“Am I allowed to see the tree toady?” The sick human mumbled from the bed.
There it was. The same request. To see the tree. Benah had been told about it many times before. Before the rare soul sickness had really turned for the worst.
The tree in question had been planted by the human itself. A sapling. With budding leaves upon it’s wiry branches. But those buds never bloomed. So the human said they had tied a ribbon, shiny red among it’s branches, so that it may at least be adorned with something.
But while Benah had searched for this tree out of curiosity, there was no plant around Snowdin that matched it’s description.
“I’m sorry.” Benah sighed. “You’re too sick to leave the bed. Moving would make it worse.”
“Please,” the human begged, “I’m sorry I left. I wanted to go home, but I just want to see the tree again.” The apology felt like it belonged to someone else.
“Hush.” Benah soothed the human as tears began to flow. She reached with a furred hand and smoothed their head softly. The sickness pulsed beneath her palm but it was too late for it to spread to her.
“Save your energy.” Benah whispered, “Then you’ll get to go home.”
Then she told the human a story to calm them. It was a well told tale, one that she had shared with her own child many times before. It was about the founding of Snowdin. How they had travelled from Home, and found their footing in the snow buried land.
She kept telling the story. Even when the human’s eyes closed and they began to sleep. Only once the story was finished, that Benah stood up made her way to the door. This time she glanced back at the sleeping form.
At a frail child, just wanting to go home.
When she exited the room her partner was waiting for her.
“How is it?” He asked.
“The human isn’t getting any better.” Benah said. “They’ve fallen down, I don’t think their soul is strong enough to recover.”
A silence hung between them for a moment.
“Do you think we should do it then?” He prised.
Benah sighed, looking away out the window. A light blizzard was blowing outside.
“There’s no other way.” She turned back to him. “Yes. I think we should contact the King.”
Whoo sorry long post.
This’ll be the start of a short series of artworks about my head-cannons of the deaths of the fallen children in Undertale.
First one here is patience.
