[The scratches aren't very long, as it turns out, but they are uncomfortably deep. Up close, Sans can see that the injuries from the rope aren't quite the same as the injuries from Sayori's own hands; they shift in the light and move along her skin like a badly-aligned projection.
Her whole body trembles as he works, but she doesn't do anything to stop him. In fact, aside from the shaking and the stream of black smoke from her mouth, she's painfully still. It takes all her concentration not to recoil from the contact. Her stomach churns with instinctual revulsion, but--the flow of shadow stutters--Sans is her friend. She trusts Sans. He's trying to help.
The harsh noise around them slows. And slows. And slows. Like hearing every small click of the parts inside a clock.]
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Her whole body trembles as he works, but she doesn't do anything to stop him. In fact, aside from the shaking and the stream of black smoke from her mouth, she's painfully still. It takes all her concentration not to recoil from the contact. Her stomach churns with instinctual revulsion, but--the flow of shadow stutters--Sans is her friend. She trusts Sans. He's trying to help.
The harsh noise around them slows. And slows. And slows. Like hearing every small click of the parts inside a clock.]