Sans follows that gaze of towards the direction the lady left, too. Well, she's gone now. It's out of his hands. Maybe back in the day he would have had an arch-angel to report to, that he could ask for advice on the subject.

Not anymore. All he's got now is his own moral compass, and instincts from being created to fulfill a very specific purpose. He guesses he'll just have to let this go.

"I was suppos'ta make sure her soul made it to the afterlife, as intended. Angels of death don't actually kill anybody, y'know. It just means we know when it's coming, and what to do after."

He winks a few of his eyes.

"That is, provided some bonehead hasn't mucked the whole thing up."