April 18
I don't know what made me decide to do it, but today, I wandered deeper into the Snowdin forest than I ever have before. The snow was quiet, the trees stood still, and the path felt endless. Eventually, I came across something unexpected—a huge, two-door brick gate.
I stared at it for a while, wondering where it led and who might be on the other side. On a whim, I knocked.
Then I heard a voice. A female voice.
I panicked. My first instinct was to say something, and of course, the only thing that came out was a pun. I don't even remember what I said—it just popped out. But then something happened that I didn't expect. She laughed.
Not a polite chuckle, not a forced laugh to fill the silence. A real, genuine laugh. It caught me so off guard that I almost forgot what I'd just said. Before I could figure out what to say next, she told a pun of her own.
I didn't know what to do, so I laughed back. And just like that, we had a conversation, if you could call it that. Puns, jokes, little comments passed back and forth through that closed door. I left after a while, but something about the whole thing stuck with me.
Maybe I'll go back tomorrow.
May 3
I've been going back to the gate almost every day. I guess you could call it a routine now. She's always there, and somehow, we never run out of things to say—or jokes to tell.
It's strange. I don't even know her name, and she doesn't know mine, but it doesn't matter. These visits have become the best part of my day.
She calls them "blind dates." I guess that's what they are, in a way. We know each other only by voice, by laughter, by the sound of a joke landing just right. It's simple, but it's… nice.
July 22
She surprised me today. After months of jokes, laughter, and easy conversations, she asked me to make a promise.
I'm not good with promises. They feel like chains, like weights tied to your soul, pulling you in directions you can't escape. But when she asked me to promise her something, I couldn't say no.
She asked me to protect the next human who crosses that gate between us.
I hesitated. Something inside me twisted at the thought, like a warning I couldn't fully understand. But her voice was so sincere, so full of hope, that I agreed. I promised her I would.
Even now, writing this, I feel uneasy about it. I don't know why. There's something about humans—something about that gate—that feels like it's tied to something bigger. Something I won't be able to stop.
I shouldn't have made that promise. I know it deep down. But I couldn't say no to her.
I just hope it doesn't come back to haunt me.