵■︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎ 💧︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎⬧︎︎ ♐︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎●︎︎⍓︎︎ ⬧︎︎◆︎︎♍︎︎♍︎︎◆︎︎❍︎︎♌︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ⍓︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎♐︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♏︎︎⌧︎︎◻︎︎□︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ❒︎︎♋︎︎♎︎︎♓︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎□︎︎■︎︎📬︎︎ ☞︎︎♏︎︎⬥︎︎ 💣︎︎□︎︎■︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ♏︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎ ♋︎︎⬥︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ♒︎︎♏︎︎ ⬥︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ♏︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ♓︎︎●︎︎●︎︎📪︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎♑︎︎♒︎︎ ⬧︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎ ♍︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ □︎︎■︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎◻︎︎◻︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎♍︎︎♏︎︎ ♋︎︎♐︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⬥︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♎︎︎📬︎︎

[T︎h︎e︎ f︎i︎r︎s︎t︎ s︎i︎g︎n︎ o︎f︎ the c︎h︎a︎n︎g︎e︎s︎ t︎o︎ c︎o︎m︎e︎ w︎a︎s︎ n︎o︎t︎ t︎h︎e︎ G︎r︎a︎n︎d︎ T︎r︎i︎a︎l︎,︎ a︎s︎ i︎t︎ i︎s︎ n︎o︎w︎ b︎e︎i︎n︎g︎ c︎a︎l︎l︎e︎d︎ i︎n︎ o︎u︎r︎ h︎i︎s︎t︎o︎r︎y︎ b︎o︎o︎ks︎.︎ N︎o︎r︎ w︎a︎s︎ i︎t︎ t︎h︎e︎ v︎o︎i︎d︎-︎s︎i︎c︎kn︎e︎s︎s︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎ S︎a︎n︎s︎ f︎i︎n︎a︎l︎l︎y︎ s︎u︎c︎c︎u︎m︎b︎e︎d︎ t︎o︎ y︎e︎a︎r︎s︎ a︎f︎t︎e︎r︎ b︎e︎i︎n︎g︎ e︎x︎p︎o︎s︎e︎d︎ t︎o︎ t︎h︎e︎ r︎a︎d︎i︎a︎t︎i︎o︎n︎.︎ F︎e︎w︎ M︎o︎n︎s︎t︎e︎r︎s︎ a︎r︎e︎ e︎v︎e︎n︎ a︎w︎a︎r︎e︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎ h︎e︎ w︎a︎s︎ e︎v︎e︎r︎ i︎l︎l︎,︎ t︎h︎o︎u︎g︎h︎ s︎o︎m︎e︎ h︎a︎v︎e︎ c︎o︎m︎m︎e︎n︎t︎e︎d︎ o︎n︎ h︎i︎s︎ a︎p︎p︎e︎a︎r︎a︎n︎c︎e︎ a︎f︎t︎e︎r︎w︎a︎r︎d︎.︎]

💣︎︎⍓︎︎ ♑︎︎◆︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎ ♍︎︎□︎︎■︎︎♍︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎■︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♒︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎ ♒︎︎♏︎︎ ⬥︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎●︎︎♎︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎◻︎︎□︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎■︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ □︎︎◆︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎ ♍︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎♍︎︎⧫︎︎📬︎︎ 😐︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎⬄︎︎■︎︎📪︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ⬧︎︎♓︎︎●︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎ ♑︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎⍓︎︎ ♍︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎ ♌︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎■︎︎ ♐︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♏︎︎⌧︎︎◻︎︎□︎︎⬧︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ ■︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎ ⬧︎︎⧫︎︎□︎︎■︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♋︎︎ ❖︎︎□︎︎♓︎︎♎︎︎ ♐︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎⬧︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎📪︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ⬧︎︎●︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎●︎︎⍓︎︎ ♑︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎■︎︎ □︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ⬧︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎●︎︎📬︎︎ ✋︎︎⧫︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎■︎︎🕯︎︎⧫︎︎ ♒︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎⧫︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎❍︎︎📬︎︎ 👌︎︎◆︎︎⧫︎︎ ♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎♓︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎ ◻︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♍︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎⬧︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♑︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♑︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎ □︎︎■︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎ ♌︎︎□︎︎■︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎📬︎︎ 💧︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♍︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎⬧︎︎ ♍︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎ ❒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ⬧︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎◻︎︎📪︎︎ ■︎︎□︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ♓︎︎⧫︎︎ ❍︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎□︎︎ ❍︎︎◆︎︎♍︎︎♒︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♋︎︎ ⬧︎︎🙵♏︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎□︎︎■︎︎📪︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎⍓︎︎ ♋︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎ ■︎︎□︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎♍︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎♌︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎📬︎︎ 💧︎︎□︎︎ ♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ♎︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎♍︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♎︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ♌︎︎●︎︎◆︎︎♏︎︎ 🙰♋︎︎♍︎︎🙵♏︎︎⧫︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ⬧︎︎♒︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎⧫︎︎⬧︎︎ ♐︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎ ♋︎︎ ●︎︎□︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ♌︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎■︎︎ ♍︎︎□︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ♌︎︎●︎︎♋︎︎♍︎︎🙵 ⧫︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⬧︎︎📬︎︎ ☜︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎ ♑︎︎□︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ♐︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎ ♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ⬥︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♑︎︎●︎︎□︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎ □︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ♋︎︎ ♌︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎■︎︎♋︎︎ ♋︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ■︎︎♏︎︎♍︎︎🙵📬︎︎ ❄︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♌︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎■︎︎♋︎︎📪︎︎ ⬥︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎♍︎︎♒︎︎ ♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎📪︎︎ ⬥︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ●︎︎♓︎︎🙵♏︎︎●︎︎⍓︎︎ ♋︎︎ ♑︎︎♓︎︎♐︎︎⧫︎︎ ♐︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ♌︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ♓︎︎⧫︎︎ ♋︎︎◻︎︎◻︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎ ❍︎︎♋︎︎♎︎︎♏︎︎ □︎︎◆︎︎⧫︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ ♋︎︎ ⬧︎︎♓︎︎❍︎︎♓︎︎●︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎ ❍︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♓︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎ ♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ⬧︎︎♍︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♐︎︎📬︎︎

[M︎y︎ g︎u︎e︎s︎s︎e︎s︎ c︎o︎n︎c︎e︎r︎n︎i︎n︎g︎ h︎o︎w︎ h︎e︎ w︎o︎u︎l︎d︎ r︎e︎s︎p︎o︎n︎d︎ t︎o︎ t︎h︎e︎ t︎r︎e︎a︎t︎m︎e︎n︎t︎ t︎u︎r︎n︎e︎d︎ o︎u︎t︎ t︎o︎ b︎e︎ c︎o︎r︎r︎e︎c︎t︎.︎ K︎e︎n︎ó︎n︎,︎ t︎h︎e︎ s︎i︎l︎v︎e︎r︎y︎ g︎r︎e︎y︎ c︎r︎y︎s︎t︎a︎l︎ b︎o︎r︎n︎ f︎r︎o︎m︎ t︎h︎e︎ e︎x︎p︎o︎s︎u︎r︎e︎ o︎f︎ n︎a︎t︎u︎r︎a︎l︎ s︎t︎o︎n︎e︎ t︎o︎ a︎ v︎o︎i︎d︎ f︎i︎s︎s︎u︎r︎e︎,︎ h︎a︎s︎ s︎l︎o︎w︎l︎y︎ g︎r︎o︎w︎n︎ o︎v︎e︎r︎ h︎i︎s︎ s︎o︎u︎l︎.︎ I︎t︎ h︎a︎s︎n︎'︎t︎ h︎u︎r︎t︎ h︎i︎m︎.︎ B︎u︎t︎ a︎s︎ t︎i︎m︎e︎ p︎a︎s︎s︎e︎d︎ t︎h︎e︎ c︎r︎y︎s︎t︎a︎l︎s︎ b︎e︎g︎a︎n︎ t︎o︎ g︎r︎o︎w︎ o︎n︎ h︎i︎s︎ v︎e︎r︎y︎ b︎o︎n︎e︎s︎.︎ S︎o︎m︎e︎ o︎f︎ t︎h︎e︎ c︎r︎y︎s︎t︎a︎l︎s︎ c︎a︎n︎ b︎e︎ r︎a︎t︎h︎e︎r︎ s︎h︎a︎r︎p︎,︎ n︎o︎t︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎ i︎t︎ m︎a︎t︎t︎e︎r︎s︎ t︎o︎o︎ m︎u︎c︎h︎ t︎o︎ a︎ s︎ke︎l︎e︎t︎o︎n︎,︎ a︎n︎d︎ t︎h︎e︎y︎ a︎r︎e︎ v︎e︎r︎y︎ n︎o︎t︎i︎c︎e︎a︎b︎l︎e︎.︎ S︎o︎ h︎e︎ h︎a︎s︎ d︎i︎s︎c︎a︎r︎d︎e︎d︎ h︎i︎s︎ b︎l︎u︎e︎ ja︎c︎ke︎t︎ a︎n︎d︎ s︎h︎o︎r︎t︎s︎ f︎o︎r︎ a︎ l︎o︎n︎g︎e︎r︎ b︎r︎o︎w︎n︎ c︎o︎a︎t︎ a︎n︎d︎ b︎l︎a︎c︎k t︎r︎o︎u︎s︎e︎r︎s︎.︎ E︎v︎e︎n︎ g︎o︎i︎n︎g︎ a︎s︎ f︎a︎r︎ a︎s︎ w︎e︎a︎r︎i︎n︎g︎ g︎l︎o︎v︎e︎s︎ o︎v︎e︎r︎ h︎i︎s︎ h︎a︎n︎d︎s︎ a︎n︎d︎ a︎ b︎a︎n︎d︎a︎n︎n︎a︎ a︎r︎o︎u︎n︎d︎ h︎i︎s︎ n︎e︎c︎k.︎ T︎h︎e︎ b︎a︎n︎d︎a︎n︎n︎a︎,︎ w︎h︎i︎c︎h︎ i︎s︎ r︎e︎d︎,︎ w︎a︎s︎ l︎i︎ke︎l︎y︎ a︎ g︎i︎f︎t︎ f︎r︎o︎m︎ h︎i︎s︎ b︎r︎o︎t︎h︎e︎r︎ a︎s︎ i︎t︎ a︎p︎p︎e︎a︎r︎s︎ t︎o︎ b︎e︎ m︎a︎d︎e︎ o︎u︎t︎ o︎f︎ a︎ s︎i︎m︎i︎l︎a︎r︎ m︎a︎t︎e︎r︎i︎a︎l︎ a︎s︎ t︎h︎e︎ s︎c︎a︎r︎f︎.︎]

✋︎︎■︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎●︎︎⍓︎︎📪︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ⬧︎︎🙵◆︎︎●︎︎●︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ■︎︎□︎︎⧫︎︎ ⍓︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎ ⬧︎︎♒︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎■︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎⍓︎︎ ⬧︎︎♓︎︎♑︎︎■︎︎⬧︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ ♍︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎♓︎︎⌘︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎📪︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎♑︎︎♒︎︎ ✋︎︎ ♏︎︎⌧︎︎◻︎︎♏︎︎♍︎︎⧫︎︎ ♓︎︎⧫︎︎ ♓︎︎⬧︎︎ □︎︎■︎︎●︎︎⍓︎︎ ♋︎︎ ❍︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ ⧫︎︎♓︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♐︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♍︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎⬧︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♑︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎ ♋︎︎◻︎︎◻︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ⬥︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎●︎︎📬︎︎ 💧︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎⬧︎︎ ◆︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎ ⬧︎︎❍︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎●︎︎ ♍︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎❍︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♍︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎♐︎︎◆︎︎●︎︎●︎︎⍓︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎❍︎︎□︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎ ♑︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎⧫︎︎♒︎︎⬧︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ ♍︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♑︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♑︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎□︎︎ ●︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♑︎︎♏︎︎ □︎︎❒︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎□︎︎ ⬧︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎◻︎︎📪︎︎ 🙵♏︎︎♏︎︎◻︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♏︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎⧫︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♓︎︎■︎︎ ♍︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎♍︎︎🙵📬︎︎

[I︎n︎t︎e︎r︎e︎s︎t︎i︎n︎g︎l︎y︎,︎ h︎i︎s︎ s︎ku︎l︎l︎ h︎a︎s︎ n︎o︎t︎ y︎e︎t︎ s︎h︎o︎w︎n︎ a︎n︎y︎ s︎i︎g︎n︎s︎ o︎f︎ c︎r︎y︎s︎t︎a︎l︎i︎z︎i︎n︎g︎,︎ t︎h︎o︎u︎g︎h︎ I︎ e︎x︎p︎e︎c︎t︎ i︎t︎ i︎s︎ o︎n︎l︎y︎ a︎ m︎a︎t︎t︎e︎r︎ o︎f︎ t︎i︎m︎e︎ b︎e︎f︎o︎r︎e︎ t︎h︎e︎ c︎r︎y︎s︎t︎a︎l︎s︎ b︎e︎g︎i︎n︎ a︎p︎p︎e︎a︎r︎i︎n︎g︎ t︎h︎e︎r︎e︎ a︎s︎ w︎e︎l︎l︎.︎ S︎a︎n︎s︎ u︎s︎e︎s︎ a︎ s︎m︎a︎l︎l︎ c︎h︎i︎s︎e︎l︎ a︎n︎d︎ h︎a︎m︎m︎e︎r︎ t︎o︎ c︎a︎r︎e︎f︎u︎l︎l︎y︎ r︎e︎m︎o︎v︎e︎ g︎r︎o︎w︎t︎h︎s︎ o︎f︎ c︎r︎y︎s︎t︎a︎l︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎ b︎e︎g︎i︎n︎ t︎o︎ g︎e︎t︎ t︎o︎o︎ l︎a︎r︎g︎e︎ o︎r︎ t︎o︎o︎ s︎h︎a︎r︎p︎,︎ ke︎e︎p︎i︎n︎g︎ e︎v︎e︎r︎y︎t︎h︎i︎n︎g︎ i︎n︎ c︎h︎e︎c︎k.︎]

👎︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎◻︎︎♓︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ♒︎︎♏︎︎ ⬧︎︎♏︎︎♏︎︎❍︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎♑︎︎♒︎︎●︎︎⍓︎︎ ♏︎︎■︎︎🙰□︎︎⍓︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎❍︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎♐︎︎📬︎︎ 🏱︎︎□︎︎◻︎︎◻︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♓︎︎■︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ♋︎︎♌︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ 🕆︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♑︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ♎︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎♓︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ◻︎︎♋︎︎♍︎︎🙵♋︎︎♑︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ❍︎︎♋︎︎♓︎︎●︎︎📪︎︎ ♍︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ⬥︎︎♓︎︎⧫︎︎♒︎︎ ◻︎︎♏︎︎□︎︎◻︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎📪︎︎ □︎︎♍︎︎♍︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎♓︎︎□︎︎■︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎●︎︎⍓︎︎ ⬧︎︎♏︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎ ⬧︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎●︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♓︎︎●︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎♑︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎ ♒︎︎□︎︎⧫︎︎ ♎︎︎□︎︎♑︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎⍓︎︎ ♑︎︎◆︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♎︎︎ ⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎□︎︎■︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎🕯︎︎⬧︎︎ ●︎︎♏︎︎♐︎︎⧫︎︎ ◆︎︎■︎︎❍︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎■︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎📬︎︎ ☟︎︎♏︎︎ ⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎●︎︎●︎︎ ♏︎︎■︎︎🙰□︎︎⍓︎︎⬧︎︎ ◻︎︎❒︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎🙵⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ⬥︎︎♓︎︎⧫︎︎⧫︎︎⍓︎︎ □︎︎❒︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎♐︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎ 🙰□︎︎🙵♏︎︎⬧︎︎📪︎︎ ♌︎︎◆︎︎⧫︎︎ ♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♎︎︎●︎︎⍓︎︎ ♏︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ⧫︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎●︎︎⬧︎︎ ❍︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ □︎︎♍︎︎♍︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎♓︎︎□︎︎■︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎ ◻︎︎◆︎︎■︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎⍓︎︎❍︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎📬︎︎ 💧︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎●︎︎●︎︎ ♒︎︎♏︎︎ ⬧︎︎♏︎︎♏︎︎❍︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎❒︎︎♓︎︎❖︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎📪︎︎ ⬥︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎♍︎︎♒︎︎ ⬧︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎⬧︎︎ ❍︎︎⍓︎︎ ⬧︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎●︎︎ ♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ♏︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎📬︎︎ ⚐︎︎■︎︎♏︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ ❍︎︎⍓︎︎ ❍︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♋︎︎🙵♏︎︎⬧︎︎ ⬧︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎ ❒︎︎♓︎︎♑︎︎♒︎︎⧫︎︎📬︎︎

[D︎e︎s︎p︎i︎t︎e︎ t︎h︎i︎s︎ h︎e︎ s︎e︎e︎m︎s︎ t︎o︎ b︎e︎ t︎h︎o︎r︎o︎u︎g︎h︎l︎y︎ e︎n︎jo︎y︎i︎n︎g︎ h︎i︎m︎s︎e︎l︎f︎.︎ P︎o︎p︎p︎i︎n︎g︎ i︎n︎ a︎n︎d︎ a︎b︎o︎u︎t︎ t︎h︎e︎ U︎n︎d︎e︎r︎g︎r︎o︎u︎n︎d︎ d︎e︎l︎i︎v︎e︎r︎i︎n︎g︎ p︎a︎c︎ka︎g︎e︎s︎ a︎n︎d︎ m︎a︎i︎l︎,︎ c︎h︎a︎t︎t︎i︎n︎g︎ w︎i︎t︎h︎ p︎e︎o︎p︎l︎e︎,︎ o︎c︎c︎a︎s︎i︎o︎n︎a︎l︎l︎y︎ s︎e︎e︎n︎ s︎e︎l︎l︎i︎n︎g︎ i︎l︎l︎e︎g︎a︎l︎ h︎o︎t︎ d︎o︎g︎s︎ a︎t︎ a︎n︎y︎ g︎u︎a︎r︎d︎ s︎t︎a︎t︎i︎o︎n︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎'︎s︎ l︎e︎f︎t︎ u︎n︎m︎a︎n︎n︎e︎d︎.︎ H︎e︎ s︎t︎i︎l︎l︎ e︎n︎jo︎y︎s︎ p︎r︎a︎n︎ks︎ a︎n︎d︎ w︎i︎t︎t︎y︎ o︎r︎ r︎e︎f︎e︎r︎e︎n︎t︎i︎a︎l︎ jo︎ke︎s︎,︎ b︎u︎t︎ h︎e︎ h︎a︎r︎d︎l︎y︎ e︎v︎e︎r︎ t︎e︎l︎l︎s︎ m︎o︎r︎e︎ t︎h︎a︎n︎ t︎h︎e︎ o︎c︎c︎a︎s︎i︎o︎n︎a︎l︎ p︎u︎n︎ a︎n︎y︎m︎o︎r︎e︎.︎ S︎t︎i︎l︎l︎ h︎e︎ s︎e︎e︎m︎s︎ t︎o︎ b︎e︎ t︎h︎r︎i︎v︎i︎n︎g︎,︎ w︎h︎i︎c︎h︎ s︎e︎t︎s︎ m︎y︎ s︎o︎u︎l︎ a︎t︎ e︎a︎s︎e︎.︎ O︎n︎e︎ o︎f︎ m︎y︎ m︎i︎s︎t︎a︎ke︎s︎ s︎e︎t︎ r︎i︎g︎h︎t︎.︎]

☟︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎♏︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ⬧︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎ ♏︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎⧫︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♏︎︎●︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎ ♓︎︎■︎︎ ❍︎︎□︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎□︎︎■︎︎ ⬥︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎■︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ 🏱︎︎❒︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♍︎︎♏︎︎ ✌︎︎⬧︎︎❒︎︎♓︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎📬︎︎ ❄︎︎♒︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎♑︎︎♒︎︎ ♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎♎︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♍︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎ ♋︎︎ ☞︎︎●︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ♎︎︎◆︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ♎︎︎◆︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ◆︎︎◻︎︎□︎︎■︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♌︎︎●︎︎□︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ◆︎︎■︎︎⬥︎︎♓︎︎⧫︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ 👎︎︎□︎︎♍︎︎⧫︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎ ✌︎︎●︎︎◻︎︎♒︎︎⍓︎︎⬧︎︎ ♏︎︎⌧︎︎◻︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♓︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ □︎︎■︎︎📪︎︎ ⬧︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎♒︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎ ♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎♎︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎♑︎︎♋︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ⬧︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎●︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎■︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ☠︎︎♏︎︎⬥︎︎ ☟︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎ ♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♒︎︎♏︎︎♓︎︎♑︎︎♒︎︎⧫︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ❄︎︎❒︎︎♓︎︎◻︎︎◻︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎♓︎︎♑︎︎♒︎︎⧫︎︎📪︎︎ ⬥︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ❍︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎⍓︎︎ ♐︎︎□︎︎●︎︎🙵 ♒︎︎♋︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎ ♎︎︎◆︎︎♌︎︎♌︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♍︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎♌︎︎❒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎□︎︎■︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎◻︎︎◻︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎ □︎︎■︎︎♍︎︎♏︎︎ ♏︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎♏︎︎ ⬥︎︎♏︎︎♏︎︎🙵⬧︎︎ 🙰◆︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♐︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ■︎︎♏︎︎⬥︎︎ ⬥︎︎♏︎︎♏︎︎🙵 ♌︎︎♏︎︎♑︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎⬧︎︎ 🕿︎︎✋︎︎🕯︎︎❍︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♑︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎■︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ⬧︎︎◆︎︎⬧︎︎◻︎︎♏︎︎♍︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ✌︎︎⬧︎︎♑︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ❍︎︎♋︎︎⍓︎︎ ■︎︎□︎︎⧫︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎ ♋︎︎●︎︎□︎︎■︎︎♏︎︎ ♓︎︎■︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ◻︎︎□︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎  ■︎︎♋︎︎❍︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ⬧︎︎🙵♓︎︎●︎︎●︎︎⬧︎︎📬︎︎ 🏱︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎◻︎︎⬧︎︎ ♓︎︎⧫︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎ ♋︎︎⬧︎︎◻︎︎♏︎︎♍︎︎⧫︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ 💣︎︎□︎︎■︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ■︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎ ●︎︎♓︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♋︎︎ ♐︎︎♋︎︎◆︎︎●︎︎⧫︎︎✆︎︎📬︎︎ ☟︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ◻︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎⧫︎︎⬧︎︎ ⬥︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎♍︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ♒︎︎♓︎︎❍︎︎ ♒︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎ ⬥︎︎♓︎︎⧫︎︎♒︎︎ 🙰□︎︎⍓︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♏︎︎■︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ 😐︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎♎︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ 💣︎︎□︎︎■︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⬧︎︎ ⬥︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎⧫︎︎ ⬥︎︎♓︎︎●︎︎♎︎︎ ♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ■︎︎♏︎︎⬥︎︎⬧︎︎📪︎︎ ♒︎︎□︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♐︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ◻︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎ ♎︎︎♋︎︎⍓︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ■︎︎♓︎︎♑︎︎♒︎︎⧫︎︎ ♐︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♏︎︎■︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎⍓︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ■︎︎♏︎︎⌧︎︎⧫︎︎ ☼︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎📬︎︎

[H︎o︎w︎e︎v︎e︎r︎ t︎h︎e︎ t︎h︎i︎n︎g︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎ s︎e︎t︎ e︎v︎e︎r︎y︎t︎h︎i︎n︎g︎ e︎l︎s︎e︎ i︎n︎ m︎o︎t︎i︎o︎n︎ w︎a︎s︎ t︎h︎e︎ r︎e︎t︎u︎r︎n︎ o︎f︎ P︎r︎i︎n︎c︎e︎ A︎s︎r︎i︎e︎l︎.︎ T︎h︎o︎u︎g︎h︎ h︎e︎ h︎a︎d︎ b︎e︎c︎o︎m︎e︎ a︎ F︎l︎o︎w︎e︎r︎ d︎u︎e︎ t︎o︎ h︎i︎s︎ d︎u︎s︎t︎ b︎e︎i︎n︎g︎ u︎p︎o︎n︎ t︎h︎e︎ b︎l︎o︎o︎m︎ t︎h︎e︎ u︎n︎w︎i︎t︎t︎i︎n︎g︎ D︎o︎c︎t︎o︎r︎ A︎l︎p︎h︎y︎s︎ e︎x︎p︎e︎r︎i︎m︎e︎n︎t︎e︎d︎ o︎n︎,︎ s︎o︎m︎e︎h︎o︎w︎ h︎e︎ h︎a︎d︎ r︎e︎g︎a︎i︎n︎e︎d︎ h︎i︎s︎ s︎o︎u︎l︎ a︎n︎d︎ r︎e︎t︎u︎r︎n︎e︎d︎ t︎o︎ N︎e︎w︎ H︎o︎m︎e︎ a︎t︎ t︎h︎e︎ h︎e︎i︎g︎h︎t︎ o︎f︎ t︎h︎e︎ T︎r︎i︎p︎p︎l︎e︎n︎i︎g︎h︎t︎,︎ w︎h︎a︎t︎ m︎a︎n︎y︎ f︎o︎l︎k h︎a︎v︎e︎ d︎u︎b︎b︎e︎d︎ t︎h︎e︎ c︎e︎l︎e︎b︎r︎a︎t︎i︎o︎n︎s︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎ h︎a︎p︎p︎e︎n︎ o︎n︎c︎e︎ e︎v︎e︎r︎y︎ t︎h︎r︎e︎e︎ w︎e︎e︎ks︎ ju︎s︎t︎ b︎e︎f︎o︎r︎e︎ t︎h︎e︎ n︎e︎w︎ w︎e︎e︎k b︎e︎g︎i︎n︎s︎ (︎I︎'︎m︎ b︎e︎g︎i︎n︎n︎i︎n︎g︎ t︎o︎ s︎u︎s︎p︎e︎c︎t︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎ A︎s︎g︎o︎r︎e︎ m︎a︎y︎ n︎o︎t︎ b︎e︎ a︎l︎o︎n︎e︎ i︎n︎ h︎i︎s︎ p︎o︎o︎r︎  n︎a︎m︎i︎n︎g︎ s︎ki︎l︎l︎s︎.︎ P︎e︎r︎h︎a︎p︎s︎ i︎t︎s︎ a︎n︎ a︎s︎p︎e︎c︎t︎ o︎f︎ M︎o︎n︎s︎t︎e︎r︎ n︎a︎t︎u︎r︎e︎ t︎o︎ b︎e︎ l︎i︎t︎e︎r︎a︎l︎ t︎o︎ a︎ f︎a︎u︎l︎t︎)︎.︎ H︎i︎s︎ p︎a︎r︎e︎n︎t︎s︎ w︎e︎l︎c︎o︎m︎e︎d︎ h︎i︎m︎ h︎o︎m︎e︎ w︎i︎t︎h︎ jo︎y︎ a︎n︎d︎ t︎h︎e︎ e︎n︎t︎i︎r︎e︎ K︎i︎n︎g︎d︎o︎m︎ o︎f︎ M︎o︎n︎s︎t︎e︎r︎s︎ w︎e︎n︎t︎ w︎i︎l︎d︎ a︎t︎ t︎h︎e︎ n︎e︎w︎s︎,︎ h︎o︎s︎t︎i︎n︎g︎ f︎e︎a︎s︎t︎s︎ a︎n︎d︎ p︎a︎r︎t︎i︎e︎s︎ d︎a︎y︎ a︎n︎d︎ n︎i︎g︎h︎t︎ f︎o︎r︎ t︎h︎e︎ e︎n︎t︎i︎r︎e︎t︎y︎ o︎f︎ t︎h︎e︎ n︎e︎x︎t︎ R︎e︎s︎e︎t︎.︎]

⚐︎︎⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎□︎︎■︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♍︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎♌︎︎❒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎ ⬧︎︎□︎︎□︎︎■︎︎ ♍︎︎♋︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎📬︎︎ 👎︎︎□︎︎♍︎︎⧫︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎ ✌︎︎●︎︎◻︎︎♒︎︎⍓︎︎⬧︎︎📪︎︎ ⬥︎︎♒︎︎□︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎♎︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♍︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ❍︎︎♋︎︎♑︎︎♓︎︎♍︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎ ❍︎︎♏︎︎♍︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎❍︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ☜︎︎♍︎︎♒︎︎□︎︎ ☞︎︎●︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⬧︎︎📪︎︎ ♎︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎♍︎︎□︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♌︎︎●︎︎□︎︎⬧︎︎⬧︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ♋︎︎♍︎︎⧫︎︎◆︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎●︎︎⍓︎︎ ♎︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎⧫︎︎●︎︎⍓︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ 😐︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎⬄︎︎■︎︎ ♍︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎⬧︎︎ ✋︎︎🕯︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎ ⬧︎︎⧫︎︎◆︎︎♎︎︎⍓︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎📪︎︎ ♓︎︎■︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎♓︎︎❒︎︎ ♑︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎⧫︎︎♒︎︎ ♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎●︎︎⬧︎︎□︎︎ ♌︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎■︎︎ ♐︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎ ●︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎ ●︎︎□︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎📫︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎❍︎︎ ♏︎︎⌧︎︎◻︎︎□︎︎⬧︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ❒︎︎♋︎︎♎︎︎♓︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎□︎︎■︎︎ ♐︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ❖︎︎□︎︎♓︎︎♎︎︎📬︎︎ 💣︎︎⍓︎︎ ⬧︎︎◆︎︎⬧︎︎◻︎︎♓︎︎♍︎︎♓︎︎□︎︎■︎︎ ♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ■︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎ ♐︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎⬧︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎ ❍︎︎⍓︎︎ ♍︎︎♋︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎ ♓︎︎■︎︎♐︎︎●︎︎◆︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎♍︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♏︎︎♍︎︎□︎︎⬧︎︎⍓︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❍︎︎⬧︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ 🕆︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♑︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ♐︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎ ❍︎︎♓︎︎●︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎■︎︎♓︎︎♋︎︎📪︎︎ ●︎︎□︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♐︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ 💣︎︎□︎︎■︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⬧︎︎ ♏︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ♍︎︎♋︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎ ♒︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎📬︎︎ ❄︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♌︎︎●︎︎□︎︎⬧︎︎⬧︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ⬧︎︎●︎︎♓︎︎♑︎︎♒︎︎⧫︎︎●︎︎⍓︎︎ ♎︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎♍︎︎□︎︎■︎︎■︎︎♏︎︎♍︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ♐︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎ ❄︎︎♓︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ♋︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ♍︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♍︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♏︎︎♍︎︎♒︎︎□︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎♍︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎♎︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ♐︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎❍︎︎ ◻︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎❖︎︎♓︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎⬧︎︎ ☼︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎⬧︎︎ ♏︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎ ♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ♏︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎⧫︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ♏︎︎●︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎ ♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎■︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♓︎︎⧫︎︎⬧︎︎ ◻︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎❖︎︎♓︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎⬧︎︎ ⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎📬︎︎

[O︎t︎h︎e︎r︎ r︎e︎a︎s︎o︎n︎s︎ t︎o︎ c︎e︎l︎e︎b︎r︎a︎t︎e︎ s︎o︎o︎n︎ c︎a︎m︎e︎.︎ D︎o︎c︎t︎o︎r︎ A︎l︎p︎h︎y︎s︎,︎ w︎h︎o︎ h︎a︎d︎ b︎e︎e︎n︎ r︎e︎s︎e︎a︎r︎c︎h︎i︎n︎g︎ t︎h︎e︎ m︎a︎g︎i︎c︎a︎l︎ m︎e︎c︎h︎a︎n︎i︎s︎m︎ b︎e︎h︎i︎n︎d︎ t︎h︎e︎ E︎c︎h︎o︎ F︎l︎o︎w︎e︎r︎s︎,︎ d︎i︎s︎c︎o︎v︎e︎r︎e︎d︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎ t︎h︎e︎ b︎l︎o︎s︎s︎o︎m︎s︎ a︎r︎e︎ a︎c︎t︎u︎a︎l︎l︎y︎ d︎i︎s︎t︎a︎n︎t︎l︎y︎ r︎e︎l︎a︎t︎e︎d︎ t︎o︎ t︎h︎e︎ K︎e︎n︎ó︎n︎ c︎r︎y︎s︎t︎a︎l︎s︎ I︎'︎v︎e︎ b︎e︎e︎n︎ s︎t︎u︎d︎y︎i︎n︎g︎,︎ i︎n︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎ t︎h︎e︎i︎r︎ g︎r︎o︎w︎t︎h︎ i︎s︎ a︎l︎s︎o︎ b︎o︎r︎n︎ f︎r︎o︎m︎ l︎o︎w︎ l︎o︎n︎g︎-︎t︎e︎r︎m︎ e︎x︎p︎o︎s︎u︎r︎e︎ t︎o︎ r︎a︎d︎i︎a︎t︎i︎o︎n︎ f︎r︎o︎m︎ t︎h︎e︎ v︎o︎i︎d︎.︎ M︎y︎ s︎u︎s︎p︎i︎c︎i︎o︎n︎ i︎s︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎ t︎h︎e︎ n︎a︎t︎u︎r︎a︎l︎ f︎i︎s︎s︎u︎r︎e︎ b︎e︎l︎o︎w︎ m︎y︎ c︎a︎v︎e︎ h︎a︎s︎ b︎e︎e︎n︎ i︎n︎f︎l︎u︎e︎n︎c︎i︎n︎g︎ t︎h︎e︎ e︎c︎o︎s︎y︎s︎t︎e︎m︎s︎ o︎f︎ t︎h︎e︎ U︎n︎d︎e︎r︎g︎r︎o︎u︎n︎d︎ f︎o︎r︎ m︎i︎l︎l︎e︎n︎n︎i︎a︎,︎ l︎o︎n︎g︎ b︎e︎f︎o︎r︎e︎ M︎o︎n︎s︎t︎e︎r︎s︎ e︎v︎e︎r︎ c︎a︎m︎e︎ h︎e︎r︎e︎.︎ T︎h︎e︎ b︎l︎o︎s︎s︎o︎m︎s︎ a︎r︎e︎ s︎l︎i︎g︎h︎t︎l︎y︎ d︎i︎s︎c︎o︎n︎n︎e︎c︎t︎e︎d︎ f︎r︎o︎m︎ T︎i︎m︎e︎ a︎n︎d︎ a︎r︎e︎ c︎a︎t︎c︎h︎i︎n︎g︎ e︎c︎h︎o︎e︎s︎ r︎e︎c︎o︎r︎d︎e︎d︎ f︎r︎o︎m︎ p︎r︎e︎v︎i︎o︎u︎s︎ R︎e︎s︎e︎t︎s︎ e︎v︎e︎n︎ a︎s︎ e︎v︎e︎r︎y︎t︎h︎i︎n︎g︎ e︎l︎s︎e︎ i︎s︎ r︎e︎t︎u︎r︎n︎e︎d︎ t︎o︎ i︎t︎s︎ p︎r︎e︎v︎i︎o︎u︎s︎ s︎t︎a︎t︎e︎.︎]

✋︎︎⧫︎︎ ⬥︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎ ♎︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎♍︎︎□︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⍓︎︎ ◻︎︎●︎︎◆︎︎⬧︎︎ ❍︎︎⍓︎︎ □︎︎⬥︎︎■︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♍︎︎♒︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎ ♋︎︎●︎︎●︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ❍︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♐︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎♓︎︎⌘︎︎♏︎︎ ❍︎︎⍓︎︎ ♍︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ♐︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ✌︎︎❍︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎♑︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎📬︎︎ ❄︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎⍓︎︎ ⬥︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ♋︎︎ ●︎︎♓︎︎⧫︎︎⧫︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎ ⬥︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎ ♐︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎ ⬥︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎📪︎︎ ♓︎︎⧫︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎❒︎︎◆︎︎♏︎︎📪︎︎ ♌︎︎◆︎︎⧫︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎⍓︎︎ ⬥︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ♋︎︎●︎︎♓︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎📪︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ⬧︎︎♏︎︎◻︎︎♋︎︎❒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎✏︎︎ ❄︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎♓︎︎❒︎︎ ♐︎︎♋︎︎❍︎︎♓︎︎●︎︎♓︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎ ⬥︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ □︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎🙰□︎︎⍓︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ⬧︎︎♏︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎❍︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ✌︎︎●︎︎◻︎︎♒︎︎⍓︎︎⬧︎︎ ⬥︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎♓︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎ ♒︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎□︎︎ ♐︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎❖︎︎♓︎︎■︎︎♑︎︎ ⬧︎︎♋︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎♓︎︎❒︎︎ ●︎︎♓︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎ ♒︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎◻︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎■︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎❍︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ■︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎❍︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎📬︎︎ ✋︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎□︎︎ ⬥︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ◻︎︎❒︎︎♋︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎📪︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎♑︎︎♒︎︎ ✋︎︎ ♎︎︎♓︎︎♎︎︎ ■︎︎□︎︎⧫︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎♓︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ♋︎︎⧫︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♍︎︎♏︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎♌︎︎❒︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎□︎︎■︎︎⬧︎︎📬︎︎

[I︎t︎ w︎a︎s︎ t︎h︎i︎s︎ d︎i︎s︎c︎o︎v︎e︎r︎y︎ p︎l︎u︎s︎ m︎y︎ o︎w︎n︎ r︎e︎s︎e︎a︎r︎c︎h︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎ a︎l︎l︎o︎w︎e︎d︎ m︎e︎ t︎o︎ f︎i︎n︎a︎l︎i︎z︎e︎ m︎y︎ c︎u︎r︎e︎ f︎o︎r︎ t︎h︎e︎ A︎m︎a︎l︎g︎a︎t︎e︎s︎.︎ T︎h︎e︎y︎ w︎e︎r︎e︎ a︎ l︎i︎t︎t︎l︎e︎ w︎o︎r︎s︎e︎ f︎o︎r︎ w︎e︎a︎r︎,︎ i︎t︎s︎ t︎r︎u︎e︎,︎ b︎u︎t︎ t︎h︎e︎y︎ w︎e︎r︎e︎ a︎l︎i︎v︎e︎,︎ a︎n︎d︎ s︎e︎p︎a︎r︎a︎t︎e︎!︎ T︎h︎e︎i︎r︎ f︎a︎m︎i︎l︎i︎e︎s︎ w︎e︎r︎e︎ o︎v︎e︎r︎jo︎y︎e︎d︎ t︎o︎ s︎e︎e︎ t︎h︎e︎m︎ a︎n︎d︎ A︎l︎p︎h︎y︎s︎ w︎a︎s︎ h︎a︎i︎l︎e︎d︎ a︎s︎ a︎ h︎e︎r︎o︎ f︎o︎r︎ h︎a︎v︎i︎n︎g︎ s︎a︎v︎e︎d︎ t︎h︎e︎i︎r︎ l︎i︎v︎e︎s︎ a︎n︎d︎ t︎h︎e︎n︎ h︎e︎l︎p︎e︎d︎ t︎o︎ r︎e︎t︎u︎r︎n︎ t︎h︎e︎m︎ t︎o︎ n︎o︎r︎m︎a︎l︎.︎ I︎ t︎o︎o︎ w︎a︎s︎ p︎r︎a︎i︎s︎e︎d︎,︎ t︎h︎o︎u︎g︎h︎ I︎ d︎i︎d︎ n︎o︎t︎ h︎a︎v︎e︎ t︎i︎m︎e︎ t︎o︎ a︎t︎t︎e︎n︎d︎ t︎h︎e︎ c︎e︎l︎e︎b︎r︎a︎t︎i︎o︎n︎s︎.︎]

✌︎︎ ❍︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ ❍︎︎□︎︎❒︎︎♏︎︎ ◻︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎⬧︎︎□︎︎■︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎ ♍︎︎□︎︎■︎︎♍︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎■︎︎ ⬥︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎ ❍︎︎⍓︎︎ ♋︎︎⬧︎︎⬧︎︎♓︎︎⬧︎︎⧫︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎⧫︎︎⬧︎︎📬︎︎ ✋︎︎ ♍︎︎□︎︎◆︎︎●︎︎♎︎︎ ■︎︎□︎︎⧫︎︎ ❒︎︎♏︎︎⧫︎︎◆︎︎❒︎︎■︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎♓︎︎❒︎︎ ♐︎︎◆︎︎●︎︎●︎︎ ♓︎︎♎︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎⧫︎︎♓︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎ ♋︎︎■︎︎♎︎︎ ■︎︎♋︎︎❍︎︎♏︎︎⬧︎︎ ⧫︎︎□︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎❍︎︎📬︎︎ ❄︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎⍓︎︎ ♒︎︎♋︎︎♎︎︎ ♌︎︎♏︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎ ⬥︎︎♓︎︎◻︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ♍︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎ ●︎︎♓︎︎🙵♏︎︎ ♋︎︎ ⬧︎︎●︎︎♋︎︎⧫︎︎♏︎︎ ⬥︎︎♋︎︎⬧︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎♎︎︎ ♍︎︎●︎︎♏︎︎♋︎︎■︎︎ □︎︎♐︎︎ ⧫︎︎♒︎︎♏︎︎ ♍︎︎♒︎︎♋︎︎●︎︎🙵📬︎︎

[A︎ m︎a︎t︎t︎e︎r︎ o︎f︎ m︎o︎r︎e︎ p︎e︎r︎s︎o︎n︎a︎l︎ c︎o︎n︎c︎e︎r︎n︎ w︎a︎s︎ m︎y︎ a︎s︎s︎i︎s︎t︎a︎n︎t︎s︎.︎ I︎ c︎o︎u︎l︎d︎ n︎o︎t︎ r︎e︎t︎u︎r︎n︎ t︎h︎e︎i︎r︎ f︎u︎l︎l︎ i︎d︎e︎n︎t︎i︎t︎i︎e︎s︎ a︎n︎d︎ n︎a︎m︎e︎s︎ t︎o︎ t︎h︎e︎m︎.︎ T︎h︎e︎y︎ h︎a︎d︎ b︎e︎e︎n︎ w︎i︎p︎e︎d︎ c︎l︎e︎a︎n︎ l︎i︎ke︎ a︎ s︎l︎a︎t︎e︎ w︎a︎s︎h︎e︎d︎ c︎l︎e︎a︎n︎ o︎f︎ t︎h︎e︎ c︎h︎a︎l︎k.︎]

☟︎︎□︎︎⬥︎︎♏︎︎❖︎︎♏︎︎❒︎︎ ✋︎︎ ♎︎︎♓︎︎♎︎︎ ❍︎♋︎■︎♋︎♑︎♏︎ ⧫︎□︎ ❒︎♏︎⬧︎⧫︎□︎❒︎♏︎ ♋︎ ●︎♓︎⧫︎⧫︎●︎♏︎ □︎♐︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎♓︎❒︎ ⬧︎□︎◆︎●︎⬧︎📬︎ ❄︎♒︎♏︎♓︎❒︎ ♏︎❍︎□︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎⬧︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎ ❍︎◆︎⧫︎♏︎♎︎ ⬧︎⧫︎♓︎●︎●︎📪︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎⍓︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎ ■︎□︎⧫︎ ❖︎♏︎❒︎⍓︎ ❍︎♏︎❍︎□︎❒︎♋︎♌︎●︎♏︎ □︎❒︎ ♏︎■︎♏︎❒︎♑︎♏︎⧫︎♓︎♍︎📪︎ ♌︎◆︎⧫︎ ◻︎♏︎□︎◻︎●︎♏︎ ■︎□︎ ●︎□︎■︎♑︎♏︎❒︎ ♐︎□︎❒︎♑︎♏︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❍︎ □︎❒︎ ♎︎□︎■︎🕯︎⧫︎ ⬧︎♏︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❍︎ ♋︎⧫︎ ♋︎●︎●︎📬︎ ✌︎■︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎⍓︎ ◻︎♓︎♍︎🙵♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎♓︎❒︎ □︎⬥︎■︎ ■︎♋︎❍︎♏︎⬧︎🖳︎ ❄︎♏︎❒︎⧫︎♓︎♋︎📪︎ 💧︎♏︎♍︎◆︎■︎♎︎◆︎⬧︎📪︎ 🏱︎❒︎♓︎❍︎◆︎⬧︎📪︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ☝︎□︎■︎♏︎❒︎📬︎ ☠︎□︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ❍︎□︎⬧︎⧫︎ ♓︎❍︎♋︎♑︎♓︎■︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎❖︎♏︎ ■︎♋︎❍︎♏︎⬧︎📪︎ ✋︎🕯︎●︎●︎ ♋︎♎︎❍︎♓︎⧫︎📬︎ ❄︎♒︎□︎◆︎♑︎♒︎ ☝︎□︎■︎♏︎❒︎🕯︎⬧︎ ♓︎■︎♍︎●︎♓︎■︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎ ⧫︎□︎⬥︎♋︎❒︎♎︎⬧︎ ❍︎□︎❒︎♌︎♓︎♎︎♓︎⧫︎⍓︎📪︎ ♒︎◆︎❍︎□︎❒︎□︎◆︎⬧︎ □︎❒︎ □︎⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎⬥︎♓︎⬧︎♏︎📪︎ ♓︎⬧︎ ❖︎♋︎♑︎◆︎♏︎●︎⍓︎ ♍︎□︎■︎♍︎♏︎❒︎■︎♓︎■︎♑︎📬︎ 💧︎⧫︎♓︎●︎●︎📪︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎⍓︎ ♒︎♋︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♍︎♋︎◻︎♋︎♍︎♓︎⧫︎⍓︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♑︎♓︎❖︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❍︎⬧︎♏︎●︎❖︎♏︎⬧︎ ■︎♋︎❍︎♏︎⬧︎📪︎ ⬥︎♒︎♓︎♍︎♒︎ ♓︎⬧︎ ♋︎ ❖︎♋︎⬧︎⧫︎ ♓︎❍︎◻︎❒︎□︎❖︎♏︎❍︎♏︎■︎⧫︎ □︎■︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎♓︎❒︎ ◻︎❒︎♏︎❖︎♓︎□︎◆︎⬧︎ ⬧︎⧫︎♋︎⧫︎♏︎📬︎

[H︎o︎w︎e︎v︎e︎r︎ I︎ d︎i︎d︎ manage to restore a little of their souls. Their emotions are muted still, and they are not very memorable or energetic, but people no longer forget them or don't see them at all. And they picked their own names: Tertia, Secundus, Primus, and Goner. Not the most imaginative names, I'll admit. Though Goner's inclination towards morbidity, humorous or otherwise, is vaguely concerning. Still, they had the capacity to give themselves names, which is a vast improvement on their previous state.]

☟︎□︎⬥︎♏︎❖︎♏︎❒︎ ♋︎⬧︎ ◻︎●︎♏︎♋︎⬧︎♏︎♎︎ ♋︎⬧︎ ✋︎ ♋︎❍︎📪︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ⬧︎⧫︎♋︎⧫︎♏︎ □︎♐︎ ❍︎⍓︎ ✌︎⬧︎⬧︎♓︎⬧︎⧫︎♋︎■︎⧫︎⬧︎ ♓︎⬧︎ ■︎□︎⧫︎ ⬥︎♓︎♎︎♏︎●︎⍓︎ 🙵■︎□︎⬥︎■︎ ■︎♏︎⬥︎⬧︎📬︎ ❄︎♒︎♏︎ 🕆︎■︎♎︎♏︎❒︎♑︎❒︎□︎◆︎■︎♎︎ ♒︎♋︎⬧︎ ♌︎♏︎♏︎■︎ ❍︎◆︎♍︎♒︎ ❍︎□︎❒︎♏︎ ♍︎□︎■︎♍︎♏︎❒︎■︎♏︎♎︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ❍︎⍓︎ □︎⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎ ♎︎♓︎⬧︎♍︎□︎❖︎♏︎❒︎⍓︎📬︎ ✈︎◆︎♓︎⧫︎♏︎ ♌︎⍓︎ ♋︎♍︎♍︎♓︎♎︎♏︎■︎⧫︎ ✋︎ ♎︎♓︎⬧︎♍︎□︎❖︎♏︎❒︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ 😐︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎⬄︎︎■︎︎ ♍︎♋︎■︎ ♌︎♏︎ ◆︎⬧︎♏︎♎︎ □︎■︎ □︎♌︎🙰♏︎♍︎⧫︎⬧︎ ♋︎⬧︎ ⬥︎♏︎●︎●︎ ♋︎⬧︎ ❍︎♏︎❒︎♏︎●︎⍓︎ 💣︎□︎■︎⬧︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎⬧︎📬︎ ✌︎ ⬧︎❍︎♋︎●︎●︎ ♎︎♓︎⬧︎♒︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ❍︎♓︎■︎♏︎❒︎♋︎●︎ ⬥︎♒︎♓︎♍︎♒︎ ⬥︎♋︎⬧︎ ❒︎♏︎♋︎♍︎⧫︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ 👎︎♏︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎❍︎♓︎■︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎ ⬥︎♋︎⬧︎ ♋︎♍︎♍︎♓︎♎︎♏︎■︎⧫︎♋︎●︎●︎⍓︎ ●︎♏︎♐︎⧫︎ □︎◆︎⧫︎⬧︎♓︎♎︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♍︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ❒︎♓︎♑︎♒︎⧫︎ ♌︎♏︎♐︎□︎❒︎♏︎ ♋︎ ☼︎♏︎⬧︎♏︎⧫︎📬︎ 🕆︎◻︎□︎■︎ ♓︎⧫︎⬧︎ ♎︎♓︎⬧︎♍︎□︎❖︎♏︎❒︎⍓︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♍︎❒︎⍓︎⬧︎⧫︎♋︎●︎⬧︎ ♒︎♋︎♎︎ ♐︎◆︎⬧︎♏︎♎︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♎︎♓︎⬧︎♒︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ♋︎●︎●︎□︎⬥︎♏︎♎︎ ♓︎⧫︎ ⧫︎□︎ ❒︎♏︎❍︎♋︎♓︎■︎ ♓︎■︎ ◻︎●︎♋︎♍︎♏︎📬︎

[However as pleased as I am, the state of my Assistants is not widely known news. The Underground has been much more concerned with my other discovery. Quite by accident I discovered that K︎e︎n︎ó︎n︎ can be used on objects as well as merely Monsters. A small dish with the mineral which was reacting to the Determination was accidentally left outside the cave right before a Reset. Upon its discovery the crystals had fused with the dish and allowed it to remain in place.]

☠︎♋︎⧫︎◆︎❒︎♋︎●︎●︎⍓︎ ✋︎ ⬥︎♏︎■︎⧫︎ ♋︎⧫︎ □︎■︎♍︎♏︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ 😐︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ✈︎◆︎♏︎♏︎■︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ❍︎♓︎❒︎♋︎♍︎◆︎●︎□︎◆︎⬧︎ ♎︎♓︎⬧︎♍︎□︎❖︎♏︎❒︎⍓︎📬︎ 🕈︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎♓︎❒︎ ◻︎♏︎❒︎❍︎♓︎⬧︎⬧︎♓︎□︎■︎ ✋︎ ♌︎♏︎♑︎♋︎■︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⬥︎□︎❒︎🙵 □︎■︎ ♋︎ ⬥︎♋︎⍓︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♍︎□︎■︎⧫︎♋︎♓︎■︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ❍︎♓︎■︎♏︎❒︎♋︎●︎ ⬥︎♒︎♓︎●︎♏︎ ⬧︎⧫︎♓︎●︎●︎ ◆︎⬧︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ⬧︎◻︎♏︎♍︎♓︎♐︎♓︎♍︎ ◻︎□︎⬥︎♏︎❒︎ ⧫︎□︎ ❒︎♏︎⬧︎♓︎⬧︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♐︎□︎❒︎♍︎♏︎ □︎♐︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ☼︎♏︎⬧︎♏︎⧫︎⬧︎📬︎ ✋︎⧫︎ ⧫︎□︎□︎🙵 ❍︎♏︎ □︎❖︎♏︎❒︎ ⧫︎⬥︎□︎ ⍓︎♏︎♋︎❒︎⬧︎📪︎ ♌︎◆︎⧫︎ ♏︎❖︎♏︎■︎⧫︎◆︎♋︎●︎●︎⍓︎ ✋︎ ❍︎♋︎■︎♋︎♑︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♍︎❒︎♏︎♋︎⧫︎♏︎ ♋︎ ⬧︎♏︎❒︎♓︎♏︎⬧︎ □︎♐︎ ✂︎☞︎□︎◆︎■︎♎︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎ 💧︎⧫︎□︎■︎♏︎⬧︎✂︎ ⬥︎♒︎♓︎♍︎♒︎ ♍︎♋︎■︎ ♌︎♏︎ ◆︎⬧︎♏︎♎︎ ⬥︎♒︎♏︎■︎ ♌︎◆︎♓︎●︎♎︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ■︎♏︎⬥︎ ⬧︎⧫︎❒︎◆︎♍︎⧫︎◆︎❒︎♏︎⬧︎ ⧫︎□︎ 🙵♏︎♏︎◻︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❍︎ ♐︎❒︎□︎❍︎ ❖︎♋︎■︎♓︎⬧︎♒︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♋︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♏︎■︎♎︎ □︎♐︎ ❄︎❒︎♓︎◻︎◻︎●︎♏︎■︎♓︎♑︎♒︎⧫︎📬︎

[Naturally I went at once to the King and Queen with this miraculous discovery. With their permission I began to work on a way to contain the mineral while still using this specific power to resist the force of the Resets. It took me over two years, but eventually I managed to create a series of "Foundation Stones" which can be used when building new structures to keep them from vanishing at the end of Tripplenight.]

❄︎♒︎♏︎ ☞︎□︎◆︎■︎♎︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎ 💧︎⧫︎□︎■︎♏︎⬧︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎■︎❼︎⧫︎ ❖︎♏︎❒︎⍓︎ ●︎♋︎❒︎♑︎♏︎📪︎ ♒︎□︎⬥︎♏︎❖︎♏︎❒︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❍︎ ⬥︎♏︎❼︎❖︎♏︎ ❒︎♏︎♌︎◆︎♓︎●︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ❒︎◆︎♓︎■︎♏︎♎︎ ♍︎♓︎⧫︎⍓︎ □︎♐︎ ☟︎□︎❍︎♏︎📬︎ ✌︎⬧︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ☼︎♏︎⬧︎♏︎⧫︎ ◻︎♋︎⬧︎⬧︎♏︎⬧︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♍︎❒︎⍓︎⬧︎⧫︎♋︎●︎ □︎♐︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ 😐︎︎♏︎︎■︎︎⬄︎︎■︎︎ ⬧︎◻︎❒︎♏︎♋︎♎︎⬧︎ □︎◆︎⧫︎📪︎ ♍︎❒︎♋︎♍︎🙵♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ⬧︎⧫︎□︎■︎♏︎ ♋︎❒︎□︎◆︎■︎♎︎ ♓︎⧫︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎■︎ ❒︎♏︎♌︎♓︎■︎♎︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♓︎⧫︎📪︎ ❍︎♋︎🙵♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ⬧︎♋︎❍︎♏︎ ⬧︎◻︎♓︎♎︎♏︎❒︎⬥︎♏︎♌︎ ◻︎♋︎⧫︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎■︎ ♋︎♍︎❒︎□︎⬧︎⬧︎ ♏︎❖︎♏︎❒︎⍓︎ ⬧︎◆︎❒︎♐︎♋︎♍︎♏︎ ♓︎⧫︎⬧︎ ♋︎●︎●︎□︎⬥︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♑︎❒︎□︎⬥︎ □︎■︎📬︎ ✋︎⧫︎ ⬧︎♏︎♏︎❍︎⬧︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ♎︎♏︎⬧︎◻︎♓︎⧫︎♏︎ ♍︎❒︎♋︎♍︎🙵♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ⬧︎⧫︎□︎■︎♏︎📪︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♌︎♓︎■︎♎︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ❍︎♋︎♎︎♏︎ ♌︎⍓︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♍︎❒︎⍓︎⬧︎⧫︎♋︎●︎ ⬧︎⧫︎❒︎♏︎■︎♑︎⧫︎♒︎♏︎■︎⬧︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ⬧︎⧫︎❒︎◆︎♍︎⧫︎◆︎❒︎♏︎⬧︎ ♌︎⍓︎ ❑︎◆︎♓︎⧫︎♏︎ ♋︎ ♌︎♓︎⧫︎📬︎ ✋︎ ⬥︎□︎■︎♎︎♏︎❒︎ ♓︎♐︎ ⬧︎□︎❍︎♏︎⧫︎♒︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⬧︎♓︎❍︎♓︎●︎♋︎❒︎ ⬥︎□︎◆︎●︎♎︎ ♒︎♋︎◻︎◻︎♏︎■︎ ♓︎♐︎ 💧︎♋︎■︎⬧︎ ⬥︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♌︎❒︎♏︎♋︎🙵 ♋︎ ♌︎□︎■︎♏︎📪︎ ⬥︎□︎◆︎●︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♍︎❒︎⍓︎⬧︎⧫︎♋︎●︎ ⬧︎⧫︎❒︎♏︎■︎♑︎⧫︎♒︎♏︎■︎ ♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ♌︎□︎■︎♏︎ ⬧︎⧫︎❒︎◆︎♍︎⧫︎◆︎❒︎♏︎✍︎

[The Foundation Stones aren’t very large, however with them we’ve rebuilt the ruined city of Home. As the Reset passes the crystal of the K︎e︎n︎ó︎n︎ spreads out, cracking the stone around it and then rebinding it, making the same spiderweb pattern across every surface its allowed to grow on. It seems that despite cracking the stone, the binding made by the crystal strengthens the structures by quite a bit. I wonder if something similar would happen if Sans were to break a bone, would the crystal strengthen his bone structure?]

🕈︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ □︎◆︎❒︎ ♋︎♌︎♓︎●︎♓︎⧫︎⍓︎ ⧫︎□︎ ❒︎♏︎♌︎◆︎♓︎●︎♎︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♌︎◆︎♓︎●︎♎︎ ■︎♏︎⬥︎ ⬧︎⧫︎❒︎◆︎♍︎⧫︎◆︎❒︎♏︎⬧︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎□︎◆︎⧫︎ ♐︎♏︎♋︎❒︎ □︎♐︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❍︎ ♑︎♏︎⧫︎⧫︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♏︎❒︎♋︎⬧︎♏︎♎︎ ♌︎⍓︎ ☼︎♏︎⬧︎♏︎⧫︎⬧︎📪︎ ⬥︎♏︎ ♒︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ♏︎⌧︎◻︎♋︎■︎♎︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ 😐︎♓︎■︎♑︎♎︎□︎❍︎📬︎ ❄︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎ ♏︎■︎⧫︎♓︎❒︎♏︎●︎⍓︎ ■︎♏︎⬥︎ ♍︎♓︎⧫︎⍓︎ ♎︎♓︎⬧︎⧫︎❒︎♓︎♍︎⧫︎⬧︎ ♓︎■︎ ☠︎♏︎⬥︎ ☟︎□︎❍︎♏︎📪︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ 🕈︎♋︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎♐︎♋︎●︎●︎⬧︎ ♒︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ♌︎♏︎♏︎■︎ ♎︎♋︎❍︎❍︎♏︎♎︎ ◻︎❒︎□︎◻︎♏︎❒︎●︎⍓︎ ⬧︎□︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ 🕆︎◻︎◻︎♏︎❒︎ ☹︎♋︎🙵♏︎⬧︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ❒︎♏︎⬧︎♏︎❒︎❖︎□︎♓︎❒︎⬧︎ ♐︎♓︎●︎●︎ ◆︎◻︎ ♏︎■︎□︎◆︎♑︎♒︎ ♐︎□︎❒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♎︎♏︎■︎♓︎⌘︎♏︎■︎⬧︎ ⬥︎♒︎□︎ ●︎♓︎❖︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎📪︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ❍︎♋︎■︎⍓︎ □︎♐︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❍︎ ♒︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ❍︎□︎❖︎♏︎♎︎ ♌︎♋︎♍︎🙵 ♐︎❒︎□︎❍︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ 👍︎♓︎⧫︎⍓︎📪︎ □︎❒︎ ❍︎□︎❖︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⚐︎●︎♎︎ ☟︎□︎❍︎♏︎ ♓︎■︎⬧︎⧫︎♏︎♋︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ ●︎♓︎❖︎♏︎ ♓︎■︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ☞︎□︎◆︎■︎⧫︎♋︎♓︎■︎⬧︎📪︎ 👌︎♋︎⧫︎♒︎♒︎□︎◆︎⬧︎♏︎⬧︎📪︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ 👍︎♋︎■︎♋︎●︎⬧︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎📬︎

[With our ability to rebuild and to build new structures without fear of them getting erased by Resets, we have expanded the Kingdom. There are entirely new city districts in New Home, and the Waterfalls have been dammed properly so that the Upper Lakes and reservoirs fill up enough for the denizens who live there, and many of them have moved back from the City, or moved to Old Home instead to live in the Fountains, Bathhouses, and Canals there.]

💧︎□︎❍︎♏︎ ⬥︎♋︎■︎⧫︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ ❍︎□︎❖︎♏︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ 💧︎■︎□︎⬥︎♎︎♓︎■︎ 👍︎♋︎❖︎♏︎❒︎■︎⬧︎📪︎ ⬧︎♓︎■︎♍︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ⬥︎♋︎⬧︎ ⬧︎□︎ ❍︎◆︎♍︎♒︎ ❒︎□︎□︎❍︎📬︎ ❄︎♒︎♏︎ ❄︎□︎⬥︎■︎⬧︎♐︎□︎●︎🙵 □︎♐︎ 💧︎■︎□︎⬥︎♎︎♓︎■︎ □︎♌︎🙰♏︎♍︎⧫︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎♓︎❒︎ ⧫︎♓︎■︎⍓︎ ⧫︎□︎⬥︎■︎ ♌︎♏︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ❒︎♏︎♌︎◆︎♓︎●︎⧫︎ ♓︎■︎⧫︎□︎ ♋︎ ♍︎♓︎⧫︎⍓︎📪︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ✋︎ ♍︎♋︎■︎■︎□︎⧫︎ ❒︎♏︎♋︎●︎●︎⍓︎ ⬧︎♋︎⍓︎ ✋︎ ♌︎●︎♋︎❍︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❍︎📬︎ ☟︎□︎⬥︎♏︎❖︎♏︎❒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎⍓︎ ♎︎♓︎♎︎■︎❼︎⧫︎ ♒︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ♋︎ ◻︎❒︎□︎♌︎●︎♏︎❍︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ 💣︎□︎■︎⬧︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎⬧︎ ❍︎♋︎🙵♓︎■︎♑︎ ♒︎□︎❍︎♏︎⬧︎ □︎◆︎⧫︎ ♓︎■︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ●︎□︎⬥︎♏︎❒︎ ♐︎□︎❒︎♏︎⬧︎⧫︎⬧︎📪︎ ⬥︎♒︎♓︎♍︎♒︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎ ●︎♋︎❒︎♑︎♏︎●︎⍓︎ ◆︎■︎♓︎■︎♒︎♋︎♌︎♓︎⧫︎♏︎♎︎📬︎

[Some wanted to move to the Snowdin Caverns, since there was so much room. The Townsfolk of Snowdin objected to their tiny town being rebuilt into a city, and I cannot really say I blame them. However they didn’t have a problem with Monsters making homes out in the lower forests, which are largely uninhabited.]

❄︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ⬥︎♋︎⬧︎ □︎■︎♏︎ ◻︎❒︎□︎♌︎●︎♏︎❍︎ ⧫︎♒︎□︎◆︎♑︎♒︎📪︎ ◆︎■︎●︎♓︎🙵♏︎ ❒︎♏︎♌︎◆︎♓︎●︎♎︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⬧︎⧫︎❒︎◆︎♍︎⧫︎◆︎❒︎♏︎⬧︎📪︎ ⬥︎♏︎ ♍︎♋︎■︎■︎□︎⧫︎ ◻︎❒︎♏︎❖︎♏︎■︎⧫︎ ♍︎◆︎⧫︎ ♎︎□︎⬥︎■︎ ⧫︎❒︎♏︎♏︎⬧︎ ♐︎❒︎□︎❍︎ ❒︎♏︎♋︎◻︎◻︎♏︎♋︎❒︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♎︎◆︎❒︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ☼︎♏︎⬧︎♏︎⧫︎📪︎ ♏︎❖︎♏︎■︎ ♓︎♐︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎❼︎⬧︎ ♋︎ ♌︎◆︎♓︎●︎♎︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♓︎■︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ⬧︎♋︎❍︎♏︎ ⬧︎◻︎□︎⧫︎📬︎ 🏱︎□︎□︎❒︎ 👍︎♒︎♋︎❒︎●︎♏︎⬧︎📪︎ ⬥︎♒︎□︎ ❍︎□︎❖︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ♐︎❒︎□︎❍︎ ♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ◻︎❒︎♏︎❖︎♓︎□︎◆︎⬧︎ ♒︎□︎❍︎♏︎ ♓︎■︎ ☟︎□︎⧫︎●︎♋︎■︎♎︎ ♋︎♐︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎ ❽︎🕈︎♋︎■︎⧫︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♋︎ ♍︎♒︎♋︎■︎♑︎♏︎ ♓︎■︎ ⬥︎♏︎♋︎⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎❾︎📬︎ ☟︎♏︎ ⬥︎□︎🙵♏︎ ◆︎◻︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ❍︎□︎❒︎■︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♋︎♐︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎ ♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ♒︎□︎◆︎⬧︎♏︎⬥︎♋︎❒︎❍︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ◻︎♋︎❒︎⧫︎⍓︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ♋︎ ●︎♋︎❒︎♑︎♏︎ ♐︎♓︎❒︎ ⧫︎❒︎♏︎♏︎ ⬧︎□︎❍︎♏︎♒︎□︎⬥︎ ♑︎❒︎□︎⬥︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ❒︎♓︎♑︎♒︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎❒︎□︎◆︎♑︎♒︎ ♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ♎︎♓︎■︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ❒︎□︎□︎❍︎ ⧫︎♋︎♌︎●︎♏︎📬︎

[There was one problem though, unlike rebuilding structures, we cannot prevent cut down trees from reappearing during the Reset, even if there’s a building in the same spot. Poor Charles, who moved there from his previous home in Hotland after “Wanting a change in weather”. He woke up the morning after his housewarming party with a large fir tree somehow growing right through his dining room table.]

✌︎♐︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ⬥︎♏︎ ⬥︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ♍︎♋︎❒︎♏︎♐︎◆︎●︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♌︎◆︎♓︎●︎♎︎ ■︎♏︎⬥︎ ⬧︎⧫︎❒︎◆︎♍︎⧫︎◆︎❒︎♏︎⬧︎ ♋︎❒︎□︎◆︎■︎♎︎ ⧫︎❒︎♏︎♏︎⬧︎📪︎ ⬧︎□︎❍︎♏︎⧫︎♓︎❍︎♏︎⬧︎ ♏︎❖︎♏︎■︎ ♓︎■︎♍︎□︎❒︎◻︎□︎❒︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❍︎ ♓︎■︎⧫︎□︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♌︎◆︎♓︎●︎♎︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♓︎⧫︎⬧︎♏︎●︎♐︎📪︎ ♋︎■︎⍓︎⧫︎♒︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎□︎ 🙵♏︎♏︎◻︎ ♐︎❒︎□︎❍︎ ♌︎♏︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ◆︎■︎◻︎●︎♏︎♋︎⬧︎♋︎■︎⧫︎●︎⍓︎ ⬧︎◆︎❒︎◻︎❒︎♓︎⬧︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♎︎♋︎⍓︎ ♋︎♐︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎ ❄︎❒︎♓︎◻︎◻︎●︎♏︎■︎♓︎♑︎♒︎⧫︎📬︎

[After that we were careful to build new structures around trees, sometimes even incorporating them into the building itself, anything to keep from being unpleasantly surprised the day after Tripplenight.]

🕆︎■︎♎︎⍓︎■︎♏︎📪︎ ⬥︎♒︎□︎ ♒︎♋︎⬧︎ ❍︎□︎❖︎♏︎♎︎ □︎■︎ ♐︎❒︎□︎❍︎ ♏︎◻︎♓︎♍︎ ♋︎♎︎❖︎♏︎■︎⧫︎◆︎❒︎♏︎ ♐︎♓︎●︎❍︎⬧︎ ⧫︎□︎ ◻︎◆︎❒︎⬧︎◆︎♏︎ ♒︎♏︎❒︎ ■︎♏︎⬥︎♐︎□︎◆︎■︎♎︎ ◻︎♋︎⬧︎⬧︎♓︎□︎■︎ ♓︎■︎ 👌︎♋︎●︎●︎♏︎⧫︎ 🕿︎⬧︎◻︎♏︎♋︎❒︎⬧︎ ♓︎■︎♍︎●︎◆︎♎︎♏︎♎︎✆︎📪︎ ♓︎⬧︎ ■︎□︎⬥︎ ♋︎■︎■︎□︎◆︎■︎♍︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ □︎◻︎♏︎■︎♓︎■︎♑︎ □︎♐︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ■︎♏︎⬥︎ 👍︎♋︎⬧︎♍︎♋︎♎︎♏︎ ❄︎♒︎♏︎♋︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎ ♓︎■︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ 🕈︎♋︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎♐︎♋︎●︎●︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎♋︎📬︎ 💧︎♒︎♏︎ ♓︎⬧︎ ♏︎⌧︎◻︎♏︎♍︎⧫︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♋︎◻︎◻︎♏︎♋︎❒︎ ♋︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♑︎❒︎♋︎■︎♎︎ □︎◻︎♏︎■︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ■︎♏︎⌧︎⧫︎ ❍︎□︎■︎⧫︎♒︎ ♋︎●︎□︎■︎♑︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ♒︎♏︎❒︎ ⬥︎♓︎♐︎♏︎ ✌︎●︎◻︎♒︎⍓︎⬧︎📪︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ☼︎□︎⍓︎♋︎●︎ 💧︎♍︎♓︎♏︎■︎⧫︎♓︎⬧︎⧫︎📬︎ ❄︎♒︎□︎◆︎♑︎♒︎ ✋︎❼︎❍︎ ■︎□︎⧫︎ ❖︎♏︎❒︎⍓︎ ♍︎●︎□︎⬧︎♏︎ ⧫︎□︎ 🕆︎■︎♎︎⍓︎■︎♏︎📪︎ ✌︎●︎◻︎♒︎⍓︎⬧︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ✋︎ ♒︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ♌︎♏︎♏︎■︎ ♑︎♏︎⧫︎⧫︎♓︎■︎♑︎ □︎■︎ ♏︎⌧︎⧫︎❒︎♋︎□︎❒︎♎︎♓︎■︎♋︎❒︎♓︎●︎⍓︎ ⬥︎♏︎●︎●︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ⬧︎♒︎♏︎ ⬧︎♏︎■︎⧫︎ ♋︎■︎ ♓︎■︎❖︎♓︎⧫︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ♋︎ ⧫︎♓︎♍︎🙵♏︎⧫︎ ♐︎□︎❒︎ ♋︎ ❖︎♏︎❒︎⍓︎ ■︎♓︎♍︎♏︎ ♌︎□︎⌧︎ ⬧︎♏︎♋︎⧫︎📬︎

[Undyne, who has moved on from epic adventure films to pursue her newfound passion in Ballet (spears included), is now announcing the opening of the new Cascade Theater in the Waterfall area. She is expected to appear at the grand opening next month along with her wife Alphys, the Royal Scientist. Though I’m not very close to Undyne, Alphys and I have been getting on extraordinarily well and she sent an invitation and a ticket for a very nice box seat.]

⚐︎♒︎ ⍓︎♏︎⬧︎📪︎ ✋︎ ♍︎♋︎■︎ ●︎♏︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ❍︎⍓︎ ♍︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ■︎□︎⬥︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎□︎◆︎⧫︎ ♐︎♏︎♋︎❒︎ □︎♐︎ ♎︎♓︎⬧︎⬧︎□︎●︎❖︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ◻︎♋︎♓︎■︎♐︎◆︎●︎●︎⍓︎ ♓︎■︎⧫︎□︎ ■︎□︎⧫︎♒︎♓︎■︎♑︎■︎♏︎⬧︎⬧︎📬︎ ❄︎♒︎♏︎ ❒︎♏︎⬧︎⧫︎□︎❒︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎ ♓︎⬧︎📪︎ ♋︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ⧫︎♓︎❍︎♏︎ □︎♐︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎ 🙰□︎◆︎❒︎■︎♋︎●︎📪︎ ⬧︎□︎❍︎♏︎⬥︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ♋︎❒︎□︎◆︎■︎♎︎ 🖰︎🖮︎🕭︎📬︎ ✌︎■︎♎︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ♏︎♋︎♍︎♒︎ ◻︎♏︎❒︎♍︎♏︎■︎⧫︎♋︎♑︎♏︎ ✋︎ ♍︎♋︎■︎ ♐︎♏︎♏︎●︎ ❍︎⍓︎ ⬧︎⧫︎❒︎♏︎■︎♑︎⧫︎♒︎ ❒︎♏︎⧫︎◆︎❒︎■︎♓︎■︎♑︎📪︎ ❍︎⍓︎ ❍︎♓︎■︎♎︎ ♍︎●︎♏︎♋︎❒︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♋︎ ●︎♓︎⧫︎⧫︎●︎♏︎ ❍︎□︎❒︎♏︎📬︎

[Oh yes, I can leave my cave now without fear of dissolving painfully into nothingness. The restoration is, at the time of this journal, somewhere around 87%. And with each percentage I can feel my strength returning, my mind clearing a little more.]

✋︎ ⬥︎□︎■︎♎︎♏︎❒︎ ♒︎□︎⬥︎ ●︎□︎■︎♑︎ ♓︎⧫︎ ⬥︎♓︎●︎●︎ ♌︎♏︎ ◆︎■︎⧫︎♓︎●︎ ✋︎ ♋︎❍︎ ⧫︎□︎⧫︎♋︎●︎●︎⍓︎ ❍︎⍓︎⬧︎♏︎●︎♐︎ ♋︎♑︎♋︎♓︎■︎✍︎

[I wonder how long it will be until I am totally myself again?]

💧︎◻︎♏︎♋︎🙵♓︎■︎♑︎ □︎♐︎ ✌︎●︎◻︎♒︎⍓︎⬧︎📪︎ ⬧︎♒︎♏︎❼︎⬧︎ ❒︎♏︎❖︎□︎●︎◆︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎♓︎⌘︎♏︎♎︎ □︎◆︎❒︎ 🕆︎■︎♎︎♏︎❒︎■︎♏︎⧫︎ ⍓︎♏︎⧫︎ ♋︎♑︎♋︎♓︎■︎📬︎ ☟︎♏︎❒︎ ❒︎♏︎⬧︎♏︎♋︎❒︎♍︎♒︎ □︎■︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ☜︎♍︎♒︎□︎ ☞︎●︎□︎⬥︎♏︎❒︎⬧︎ ●︎♏︎♎︎ ♒︎♏︎❒︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♎︎♏︎❖︎♏︎●︎□︎◻︎ ⧫︎♏︎♍︎♒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ⬥︎□︎◆︎●︎♎︎ ❒︎♏︎⧫︎♋︎♓︎■︎ ❍︎♏︎❍︎□︎❒︎⍓︎ ⬧︎⧫︎□︎❒︎♋︎♑︎♏︎ ♎︎♏︎⬧︎◻︎♓︎⧫︎♏︎ ❒︎♏︎⬧︎♏︎⧫︎⬧︎📬︎ ⚐︎♐︎ ♍︎□︎◆︎❒︎⬧︎♏︎📪︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ●︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♋︎ ❍︎♋︎⬧︎⬧︎♓︎❖︎♏︎ ♓︎■︎♍︎❒︎♏︎♋︎⬧︎♏︎ ♓︎■︎ ♋︎♍︎⧫︎◆︎♋︎●︎ ⬧︎⧫︎□︎❒︎♋︎♑︎♏︎ □︎■︎♍︎♏︎ ♓︎⧫︎ ⬥︎♋︎⬧︎ □︎◻︎♏︎■︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♑︎♏︎■︎♏︎❒︎♋︎●︎ ◻︎◆︎♌︎●︎♓︎♍︎📬︎ ❄︎♒︎♏︎ ⬧︎♏︎❒︎❖︎♏︎❒︎⬧︎ ⬥︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ♌︎◆︎♓︎●︎⧫︎ ♓︎■︎ ♋︎ ⬧︎◆︎♌︎ ♍︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ □︎♐︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ 💧︎■︎□︎⬥︎♎︎♓︎■︎ 👍︎♋︎❖︎♏︎❒︎■︎⬧︎📪︎ ⧫︎□︎ 🙵♏︎♏︎◻︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❍︎ ♋︎⬧︎ ♍︎□︎●︎♎︎ ♋︎⬧︎ ◻︎□︎⬧︎⬧︎♓︎♌︎●︎♏︎📬︎ 💧︎◆︎❒︎❒︎□︎◆︎■︎♎︎♏︎♎︎ ♌︎⍓︎ ♓︎♍︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎⍓︎ ♒︎◆︎❍︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♋︎♍︎⧫︎♓︎❖︎♓︎⧫︎⍓︎📬︎

[Speaking of Alphys, she’s revolutionized our Undernet yet again. Her research on the Echo Flowers led her to develop tech that would retain memory storage despite resets. Of course, this led to a massive increase in actual storage once it was opened to the general public. The servers were built in a sub cave of the Snowdin Caverns, to keep them as cold as possible. Surrounded by ice they hum with the activity.]

💧︎⧫︎♓︎●︎●︎📪︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ●︎□︎■︎♑︎ ◻︎♏︎❒︎♓︎□︎♎︎⬧︎ □︎♐︎ ⧫︎♓︎❍︎♏︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎□︎◆︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♋︎♌︎♓︎●︎♓︎⧫︎⍓︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⬧︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ◻︎❒︎□︎🙰♏︎♍︎⧫︎⬧︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ♋︎❒︎⧫︎♓︎⬧︎⧫︎♓︎♍︎ ♏︎■︎♎︎♏︎♋︎❖︎□︎❒︎⬧︎ ♒︎♋︎⬧︎ ♌︎♏︎♏︎■︎ ♑︎□︎□︎♎︎ ♐︎□︎❒︎ ◆︎⬧︎📬︎ ✋︎⧫︎ ❻︎⬧︎ ♑︎♓︎❖︎♏︎■︎ ◆︎⬧︎ ♋︎■︎ ♋︎◻︎◻︎❒︎♏︎♍︎♓︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎ □︎♐︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ⧫︎♏︎❍︎◻︎□︎❒︎♋︎❒︎⍓︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♏︎♐︎♐︎□︎❒︎⧫︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ⬧︎🙵♓︎●︎●︎ ♓︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♋︎🙵♏︎⬧︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♍︎□︎❍︎❍︎♓︎⧫︎ ⬥︎□︎❒︎🙵⬧︎ ⬧︎◆︎♍︎♒︎ ♋︎⬧︎ ◻︎□︎♏︎⧫︎❒︎⍓︎ □︎❒︎ ⬧︎□︎■︎♑︎⬧︎ ⧫︎□︎ ❍︎♏︎❍︎□︎❒︎⍓︎ ♓︎■︎⬧︎⧫︎♏︎♋︎♎︎ □︎♐︎ ❍︎♏︎❒︎♏︎●︎⍓︎ □︎■︎ ◻︎♋︎◻︎♏︎❒︎ □︎❒︎ ♓︎■︎ ♋︎ ♍︎□︎❍︎◻︎◆︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎ ♎︎□︎♍︎◆︎❍︎♏︎■︎⧫︎📬︎ 💣︎♋︎■︎⍓︎ ⬧︎⧫︎♓︎●︎●︎ ♍︎♒︎□︎□︎⬧︎♏︎ ⧫︎□︎ ❍︎♋︎🙵♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎■︎♑︎⬧︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎⍓︎ ●︎♏︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ◆︎◻︎ □︎■︎●︎⍓︎ ♐︎□︎❒︎ ♋︎ ⬧︎♒︎□︎❒︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♓︎❍︎♏︎📪︎ ⬧︎□︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎□︎⬧︎♏︎ ⬥︎♒︎□︎ ❍︎♋︎■︎♋︎♑︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⬧︎♏︎♏︎ ♓︎⧫︎ ♒︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♐︎♏︎♏︎●︎♓︎■︎♑︎ □︎♐︎ ♒︎♋︎❖︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ◻︎♋︎❒︎⧫︎♓︎♍︎♓︎◻︎♋︎⧫︎♏︎♎︎ ♓︎■︎ ⬧︎□︎❍︎♏︎⧫︎♒︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ◆︎■︎♓︎❑︎◆︎♏︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ⬧︎◻︎♏︎♍︎♓︎♋︎●︎📪︎ ⬧︎□︎❍︎♏︎⧫︎♒︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ●︎♋︎⬧︎⧫︎♏︎♎︎ □︎■︎●︎⍓︎ ♋︎ ♌︎❒︎♓︎♏︎♐︎ ❍︎□︎❍︎♏︎■︎⧫︎📬︎

[Still, the long periods of time without the ability to save projects and artistic endeavors has been good for us. It ‘s given us an appreciation of the temporary and the effort and skill it takes to commit works such as poetry or songs to memory instead of merely on paper or in a computer document. Many still choose to make things that they leave up only for a short time, so that those who managed to see it have the feeling of having participated in something unique and special, something that lasted only a brief moment.]

❄︎♒︎♏︎ ✈︎◆︎♏︎♏︎■︎❼︎⬧︎ ⬧︎♍︎♒︎□︎□︎●︎ ♒︎♋︎⬧︎ ♌︎♏︎♏︎■︎ ⧫︎❒︎♋︎■︎⬧︎♐︎□︎❒︎❍︎♏︎♎︎ ♓︎■︎⧫︎□︎ ❍︎□︎❒︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎■︎ ♋︎ ♐︎♓︎♏︎●︎♎︎ □︎♐︎ ⧫︎♏︎■︎⧫︎⬧︎📬︎ ❄︎♒︎♏︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎♋︎ □︎♐︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ☝︎❒︎♋︎■︎♎︎ 👍︎♋︎❖︎♏︎❒︎■︎ ♓︎⧫︎ ⬥︎♋︎⬧︎ ●︎□︎♍︎♋︎⧫︎♏︎♎︎ ♓︎■︎ ♓︎⬧︎ ■︎□︎⬥︎ ♋︎ ♎︎♓︎⬧︎⧫︎❒︎♓︎♍︎⧫︎ □︎♐︎ ☠︎♏︎⬥︎ ☟︎□︎❍︎♏︎📪︎ ♐︎♓︎●︎●︎♏︎♎︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ♑︎♋︎❒︎♎︎♏︎■︎⬧︎ 🕿︎⧫︎♋︎🙵♏︎■︎ ♍︎♋︎❒︎♏︎ □︎♐︎ ♌︎⍓︎ 😐︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ✌︎⬧︎♑︎□︎❒︎♏︎ ♒︎♓︎❍︎⬧︎♏︎●︎♐︎✏︎ ✋︎❼︎❍︎ ■︎□︎⧫︎ ❒︎♏︎♋︎●︎●︎⍓︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ⬧︎◆︎❒︎◻︎❒︎♓︎⬧︎♏︎♎︎ ♓︎♐︎ ✋︎❼︎❍︎ ♌︎♏︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♒︎□︎■︎♏︎⬧︎⧫︎✆︎📪︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎♋︎⬧︎ ♐︎□︎❒︎ ❒︎♏︎♍︎❒︎♏︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ◻︎●︎♋︎⍓︎📬︎ ❄︎♒︎□︎◆︎♑︎♒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ⬧︎♍︎♒︎□︎□︎●︎❼︎⬧︎ ◻︎❒︎♓︎❍︎♋︎❒︎⍓︎ ♐︎□︎♍︎◆︎⬧︎ ♓︎⬧︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎■︎♑︎♏︎❒︎ ♑︎♏︎■︎♏︎❒︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎⬧︎📪︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎ ❍︎♋︎■︎⍓︎ ♋︎♎︎◆︎●︎⧫︎⬧︎ ⬥︎♒︎□︎ ⬧︎⧫︎♓︎●︎●︎ ♋︎⧫︎⧫︎♏︎■︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♍︎●︎♋︎⬧︎⬧︎♏︎⬧︎ 🙰◆︎⬧︎⧫︎ ♋︎⬧︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎⍓︎ ♎︎♓︎♎︎ ♌︎♏︎♐︎□︎❒︎♏︎📬︎ ✞︎♋︎❒︎♓︎□︎◆︎⬧︎ ♓︎■︎❖︎♓︎⧫︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎⬧︎ ♑︎□︎ □︎◆︎⧫︎ ♋︎⬧︎🙵♓︎■︎♑︎ 💣︎□︎■︎⬧︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎⬧︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♍︎□︎❍︎♏︎ ♓︎■︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ⧫︎♏︎♋︎♍︎♒︎ □︎■︎ ♋︎■︎⍓︎ ⬧︎◆︎♌︎🙰♏︎♍︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎⍓︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎ ♋︎■︎ ♏︎⌧︎◻︎♏︎❒︎⧫︎ ♓︎■︎📬︎ ✋︎❼︎❖︎♏︎ ❒︎♏︎♍︎♏︎♓︎❖︎♏︎♎︎ ♋︎ ♐︎♏︎⬥︎ ❍︎⍓︎⬧︎♏︎●︎♐︎📪︎ ⧫︎♒︎□︎◆︎♑︎♒︎ ✋︎❼︎❖︎♏︎ □︎■︎●︎⍓︎ ♋︎♍︎⧫︎◆︎♋︎●︎●︎⍓︎ ♋︎♍︎♍︎♏︎◻︎⧫︎♏︎♎︎ □︎■︎♍︎♏︎📬︎ 🕈︎♒︎♓︎●︎♏︎ ⧫︎♏︎♋︎♍︎♒︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎■︎♑︎ ⬧︎⧫︎◆︎♎︎♏︎■︎⧫︎⬧︎ ♋︎♌︎□︎◆︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♌︎♋︎⬧︎♓︎♍︎⬧︎ □︎♐︎ ◻︎♒︎⍓︎⬧︎♓︎♍︎⬧︎ ⬥︎♋︎⬧︎ ♋︎ ⧫︎♒︎❒︎♓︎●︎●︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♏︎⌧︎◻︎♏︎❒︎♓︎♏︎■︎♍︎♏︎📪︎ ✋︎ ♋︎❍︎ ♐︎♋︎❒︎ ⧫︎□︎□︎ ♌︎◆︎⬧︎⍓︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⬧︎◻︎♏︎■︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎□︎ ❍︎◆︎♍︎♒︎ □︎♐︎ ❍︎⍓︎ ⧫︎♓︎❍︎♏︎ ⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♒︎ ⬧︎◆︎♍︎♒︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎■︎♑︎⬧︎📬︎

[The Queen’s school has been transformed into more than a field of tents. The area of the Grand Cavern it was located in is now a district of New Home, filled with gardens (taken care of by King Asgore himself! I’m not really that surprised if I’m being honest), and areas for recreation and play. Though the school’s primary focus is the younger generations, there are many adults who still attend the classes just as they did before. Various invitations go out asking Monsters to come in and teach on any subject they are an expert in. I’ve received a few myself, though I’ve only actually accepted once. While teaching young students about the basics of physics was a thrilling experience, I am far too busy to spend too much of my time with such things.]

💧︎□︎ ❍︎♋︎■︎⍓︎ ♍︎♒︎♋︎■︎♑︎♏︎⬧︎📪︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ⬧︎⧫︎♓︎●︎●︎ ❍︎□︎❒︎♏︎ ♍︎♒︎♋︎■︎♑︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♏︎❖︎♏︎❒︎⍓︎ ♎︎♋︎⍓︎📬︎ ❄︎♓︎❍︎♏︎ ◻︎♋︎⬧︎⬧︎♏︎⬧︎📬︎ ❄︎♒︎♏︎ ♒︎□︎●︎♎︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♍︎⍓︎♍︎●︎♏︎ ♒︎♋︎⬧︎ □︎■︎ ◆︎⬧︎ ♑︎❒︎□︎⬥︎⬧︎ ●︎♏︎⬧︎⬧︎ ♌︎⍓︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♎︎♋︎⍓︎📬︎ ☞︎□︎❒︎ ♋︎●︎●︎ ♓︎■︎⧫︎♏︎■︎⧫︎⬧︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ◻︎◆︎❒︎◻︎□︎⬧︎♏︎⬧︎📪︎ ⬥︎♏︎❼︎❖︎♏︎ ♋︎♍︎♒︎♓︎♏︎❖︎♏︎♎︎ ⬥︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ♏︎❖︎♏︎❒︎⍓︎ ♋︎●︎♍︎♒︎♏︎❍︎♓︎⬧︎⧫︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ❍︎□︎■︎♋︎❒︎♍︎♒︎ ⬥︎♋︎■︎⧫︎♏︎♎︎ ⬧︎□︎ ♎︎♏︎⬧︎◻︎♏︎❒︎♋︎⧫︎♏︎●︎⍓︎ ♌︎♋︎♍︎🙵 ♓︎■︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ⬥︎□︎❒︎●︎♎︎ ✋︎ ◆︎⬧︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ 🙵■︎□︎⬥︎ ♌︎♏︎♐︎□︎❒︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♌︎♋︎❒︎❒︎♓︎♏︎❒︎📬︎ ✋︎❍︎❍︎□︎❒︎⧫︎♋︎●︎♓︎⧫︎⍓︎📬︎ ☞︎❒︎♏︎♏︎ ♐︎❒︎□︎❍︎ ❄︎♓︎❍︎♏︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ✌︎♑︎♏︎📪︎ ♐︎❒︎♏︎♏︎ ♐︎❒︎□︎❍︎ ◻︎♏︎❒︎❍︎♋︎■︎♏︎■︎⧫︎ ♎︎♏︎♋︎⧫︎♒︎📬︎

[So many changes, and still more changing every day. Time passes. The hold the cycle has on us grows less by the day. For all intents and purposes, we’ve achieved what every alchemist and monarch wanted so desperately back in the world I used to know before the barrier. Immortality. Free from Time and Age, free from permanent death.]

✌︎■︎♎︎ ⍓︎♏︎⧫︎⑤︎ ✋︎ ♍︎♋︎■︎■︎□︎⧫︎ ♒︎♏︎●︎◻︎ ♌︎◆︎⧫︎ ♐︎♏︎♏︎●︎⑤︎ ●︎♓︎🙵♏︎ ✋︎❼︎❍︎ ❍︎♓︎⬧︎⬧︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⬧︎□︎❍︎♏︎⧫︎♒︎♓︎■︎♑︎📬︎ ✋︎ ♍︎□︎◆︎●︎♎︎ ♒︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ⬧︎⬥︎□︎❒︎■︎ ✋︎ ♒︎♋︎♎︎ ♋︎ ♐︎♋︎❍︎♓︎●︎⍓︎📬︎ ✌︎ ⬥︎♓︎♐︎♏︎✍︎ 👍︎♒︎♓︎●︎♎︎❒︎♏︎■︎✍︎ ✡︎♏︎⧫︎ ■︎□︎ ⧫︎❒︎♋︎♍︎♏︎ ❒︎♏︎❍︎♋︎♓︎■︎⬧︎📪︎ ■︎□︎ ❍︎♏︎❍︎□︎❒︎⍓︎📪︎ ■︎□︎ ♏︎❖︎♓︎♎︎♏︎■︎♍︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎⍓︎ ♏︎❖︎♏︎❒︎ ♏︎⌧︎♓︎⬧︎⧫︎♏︎♎︎ ♋︎⧫︎ ♋︎●︎●︎📬︎ ☹︎♏︎⬧︎⬧︎ ⧫︎♒︎♋︎■︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ⬥︎♋︎⬧︎ □︎♐︎ ❍︎♏︎ ♋︎♐︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎ ✋︎ ⬥︎♋︎⬧︎ ♏︎❒︎♋︎⬧︎♏︎♎︎📬︎ 💧︎⧫︎♓︎●︎●︎📪︎ ✋︎ ♍︎♋︎■︎ ♐︎♏︎♏︎●︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❍︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎📪︎ ♋︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♌︎♋︎♍︎🙵 □︎♐︎ ❍︎⍓︎ ♒︎♏︎♋︎♎︎ ●︎♓︎🙵♏︎ ♋︎ ◻︎♒︎□︎⧫︎□︎ ♌︎●︎◆︎❒︎❒︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎□︎ ❍︎◆︎♍︎♒︎ ⧫︎□︎ ◻︎❒︎□︎◻︎♏︎❒︎●︎⍓︎ ⬧︎♏︎♏︎📬︎ ✋︎ 🙵■︎□︎⬥︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎⍓︎ ⬥︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎📬︎ ✋︎ 🙵■︎□︎⬥︎ ♓︎⧫︎⑤︎ 🕈︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎✍︎ 🕈︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎ ♎︎♓︎♎︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎ ♑︎□︎✍︎

[And yet… I cannot help but feel… like I’m missing something. I could have sworn I had a family. A wife? Children? Yet no trace remains, no memory, no evidence that they ever existed at all. Less than there was of me after I was erased. Still, I can feel them there, at the back of my head like a photo blurred too much to properly see. I know they were there. I know it… Where are you? Where did you go?]

☼︎♏︎⬧︎⧫︎□︎❒︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎ ♋︎⧫︎ 🖰︎🖮︎🕭︎📬︎📬︎📬︎ ✌︎ ●︎♓︎⧫︎⧫︎●︎♏︎ ❍︎□︎❒︎♏︎📬︎ ☺︎◆︎⬧︎⧫︎ ♋︎ ●︎♓︎⧫︎⧫︎●︎♏︎ ●︎□︎■︎♑︎♏︎❒︎📬︎ 🕈︎♏︎ ♒︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ⧫︎♓︎❍︎♏︎📪︎ ◻︎●︎♏︎■︎⧫︎⍓︎ □︎♐︎ ⧫︎♓︎❍︎♏︎📬︎

[Restoration at 87%... A little more. Just a little longer. We have time, plenty of time.]