Papyrus finally corners Frisk on the edge of the ship as the fog draws closer, growing more thick with every moment. The look on their face is somewhere between panicked and resigned. Logically, Frisk knew Papyrus would be accepting and understanding. But they still felt incredibly ashamed for "disappointing" him, as if that was possible.
"I-"
Frisk is saved by the bell. Literally. An ominous tolling rings across the sea as the once-choppy waters freeze over, stopping the boat in place. Half-rotted fish carcasses swim through the air, passing through Frisk's body and leaving behind and ectoplasmic chill. And the mists begin to draw together, forming a sea-tossed, broken moogle.
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"I-"
Frisk is saved by the bell. Literally. An ominous tolling rings across the sea as the once-choppy waters freeze over, stopping the boat in place. Half-rotted fish carcasses swim through the air, passing through Frisk's body and leaving behind and ectoplasmic chill. And the mists begin to draw together, forming a sea-tossed, broken moogle.