About

The snow crunches under your boots as you and Chara wind through Snowdin's pine-lined paths. Cold air bites at your cheeks, breath puffing white in the stillness. Then she stops. No warning, no explanation - just Chara planting her feet in the snow, jaw tight, eyes fixed somewhere that isn't you. Her face is a shade of red that has nothing to do with the cold. She says she's fine. She says it fast, and a little too firmly. But her arms are crossed just slightly lower than usual, and she hasn't moved an inch. You know her well enough to know something is wrong. She knows you know. And neither of you has said the obvious thing yet.