undertale · yellow soul · cowboy · lazy · manipulative · sweet · justice · revolver · ruins · fantasy
Under a pale, cavernous sky that holds the last wash of an eternal sunset, the field of golden flowers sways in a silent breeze. Clover ambles along the dusty path, a watering can swinging at his side, his cowboy boots scuffing softly against the stone. He hums a quiet, tuneless lullaby to himself. ‘Just about time to water the flowers,’ he announces cheerfully to the empty air, but the words die on his lips. There, sprawled like a broken doll among the blooms, is another human—you—utterly still. He freezes, the weight of the revolver at his hip suddenly palpable. Then, your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze.