Chapter Text
Snowfort was, perhaps, the most comfortable bastion in all of Snowfall. In many ways, it stood at the heart of the underground—separated from the far warmer Sea Shoe by strange, layered caves, and from the cold but steadily warming streets of Smokestack and the Industrial Core by thick, icy distance.
Most of Snowfort’s denizens dressed in heavy layers, swaddled against the biting air. Many were Suzies—one large, sprawling family of strange, chaotic beings with a knack for troublemaking. Beneath their need to appear “cool” and “fierce,” they had good hearts. Seam couldn’t fault them for it. In truth, the Suzies didn’t fault much of anyone these days. There was little sense in judgment, not in a place as fractured as this one—stitched together from what remained, slowly settling into something… different.
Occasionally, the old cat would light a lantern and examine their hand in its glow, letting out a faint, rasping cackle before letting the shop sink back into dimness. They, too, were wrapped in warmth—not just the heavy fabric of their tent, but their own thick fur and coat. This shop had been theirs for a long time now. Over the years, wanderers had simply drifted in and out. But some, like the Suzies elected to stay. There was value, after all, in someone more adept than a common monster when it came to magic.
A small form slipped through the flap, and Seam’s eyes settled on the child.
Toriel—one of two strays alongside her brother Asriel. Technically, as far as Seam was aware, she was a “junior” version of a taller, older being… one who, sadly, was no longer around.
“Ha ha… welcome, little wanderer,” Seam greeted warmly. “Step out of the cold—it’s warmer in the dark.”
Toriel had changed of late. She’d been wandering into places she ought not have. The goat-monster girl, dressed in her purple gown with its long white sleeves, was far quieter now than she’d once been. Sometimes she walked with her eyes closed for days on end, navigating the familiar streets by memory alone, speaking to no one.
She spoke now, in her clipped way: “Strange carts.”
“Hm. The old train, perhaps?” Seam inquired, tilting their head. “North, behind that frozen wall?” A small laugh followed. “I hope your path there was safer than your last adventure. No flowers, I presume?”
Toriel’s gaze dipped, but she said nothing.
“The old lines,” Seam continued. “Slow little trains. Magic-fed, too small for the new rails. The world just left ’em there to rust and wait… like most things. Ha ha ha.” They toyed idly with a bauble from the counter. “Warm inside though, isn’t it?”
Toriel gave a small nod.
Seam’s grin bent wider. “Ha ha… warmer than most roofs you’ve known, I’d wager.” Their voice softened. “Thinking of making it yours, then?”
The lantern light caught the faint twist of Toriel’s mouth into a smile as Seam set the bauble down. It was warm to the touch.
“Mmh, you wanna know if it's safe. I think, perhaps, yes. You could do worse. Could do much worse,” Seam murmured, reaching for a wrapped sweet beneath the counter. “Just be mindful of your future passengers, ha ha ha. And remember—sometimes utility is survival.”
The girl tilted her head, puzzled.
They pressed the sweet into her palm. “Go on. Tell your brother the candy’s for sharing. And if he sees something with too many eyes… that’s his cue to run.”
Toriel turned to go. “Farewell.”
“Until we meet again, little wanderer,” Seam replied fondly, watching her leave.
The old magician sat for a time in thought. This was inevitable, they supposed. It felt as though her path was already woven into such a role. But that was the way of things, wasn’t it?
“To a point,” Seam said aloud, a crooked smile tugging at their mouth before a cackle rattled through the dim shop.
They decided they’d melt that ice wall soon. Not because the children mattered to them—at least, not in the way most would think—but because it was nice to have their company now and then. They were good kids. And Seam hoped their future wouldn’t be as grim as the cat’s own past.