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you really are an idiot, aren't you?

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They took the blade to their skin, seeing it part like the waters did for Abraham, and imagine that this action was something holy, something pure.

The blood drips. Drip, drip, dropping on the floor.

But the thoughts don’t leave.

It’d be so easy. Asriel loves frisk more than you, you know it. Go for a walk with Frisk. Shove them in front of a car. They’d never know, you could cry, it could be a tragic accident. And then you and Asriel could be best friends forever.

Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP.

They dig the knife deeper, the blood flowing at a steady rate now, and the thoughts quiet a bit.

But they’re still there.

The thoughts burn holes in Chara’s head, like a cattle prod shoved through their fucking HEAD, and they bring the knife to another clean patch of skin, and another, and then there’s red everywhere. Disgusting, they were disgusting.

If they didn’t hurt themselves, they’d hurt Frisk, or mom, or someone.

They needed to hurt, to suffer, so no one else had to.

They bandage the wounds, and smile.

Their family was safe. Their loved ones were safe.

They put the knife back under the pillow case, where it will remain safe for the next few hours until the thoughts come back.