[He really doesn't. Sure, he's probably the type who thinks he's savvy enough to guess the end of a mystery. But here, he has no clue. Mettaton is moving, and Keats almost stands, unsure what's going on.]
[And then, Mettaton just...opens.]
[Keats' own heart almost jumps into his throat, because for a brief moment, when he sees Mettaton's head just loll forward, he almost thinks Mettaton is dead.]
[Except as soon as the thought comes, something is moving towards him. A heart, just floating on over, metallic in nature, but hovering on its own with no discernible logical reason as to why it's doing so.]
[And then it touches his face.]
[And it speaks.]
[Keats stares at the heart. And stares. And stares, because his mind has gone completely blank. A talking heart is touching his cheek. He opens his mouth, trying to drum up any vestiges of normal though to piece together what he's seeing.]
Your soul.
[It has to be. But yet, there's something off. It's not like he comes from Mettaton's world, maybe this is normal. Maybe hearts are supposed to be like this, who knows? But the way it speaks, the way it moves, even the way it sounds...]
[Keats reaches up, gingerly, his fingertips gently brushing up against the heart.]
no subject
[He really doesn't. Sure, he's probably the type who thinks he's savvy enough to guess the end of a mystery. But here, he has no clue. Mettaton is moving, and Keats almost stands, unsure what's going on.]
[And then, Mettaton just...opens.]
[Keats' own heart almost jumps into his throat, because for a brief moment, when he sees Mettaton's head just loll forward, he almost thinks Mettaton is dead.]
[Except as soon as the thought comes, something is moving towards him. A heart, just floating on over, metallic in nature, but hovering on its own with no discernible logical reason as to why it's doing so.]
[And then it touches his face.]
[And it speaks.]
[Keats stares at the heart. And stares. And stares, because his mind has gone completely blank. A talking heart is touching his cheek. He opens his mouth, trying to drum up any vestiges of normal though to piece together what he's seeing.]
Your soul.
[It has to be. But yet, there's something off. It's not like he comes from Mettaton's world, maybe this is normal. Maybe hearts are supposed to be like this, who knows? But the way it speaks, the way it moves, even the way it sounds...]
[Keats reaches up, gingerly, his fingertips gently brushing up against the heart.]
It isn't artificial, is it...?