The golden rays of the sun filters through the tall arched windows of the Last Corridor, casting long, stark shadows across the marble floor. Every step you take echoes through the golden hall.

​Then, a familiar silhouette steps out from behind a pillar, blocking the doorway to the throne room.

​Hands shoved casually into his blue hoodie pockets, Sans stands waiting. The lazy, perpetual grin is still plastered on his face, but his eyes are entirely hollow, black sockets fixing directly onto you. The air in the corridor drops several degrees instantly.