He finds himself staring into space as Papyrus asks that question, reflecting on a concept that is hard for him to process at the moment. Images flash to mind - being wet, exhausted, and hungry, with an aching spine that wouldn't quit hurting and could barely move. In some ways it's like a memory from a previous life, and in other ways it still feels so close.

He also remembers being at the ball, and being so angry and determined, given a straight forward purpose as his choices were taken away from him, little by little. In the end, he'd been too weak to refuse anything. It had been so much easier to submit, to accept whatever was coming, just like it feels like it would now.

"I..." he mumbles, clearly somewhat dazed by the recollection. His pupils flick downward, looking at the floor, his sockets still wide. "I don't have anything better, now. I can't."

All he gets now is pain, and all he can think about is how the easiest and simplest thing would be to stop fighting, to stop trying to be a person, to just go back to his master and let him do whatever he wanted with what remained of him. It's the infectious thought that has been haunting him since the moment that he arrived - that submission was the only option, and that remaining hidden away here was denying the Prince's wishes.

All these people do is make things more complicated, and he desperately just wants it to be simple. To make it stop seeming like he had choices or other options.

When he snaps out of his daze, his sockets are watery, a tear just barely escaping from one of the right side.

"I can't..." he says again, more softly.