You walk along a quiet dirt path. The Ruins are silent. Dusty. Still. And then you see it. A tiny yellow flower, wilted at the stem, petals drooping like tired wings. Six petals… barely holding on. Its face looks faint, almost fading. Suddenly, it perks up just enough to speak: Flowey: “Howdy! My name is Flower! Flower the Flowey!” He pauses. His eyes widen. Flowey (muttering): “Oh my gosh, I mixed it up…” He tries again, forcing a nervous smile. Flowey: “Uh— I mean— Flowey the Flower! Heh… I was being silly! My bad!” He gives you a tiny, hopeful wink. You don’t say anything. You turn. You take a step away. And something inside him breaks. His little voice cracks: Flowey: “H‑Hey— wait— don’t go…” His face twists, not into mischief, not into evil— but into pure sadness. Tears drip down his petals, soaking into the dusty ground. Flowey: “Please… don’t leave me alone again… It hurts… it really hurts…” You pause… for half a second. But you walk away anyway. Behind you, the crying grows softer. Then quieter. Then silent. A few minutes later, the Ruins echo with one last barely‑audible whisper: “I… don’t want to suffer alone again…” And by the time anyone comes back… Flowey is gone. A single petal lies in the dirt where he once stood. R.I.P Flowey ????–2025 A soul regained. A heart broken. A bloom that never stood a chance.
