[Initially Papyrus's eyes track the trajectory of Margaret's mystery gift to the couch, as he casually approaches to look closer. No signs of damage from the landing, nor wear from her picking at it... It takes him a few seconds to startle belatedly, making sense of her words.]

What, really?! But he's...

[He cuts himself off before elaborating, mouth still open in surprise. Even after a few weeks, he's not used to having lips for cutting sounds off. But they close as he swallows, looking more closely between both packages.]

I mean, yes, those are clearly gifts for each of us. Labeled... from Santa, but I don't recognize that writing.

[Very much not the same writing that gifts 'from Santa' have come in before, back underground. And of course they wouldn't be. Asgore wouldn't be playing Santa in this town, or anywhere else, ever again.]

Maybe they're from, the same somebody who left us with new pajamas. And the house.

[And the body.]