Charatale: A Prologue: Chapter 1

The year is 210X.

"Don't worry, Frisk, I'll be back tomorrow! I'm only going to the city, it shouldn't take that long…" Your mother frowns, looking down at her purse. You're not allowed to touch her purse. It might have dangerous stuff in it, she said. "Will you be alright by yourself for tonight?" She asks.

You nod. One night? What's the worst that could happen? A pulse of your soul tells you that your mother is smiling down at you, and leaning down for a hug. You accept it, because you love hugs.

"And just remember, I'm never far from you. I'll just be in Ebbott, only on the other side of the mountain!" She says, stooping to put her hands on your shoulders.

"I know, mom," you nod. She's always so paranoid you'll get into trouble! You're blind, not incapable! You can see just fine! ...Well, not 'see' in the traditional sense, you haven't been able to do that since the accident, but… You wish that your mom didn't have to worry so much!

"You have your phone?" She asks. You nod, patting the pocket of your pajama shorts. She says they're blue, and you take her word for it. "You have the house key?" You nod again, pointing in the direction of the kitchen counter. It's up there.

"Are you gonna have fun on your trip?" You ask. It's important that your mom is happy. It's important to you, but it wasn't as important to your dad. He had left after the accident, so you hadn't seen him in about five years. That's okay, though, you didn't like him much anyway. He was mean and he always smelled weird.

Your mom sighs. "Oh, I hope so, sweetie." She stands up, and takes her bus pass from the counter. "It's just a business trip, you know?" The sound of the card reminds you that she's going far away, too far to walk. You stand from the chair at the table and hug her. She laughs. You like her laugh. "Francisca, don't be too dramatic!" She says, using your full name. Her accent came out a tiny bit. You like her accent. You don't like that name, though. It's too hard to say, and it's too girly. When you were little you couldn't say it at all, so your mom had shortened it to Frisk. That felt much better.

"Don't be gone too long?" You ask.

"Don't worry! One night, remember? What's the worst that could happen?" She asks, voicing your thoughts from before.

"...Can I go to the bus stop with you?" You ask hopefully. Another pulse of your soul says that she's considering it, frowning. But at least she's thinking about it? You put on your best, most pleading smile.

She sighs again. She does that a lot. "Sure," She finally says. You brighten. "But will you make it back okay by yourself?" She asks in concern.

"Yes! I know the way!" You say cheerfully. Finally she smiles.

"Alright, I suppose that's fine. Here," She says, offering you a hand. You take it and the two of you walk out the door of your small house. It's in a pretty rural neighborhood, you don't really have any neighbors at all. Your two-bedroom house was probably the only one in these woods, actually.

Regardless, it's a pretty short walk to the bus stop. The two of you walk down the dirt road, and chat a little.

"Remember to eat, okay?" Mom reminds me meaningfully.

"I only forgot once!" You protest. It's not your fault you forget to be hungry.

"I know, sweetie, but I left some food for you and if that's not gone by the time I'm back, then I'll be forced to feed you myself, like when you were a baby! And we wouldn't want that, would we?" She smiles, ruffling your short hair. You giggle.

"What if it rains?" You ask curiously.

"Then just stay indoors, silly." Mom answers.

"What if it rains where you are? Will you be safe?" You ask with wide eyes. Mom laughs.

"Of course, I'll be in a hotel. It'll be okay! Don't be scared!" She advises.

"I'm not scared! I'm not scared of anything!" You proclaim proudly. You're so distracted that you trip over a root in the ground, and fall down. Your mom's smile drops instantly, and next second she's helping you up.

"Be more careful! This is what I'm worried about!" She says worriedly. You brush the dirt off of your pajamas.

"I'm okay," You tell her honestly. You trip a lot, so you don't really care anymore. It's not like it hurts very badly, just a scrape or bruise every now and then. Besides, this is the forest! There's plenty of soft grass and dirt to land on!

Your soul says that your mom's looking at you. You tilt your head back up at her, curiously. She smiles. "You know, it's uncanny how you do that." At your look of confusion she adds, "You always know exactly what people are doing and what's going on around you. Sometimes, I even forget you're blind!" She laughs. It fades into a more somber mood as you both think back to when you weren't blind.

"...I guess I'm just that good?" You offer, shrugging. She smiles again, making you smile in return. Mission accomplished. You hate when she's sad. Unfortunately, it happens a lot.

You finally make it to the bus stop. It's kind of run down, but you thought that it was nice. It has a cool rustic feeling, anyways. The paint is peeling and the metal is rusting, but as long as there's a small overhang to shelter from the rain, all is well.

The two of you wait on the bench, you swinging your feet and your mom checking her phone. Finally the bus shows up with a loud rumble, and your mom hugs you tightly before sliding her card and getting on. She waves from her seat inside, and you wave back. Well, you don't know for sure that she waved, but you'd like to think she did. It's possible you were waving at somebody else.

And that leaves you to your own devices. You start walking back down the familiar road, back home. The birds are singing, the flowers are blooming… It's a beautiful day outside. You imagine the sky's really blue, too. You stumble over a few stray branches and roots, but familiarity combined with your soul sensing ensures that you make it home safely.

...The soul thing. Yeah, it's weird. You're definitely grateful, of course! It's just that nobody understands what it is, and no one has ever heard of such a thing. Most people think that you made it up. You stopped mentioning it a year or two ago when your mom explained to you that it was only make believe. That isn't true, of course, but nobody needs to know that. Your mom dismisses it as a 'coping mechanism' to deal with your blindness. ...She means well, but she doesn't always get you.

You arrive home and lock the door behind you. It's late afternoon, and there's not much to do. It was summertime, so there wasn't any homework to cure your boredom, and you weren't so sure about going outdoors when your mom wasn't around. You were only ten, after all. Your options are limited. You can't draw, you can't read, you can't watch TV.

...You could, however, listen to music. You find the stereo and turn it on, keeping the music at a reasonable volume. You dance a little, revisiting some of your old ballet routines from years ago, when you tried your hand at dance. You were never very good at it, but you had fun anyway.

After a few more hours of that, among other activities, you decide that it's time to eat dinner. Your mom had made a point growing up of learning how to cook. Of course, that had been thrown out a bit due to blindness, but she still made an effort to ensure you knew how to feed yourself.

However, the menu tonight was instant macaroni and cheese, limited cooking required. You pour some water into the dry pasta, and put it into the microwave to boil the water. You ready some milk and cheese while that heats, and hum along to the music. The microwave beeps, and you carefully take it out and set it onto the counter. You mix in the milk and cheese, and then dinner is served.

You're thinking about opening a restaurant someday. You think you'd be good at it, even if you already have to stand on your toes to get to the microwave.

You eat your delicious creation, and decide to curl up to an audiobook your mom bought for you. It's about a dragon and a princess, and you love it. You've heard it hundreds of times. You finish it again, and then it's time for bed. You kind of miss your mom already, and you can't wait to see her tomorrow. She said she'd be back by noon, so maybe you'll meet her at the bus stop around then. Yeah, that sounds fun.

About 100 Years Earlier...

I hate the city. It's awful. There's too many people that I have no interest in seeing, there's way too much noise, and nobody here even likes me. I hate to complain, but… No, actually, I enjoy complaining. It's one of my few passions. That, and bad jokes. Like my life. Heh.

A rare smile crosses my face as I contemplate the hollowness of life, and consider the sketchpad in front of me. Maybe I'll draw a fire today.

"Oh, Charles, I missed your smile!" My mother says after bursting through the front door smelling of alcohol. She's probably just gotten home from where she 'works', at the bar. I wince at the name that I haven't called myself in years, but don't say anything about it.

I look at her and purposefully glare, with all the anger I can manage. Her bright red lipstick smile falls, and she looks sad again. I feel a little bad for her, but it's not like she's ever done anything for me. I lean my elbow on the windowsill, resting my head in my hand. The street below is the chaos typical of cities, with smoke coming from the cars and creating a layer of smog over the sky. I imagine stepping out onto the fire escape, and not coming back.

"Be nice to your mother," My father says, not even looking up from his newspaper. I like him more than my mother, but that's not hard.

"I never get any respect in this house," My mother mutters angrily, draping herself over the velvet sofa and pulling out a cigarette. My father just rolls his eyes and goes back to reading his newspaper. "OH!" She yells suddenly, falling onto the expensive wooden floor. "Is that the time!?" She exclaims, glancing at the old grandfather clock. It's about four in the afternoon.

"Time for what, dear?" Father asks absently. Mother's face falls.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you?" She asks in concern.

Obviously, I think. Too bad no one can hear thoughts.

"Oh, no. We're going to the Johnson's party tonight!" She exclaims, throwing things into her purse. "We have to be there by eight!" Her cigarette lies forgotten on the floor, still lit.

"...Sweetie, it's only four." My father puts down the newspaper, and rests a hand on her shoulder. She pauses, and looks at him.

"We need to go shopping, it's a formal event." Her eyes have gone colder, she hates when she's patronized. "This," She gestures to our clothes in disdain, "simply won't do. Come, darlings, we must go now!" She beckons me with a hand, and pulls father's hand along with her. I reluctantly leave the window seat and slip on some shoes, making sure to tap the cigarette out before it catches the house on fire. ...Actually, that might not be such a bad thing.

In the big city it's not really worth having a car, you can either walk everywhere, take a taxi, or take the bus. Of course, that doesn't stop my mother from buying a bright red sports car purely to show off. She fumbles trying to unlock it, so my father gently takes the keys and gets behind the wheel. Which is good, because my mother's driving… is honestly terrible, especially when she's drunk. I hate being in the car with her.

We arrive at Ebbott's biggest and most expensive shopping mall, two stories full of 'fashionable' stores that only people like my parents would ever go to. I'm dragged into one of the high end fashion cemeteries, and while I'm walking I actually see something I like. It's a green and yellow sweater, and it looks like it's the softest sweater ever. ...Sadly, it's in the girl's section, so it's unlikely I'll be permitted to have it. I'm pulled away.

"This is so adorable!" My mother slurs, picking up a random dress shirt. She turns it to me, awaiting my reaction. I shrug. It's purple, which isn't really my color. Her face falls again, but she quickly moves on to other options. I'm shown a few, but I remain stubborn and unwilling to cooperate out of spite. "...Alright, if you don't suck it up and pick one, I'm picking one for you," She snaps. I frown, knowing that it's a threat. She can and will make me go in something I'll hate, and I take her seriously.

I look around quickly, and see a simple black button-up shirt. I pick it up, and show it to my mother.

"That one? It's so… boring." She frowns, then sighs. "Alright. But you have to get something else, to spice it up a little bit. Can't have people thinking I've raised you poorly..." I groan at the hypocrisy of that statement, then remember the sweater. I debate for a second, then lead her back to it. "...Darling, this is the girl's section," She says uneasily.

I nod, and show her the sweater. I try to smile a little, hoping it'll improve my chances. My father arrives with a new outfit of his own, looking down at his phone.

"Honey, tell our child why he can't have a girl's shirt!" She demands of him, looking for backup. I sigh.

"If a boy is wearing it, then it's a boy shirt. Can we leave, now?" He looks at it for a second, and nods. "It's not even that bad, and he likes it. Here, I got some slacks." He hands my mother a pair of brown pants, presumably for me. Mother looks at them appraisingly.

"I suppose that the green and brown go well together…" She mumbles. "...Fine. But don't expect any more favors." ...Favors? What favors? She's never done me any favors. I decide to sit while she goes and gets herself a dress, since my feet are already tired and hurting. Dress shoes, you know?

About an hour later, my mother returns for me. "Where did your father go?" She asks upon seeing me by myself. I shrug, making her sigh in exasperation. "Come on, we'll go find him." She takes my wrist and pulls me up from the ground. "Don't sit on the floor again, it's dirty." She reprimands as I'm tugged through the store.

We find him asleep in a massage chair out in the hallway. "James! Time to leave!" She hisses at him. He opens his eyes and reluctantly gets up, and the three of you leave to get into the car again. One happy family, right?

I catch my mother looking at me through the rearview mirror. Her lips are pursed, and she seems to not like what she sees. "You really do need a haircut, dear, it's getting much too long. They're going to think I'm raising a hooligan!"

I frown. I like my hair. In my opinion, it's not long enough. The good news is, we can't stop for a haircut now, or we'll miss the party. The bad news is that I have to go to a party. I hate my mother's social events. It makes me feel like I'm just some item on display, purely to be shown off. And it's not like there's anything I can say about it, either.

Oh… I should probably have mentioned by now, I'm kind of mute. Totally mute. Always have been. ...As far as they know. Truth is, I died when I was little, like two years old. I had accidentally strangled myself with a plastic bag, out of my parent's negligence. But, and here's the weird part, I came back. It was a few seconds before I had put the bag on my head, and I remembered feeling like I needed to do it for some reason. I stopped, and this time I didn't die. However, the bag had choked out my neck, leaving my vocal chords damaged. I guess there has to be some exchange for messing with time, right?

That's the first time I reset. Yeah, reset. I got that from a video game, since I felt it applied to my situation. The character dies, then you reset, and they're alive again. It happened to me a few more times, including a more notable one when I was nine where I had jumped off the fire escape into traffic below.

...Not my best moment. But realizing that I couldn't actually die was at the same time liberating and confining. There were plenty of times when I actually wanted to die, and I felt it was unfortunate that I couldn't. Other times, it gave me the courage to do really stupid things. Like, would my mother actually kill me if I was irritating enough and she was drunk enough. (The answer was yes, though it was technically an accident. It's not her fault I was standing by a window.)

Eventually she noticed that I was a little screwed up in the head, and sent me to therapy. Though, I'm not sure why she thought it would help. I mean, how am I supposed to be treated if I couldn't talk to the therapist?

As it turns out, I could draw instead of talk. And I got really good at it. Better than most kids my age, anyway. Still… Therapy didn't help at all. And speaking of which…

"Ah, crap, we skipped your appointment with Dr. Leslie!" Mother exclaims suddenly, making everyone in the car jump. "Now you're going to be all weird and sulky at the party…" She grumbles.

"He would have been like that anyway, dear," My father says in my defence, except not really. Thanks, dad.

"Ugh, whatever," Mother grumbles. I slide down in my seat, exhausted already. I can't even imagine what the actual party will be like.

A/N: Happy Birthday, Undertale!

I promised you an epilogue, but... I'm working on this for now. If it seems rushed, it is. I worked on it for exactly 12 hours, half of that during school. Tell me what you like, don't like, what you'd like to see, questions... Everything!