[He doesn't stop Frisk's retreat, easily withdrawing his hand so he can hold it out defensively in front of him. Those eyes with the lingering taste of blood nearly makes him vomit, the taste of bile at his tongue as he wildly looks Frisk over. He's not doing this again he can't do this again--]
Arms out. [His voice shakes horribly. There's a swallow, a gasp for air, then with more panicked firmness:] Get your arms off your face, now.
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Arms out. [His voice shakes horribly. There's a swallow, a gasp for air, then with more panicked firmness:] Get your arms off your face, now.