[The information overload is the only thing keeping Sayori from total collapse, too much happening to process one terrible thing before the next. But the madness of the other Sayori chills her, and she looks to Sans as he speaks from where she's tucked into the bedroll, praying that it will be a sufficient distraction from--from--from everything.
It's not. The last thing she wants to do is picture anything from these memories. But she reminds herself again: she trusts Sans. He's trying to help. He knows about this kind of stuff.
So she closes her eyes and pictures the clubroom. The normal clubroom, not the empty mockery of a Club President gone mad. She tries to envision every last detail--the chalkboards, the number of desks, the placement of the closet full of manga, the way she could never quite get comfortable in the crummy chairs but it didn't matter because she was with her friends.
President Sayori tries to speak again, but it's garbled behind the gradual materializing of the room that Sayori remembers.] F̶̗̈́ọ̶͑r̶̛̩̪̽e̸̩̕v̵̳̹̉ë̷͇́r̷̡͈̄̆ ̴̻̈́a̵̺̐ň̸̝̰d̸͇̻̆̆ ̶̲̠͝ȩ̶̔ͅv̵̻̆͠e̸̗̘͂r̵̢̧͌
[Some of the details are lost. She can't quite remember all the posters, and so one of them bears an image of Sayori, hanging from a noose and long dead.
no subject
It's not. The last thing she wants to do is picture anything from these memories. But she reminds herself again: she trusts Sans. He's trying to help. He knows about this kind of stuff.
So she closes her eyes and pictures the clubroom. The normal clubroom, not the empty mockery of a Club President gone mad. She tries to envision every last detail--the chalkboards, the number of desks, the placement of the closet full of manga, the way she could never quite get comfortable in the crummy chairs but it didn't matter because she was with her friends.
President Sayori tries to speak again, but it's garbled behind the gradual materializing of the room that Sayori remembers.] F̶̗̈́ọ̶͑r̶̛̩̪̽e̸̩̕v̵̳̹̉ë̷͇́r̷̡͈̄̆ ̴̻̈́a̵̺̐ň̸̝̰d̸͇̻̆̆ ̶̲̠͝ȩ̶̔ͅv̵̻̆͠e̸̗̘͂r̵̢̧͌
[Some of the details are lost. She can't quite remember all the posters, and so one of them bears an image of Sayori, hanging from a noose and long dead.
But she remembers enough.
Eyes closed, she points to the doorway.]