qt π ]: )
It snapped.
The knife snapped.
Maybe Chara should have expected this– after all, it was just a plastic butterknife, flimsy and useless and probably on par with the same quality you’d find in something at the dollar store– but they’d somehow managed to lose their ballet slippers in their fall into the dump and had to make due with the first thing they could find, which just so happened to be their useless, now-broken weapon.
They looked up at the girl they’d been trying to stab in the first place, who had appeared to be in shock as soon as she’d caught sight of them. She was clearly human, and appeared to be around their age.
At least, what their age should have been. The age they’d died at. Not the age of the body they were possessing, which might as well have been a baby for how useful it was. Chara couldn’t even protect theirself properly, instead having to take roundabout ways to get monsters to leave them alone. Traveling through the Underground would have been so much easier if they could just dust whatever monster tried to get in their way.
They glanced at the broken half of the knife still in their hand. Then to Tammy. And back to the knife. First they’d lost their ballet slippers, and now they went and broke the one weapon they had. They had the tough gloves stored in a box, but there was no way they could backtrack now.
And so, Chara dealt with the situation in the only way little five year olds know how. They started to cry.
