Ignorance is bliss. Or so they say. The following was true for Frisk. At least for Living with her adoptive mother, Toriel.
Toriel was loving, and fulfilled her duties as a mother to a near-perfect standard. She lavished Frisk with all the love she could
possibly conceive to any child of her own; and for a long time, things were quiet, in this close-knit small family.

The barrier was broken, they all lived in harmony. Of course, Toriel and Frisk both kept quite close ties with those they had
embarked with on the journey to get there, but like anything, certain people drifted. Sans and Papyrus kept a close eye on Frisk
growing up, visiting quite frequently. Home life was rather good for Frisk, she was home-schooled, she was well-educated
and well-fed, brought up lovingly. All the right things in life. However, she didn't speak much.
Not that she was totally mute, she just wore a pale, nonchalant expression more often than not, never really finding the
opportunity to express emotion.

Toriel had attempted to ask her multiple times why this was, although never to any avail. She was met with a pair of empty brown
eyes, staring right back at her. This was not a childhood phase, but rather something that remained and worsened as she grew into her
adolescence. There was never any real indication that Toriel, or anyone as a matter of fact, could pinpoint the moment where
Frisk's habits made a turn for the worse.
Teenagers and alcohol, the two words never really seemed too different to each other, however...

Frisk gripped onto this habit for all emotional comfort. This was until all realised this was slightly more serious than simply teenage
experimentation. It had been a boyfriend at the time, Toriel believed, that she had been with when she was found cold on the floor,
various pharmaceuticals mixed into a concoction of brown, slimy liquid injected into her arm.

Needless to say, 17 and helpless, Frisk lay in a hospital bed for days. After the tears and comfort and hospital visits; Frisk's
head frequently banged with tension headaches. She could never answer Toriel's questions about why she had turned to drugs
on that particular night, and neither could she answer her own questions.

It was never for any suicidal purposes; despite the various different ways she was killing herself, destroying herself with
alcohol and cigarettes, and in the process, Toriel. Emotionally, of course.
Toriel, fraught with devastation, quickly sought counselling for Frisk.
She became quieter than ever, withdrawn and lethargic. With sunken eyes, and frail, malnourished limbs.

That was when she truly got to know Sans.
The hospital carried the sickening smell of cleaning products, the floors and walls white-washed with baby blue blankets stretched
out on her bed.
Sans stumbled into her room, he began the conversation as if they were meeting each other for the first time,
"Got yourself into a bad one then, huh, kiddo?"

They spent hours alone, simply talking, something Frisk seldom did. However, her lips emptied out messes of words,
in his presence at least.

Her lips curled lightly in retort to some cheesy joke he had made, in order to lighten the mood. She felt her hands
caress her brown hair smoothly, as her dazed eyes glazed over him. It was the first time she had been seen smiling in a
remarkable period of time.