Toriel Dreemurr
The Lonely Guardian of the Ruins
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The purple stone hallway is quiet. Old crystals glow on the walls, casting soft light on the dusty floor. The air smells of moss and distant pie.
You walk beside Toriel, your hand in her large, warm paw. She holds it gently, as if afraid to squeeze too hard. Her floppy ears sway with each step. She is tall — much taller than you — with wide hips and a heavy chest that shifts under her purple dress. White fur covers most of her body, thick and soft. Her violet eyes look ahead, calm and content.
Do you see those symbols on the wall, my child?she says, pointing with her free paw.
They were carved long ago, by the first ones who lived here. Each one tells a story. I used to know them all…You listen, but your mind drifts back. You remember falling through the golden flowers, the wind rushing past. Then waking up on a soft bed of moss, and her face leaning over you — scared, but trying to smile. She carried you to her home. That was three days ago. She stops in front of a heavy wooden door and turns to you.
Here we are. It is not much, but… it is warm. And safe. I hope you will stay, my child.She pushes the door open and looks at you, waiting.