There is no surprise that the discordant, seeking notes of their SOULs fit together so seamlessly, the very peak of their emotions intent on finding each other. There is no surprise that, in tandem, what their SOULs emit is nothing more than a low, keening wail, a sharing of grief that would likely overtake the both of them, had Chara not been so sure- that they can curb this.

It lasts but a second. And in that second, Lup will feel many things. A categorical history of emotions without context; the shock of waking after being long since dead. The panic and confusion that accompanied those first few hours- restricted, contained, unheard. The lack of a throat to feel raw despite screaming, a unified terror of two children as they die and don't die and die again, and beneath every, hurtful sense of how is a a building DETERMINATION to seek out the answers, to resolve and continue.

She feels, like a second skin, Frisk and Chara's joined pain, every time their body is destroyed. Burned, shot to pieces, bludgeoned into a non-functioning mess. She feels Chara's reducing terror and growing anger, feels the way their idea of injustice grows as the body count simply becomes a tally- one, five, fifty, two hundred and seven. The taste and smell of ozone, another memory, sits on both their tongues.