Archive of Our Own ^beta

Whatever you do, I do it too

Show me everything and tell me how

It all means something

And yet nothing to me

I can see there's so much to learn

It's all so close and yet so far

I see myself as people see me

I just know there's something bigger out there

I wanna know, can you show me

I wanna know about these strangers like me

Tell me more, please show me

Something's familiar 'bout these strangers like me

- Phill Collins

(i)

At first, the guardian of Hallownest had not quite known what she was looking at.

She’d been stalking her quarry for the better part of several days now, not continuously, but on an off – The miserable creature had arrived at just the wrong moment, as if she didn’t have enough on her plate at this time.

The blasted seal had begun to leak just a few decades after its inception, but even so, there could be no denying now that it was distinctly weakening. The miasma was rising into the air, making her bristles stand on end. When she slept, she felt the cloying, sugary presence on her like a hot, leaden weight. Several times in a row now, she’d woken up in a sweat, gasping for breath.

She’d found herself avoiding rest, leaning more and on more on the convenience that her unique constitution afforded her, but even that had its limits; Past a certain point, she’d just be making herself more vulnerable to the influence.

Worst case, the seal might just be right about to burst altogether – and if that is what was happening, then the arrival of the miserable creature she’d been tailing might not be a coincidence.

In the dubious comfort of her own mind, she had been dubbing it the ‘little ghost’, because that was basically what it was: A lingering remnant of something long gone; An afterimage, an old regret come back to haunt her. Salt rubbed into her wounds: Yet another of her father’s failed creations, as if all this land were not already overflowing with remainders of his failures.

Once, all this land sang his praises; Now, there were few but her left to remember him, and in her mind he stood out as a weak, foolish and clumsy creature, long since crumbled under the weight of his failures.

She wondered distantly how many more of those she would have to mop up.

She wondered also, upon forcibly redirecting herself onto much more concrete, productive trails of thought, what the blasted creature was doing. A tiny, stunted thing it was, dirty, tattered, bare. Carrying nothing but a cracked old nail. Two horns this time, long and curved. Marked with that same telltale constellation of traits that had often been pointed out about herself by those who thought she wasn’t listening: Short, scrawny, disproportional, with a faint, pale shine coming off of its mask… in fact, this one’s face seemed cursed with a particularly striking resemblance to the source from which those features originated. Despite this, it didn’t smell of anything, as was typical for its kind. Judging by their ragged appearance, its wings were probably rendered useless by its close encounter with the primordial darkness, serving no function but to hang about it like a ratty little cloak.

Even so, they still retained some traces of a dim blue coloration, likely the kind that hails from a scattering of the light rather than a particular pigment. Chances are that it would have fallen short of the… condition of its parents and herself, if it had lived. Just a ‘regular’ Higher Being then – though even that seemed a stretch, looking at the hapless little thing.

She’d seen it marching about, doing at least halfway sensible things like fighting or appearing to follow the path, but she could not quite tell what it might be up to now, and she was reluctant to get closer, lest it spot her. It did not seem too likely to, but she’d better not risk it.

Still, what might be the meaning of this? When it first sat down on that old bench, she figured that it was going to adjust its equipment or something, and at first, it did, but then, it just… stayed there, not doing anything, not budging any further, like a machine that had not received any further instructions…

Thus far, she had been trying to discern whether its wanderings were purely aimless, or if they were following any sort of distinct purpose… one which might well worsen the situation even further.

Either way, she could not really think of a reason for why it would suddenly stop here, on this thoroughly unremarkable bench no different from any other.

It did not seem to be doing anything, or even to be checking its surroundings as if it were waiting, merely staring straight ahead with those unnerving, corpse-like hollowed eyes of its.

Was she missing something crucial, or simply reading deeper purpose into the random, meaningless malfunctions of a failed construct?

...then. Motion.

The slightest, faintest, gradual bit of it.

Nothing dramatic.

It was largely her own vigilance that had her on alert;

The shadow merely slouched a bit. Outright slumped, a little, though not all the way, not enough to fall over.

The most obvious explanation comes to mind belated: The creature is asleep.

It does not breathe, nor does the very nature of its make allow any sound to escape from its diminutive form, so she would not have noted its non-existing breathing slowing to a regular rhythm or anything like that, nor could she have made note of its attention slipping when she could barely guess what, if anything, it might be thinking at all.

It has certainly been up and about enough that some degree of exhaustion might not be unexpected.

Full-blooded Higher Beings do sleep, at least sometimes, though it might not quite imply the same total lack of awareness as it does for regular bugs; She had not seen her father do it often – he used to keep quite busy, while there was still a chance that his efforts might avail something. The one in the Greenpath, however, was said to spend most of her time sleeping nowadays; Longer periods of slumber seemed not to uncommon when one is waning in power. The last few times she’d gone to visit the White Lady, she’d usually find her in a dormant state until her presence would be sensed.

The spider had begun to question if she was not making the former queen’s self-imposed exile harder on her by rousing her from her torpor. Sometimes, the princess would muse if she could expect to feel such a decline herself in a very distant future, maybe once these caves were finally empty, leaving her with no remaining purpose and nothing left to protect, not even what little there was now.

There would be no more need for her existence then.

By now there had been more than enough time for her to conclude with certainty that nothing about her shell had changed at all ever since she stopped growing, so, it seemed unlikely that she would end as mortals do. She had not dared to ask the Lady what it feels like.

She could not guess whether or not the former queen would have been aware of the tiny shadow’s arrival, or what she would make of such a sight.

Would she be surprised to catch it napping?

It might technically be derived from her spawn, but some naturally occurring void creatures such as shadow creepers did not appear to sleep.

The guardian cannot recall if the Pure Vessel ever slept; She does think there was a bed in its personal room, but that may have been a matter of not having a good reason to make the servants carry out the furniture that was already in that chamber before it was handed off to its occupant. She supposes now that it must have slept sometimes, if this small one would.

She could not even begin to fathom what strange, empty dreams the little creature might be having.

(ii)

The next time she would catch that little ghost in such a state, she wondered whether she should just get it over with.

Go over there and dispatch it while she could. If she were to catch it by surprise, it might be far less likely to elude her like it did that time back in the Greenpath.

Strike now, and she might destroy it before it could cause further trouble.

In a typical bug, she would aim to skewer the vital organs; In a woody plant, (sentient or regular), tearing out a girdle of tissue around its circumference would usually prove fatal, if one manages to get all of that ring of kambium between the rind and the wood. Fungal creatures lack much in terms of diversified internal structure, being made out of uniform strings; The weapons of choice would be acids or poisons, or just generous quantities of blunt force applied to their soft bodies.

This thing was none of the three.

She could not guess whether she would have found wood or flesh within this one’s form if it had lived, but as it was, she could expect to find nothing, not even light or air, just emptiness in its most concentrated, potent un-form.

The safest bet was just to take her needle and puncture its shell as many times as she could to sabotage whatever forces were keeping the eldritch substance in its shape, until its mimicry of life processes finally broke down, releasing the tarry black mass from whatever clumsy bonds her father’s sorcery may have placed on it.

She could do it right quickly now, the swifter the better. No need to make the poor thing suffer more than necessary. There was a chance that it could not help following its programming nor understand the effects its actions would have.

The poor thing had no malice, no fault of its own – it was simply in the way.

It was plain from its tiny misshapen form that it could never accomplish its goal.

Resolved at last, the spider readied herself to raise her weapon and step nearer…

Until the faintest perception of subtle movement caught her attention.

The creature’s horns – they were quite long, so, even a slight shift in its posture would produce a noticeable motion.

It noticed her.

It had raised its head, ever so slightly… and then it turned, looking straight at her, with those utterly unreadable eyes.

It must have noticed her stance, and the needle in her claw, but for now, it did not seem intent on doing anything. It did not even reach for its weapon, at least, not yet.

It simply looked at her.

The creature had looked utterly hapless – she never expected it to notice her at all.

Yet here it was, watching carefully.

Waiting to see what she might do.

As it would turn out, what she did was to fling her needle into a nearby vine and dart away, no sooner than she had been spotted.

(iii)

If Hornet was going to kill it, she already would have.

She could have easily put some holes in it when it was out cold in Kingdom’s Edge after nearly being crushed under the remains of her father’s (their father’s?) discarded shell.

She could have left it down there to begin with, knowing well that this might well be her last chance to stop it before its powers would surpass her utterly.

Instead, it would seem that she had chosen to put her hope in that very power… a strange thought, really, to be entertaining any hopes at all at this point.

It had been a very long time since such a thing had last crossed her mind.

Yet somewhere between that second clash of theirs up there in the ash field, and their meeting at the door to the abyss, a truce had been formed between them.

Certainly, the little creature had proven itself worthy of respect, in terms of both its strength, and of its character – by now, she did think that it should be considered to have one; That much was simply a matter of pragmatic assessment.

It might be a monster from the depths, but it had conducted itself as a monster of honor thus far. Besides, for one such as herself to be calling anyone a monster would be a pot and kettle situation, even if she were to count herself as just barely less terrifying. She might not bear the touch of the primordial darkness, but the light she carried instead came with its own aspersions, and that poor thing might have very good reasons to mistrust her likes, though she had come to suspected now that it might not exactly remember that at this point.

She wondered what it might do if it ever did remember.

It occurred to her that some might find poetic resonance in the fact that they were technically kin, a poignant duality of light and dark, creation and destruction.

The two of them were warriors rather than poets, however; There was much work waiting to be done, many preparations to make, especially for that little ghost.

She grew used to seeing the evidence of its presence around the place without being set on edge.

With some relief, she noted that the tiny warrior seemed to have no intention of barging in unprepared, and instead set to preparing for its coming trial with admirable dedication.

When they first met, its considerable skill was discernible as self-taught – that was part of what had caused her to underestimate it at first, what had seemed like a lack of sophistication. Errors and matters of technique that weren’t too obvious nor intuitive to figure out by instinct if they were not explicitly pointed out – but since then, she could tell that it had got itself some formal training, a considerable collection of charms and equipment, and even some skill in sorcery.

Somewhere deep within, she could not help but feel a certain instinctual fear or revulsion of the dark powers it had come to wield with a self-evident natural affinity, but the pragmatic, rational part of her recognized a valuable fount of power when she saw it, unwelcome as the recognition may be.

Unassuming though it may have appeared at first, the little Ghost would turn out to have quite the knack for conducting its native darkness.

Were it anyone else, she would have threatened them within the inch of their life for even thinking of meddling with such dark magic on the lands she was sworn to protect, but it came as naturally to this one as moving its own limbs, with no lesser precision.

This one… might actually do it.

A feat so absurdly impossible, even their father had largely dismissed it as an option.

Though it arrived unlooked for, this creature’s arrival would seem to prove a miraculous serendipitous gift from a higher power – she could not say from which one. Maybe from their unfortunate sibling trapped within the Black Egg, if it was the force who’d called that small one here.

Yet even as Hornet found herself beginning to think of the small warrior as something like an ally, there was one thing about it that she simply could not get past.

Not the gaping empty eyes, not the moving-through-solid-matter business, not the eerie stillness of its form at rest nor even the flashes of thrashing, pulsing dark revealed when it used its unholy powers – all that had reasonable explanations.

Its habit of napping on the kingdom’s many ornate benches, however, had just gone on to irritate her further ever since they might be tentatively considered to have joined forces.

Certainly, it probably had little to fear from the elements and was more than capable of defending itself.

The kingdom’s roads were dangerous, but most of the danger consisted of wild beast and various victims of the infection, most of which followed predictable paths. There wasn’t much sophistication left in the majority of those poor, lost souls.

Of all the things that might be hunting it, she would have been one of the only two intelligent ones, and she was no longer after it. The other one – that terrible voice compelling the infected – would be forced to make do with such tools as she might bend to her uses from within her sorry prison.

The elder goddess must be watching them both behind the many, many eyes at her disposal, but what pawns she could muster against them proved far more soft-shelled than the will driving them.

The little ghost must have been fending for itself out in the wilderness for longer than she’d been alive, which was no short time at all. It must have passed through all manner of wild, inhospitable places far beyond the scope of its imagination. Rationally speaking, one must conclude that it would have perished many lifetimes ago if it had not learned the skill of discerning and picking out safe places to rest.

It was a full-blooded Higher Being, besides, even if it did not look the part. It would not die so easily. One might have argued that it could well afford to be relaxed.

Yet, even against reason, the sight simply offended her sensibilities in and off itself, setting off blaring alarm bells in some old, ingrained habit-based part of her mind.

Youth of the Deepnest were encouraged to roam the warrens of their home with their fellows from a young age, for it was thought conducive to their future prowess for them to learn the ways of the wild sooner rather than later -from infancy, they were left to find their way along the walls, along the webs, to memorize the layouts and the ranges of their future prey.

But as a trade-off for such freedom, it was by great necessity drilled into them time and time again never to let down their guard in an exposed space, not even when they thought themselves alone; Never were they to assume a lack of predators hiding in the shadows, looking to pick them off, always to be wary of mighty creatures with thick hides who might emerge from their burrows at a moment’s notice and crush careless youth on their path. The adults, especially the designated communal caretakers, did their part to corral the less experienced youth in the less dangerous areas (less dangerous, that is, by the standards of Deepnest), and the warriors that patrolled the territory considered themselves honor-bound to protect the brood if any reckless youth should ever find themselves biting off more than they could chew, but the tunnels were treacherous, and learning to navigate and survive in them was considered a most essential life skill to be ingrained, if need be, by ceaseless repetition.

No matter how many years might pass, Hornet did not think she would ever forget the jolly rhyming mnemonics often recited to herself and her fellows by the Midwife, alongside half-serious humorous allusions to the various (and well-deserved!) grisly fates that might befall them if they were to be careless.

When caught out in the field, either on a protracted hunt or through some error in way-finding, it was considered the best practice to fashion oneself some manner of web or cocoon in a defensible, concealed location, preferably somewhere high up, or out of sight in a hidden burrow. Rarely one to be satisfied with the simplest base requirements, Hornet herself had always made a habit of setting up some traps and tripwires in the vicinity for good measure.

Granted, the tiny warrior could not have relied on that particular strategy, seeing as it wasn’t a spider or a caterpillar or anything else gifted with string-producing capabilities, but surely it could have found some less exposed places to nap. .

Just looking at it made her nervous.

Even plants guard themselves from herbivores with thorns, brambles and poisoned nettles

How can it possibly be so carefree? It was once thing when she still doubted whether or not it was capable of fear, intent or complicated thoughts, but at this point its questionable habit must be taken as a deliberate choice.

Although perhaps, it might be hypocritical for her to argue that it should be more alert and less trusting, when she must be counted high on the list of those whom it really should have trusted less.

She was going to send the poor thing to its doom. She could have argued that it was already planning to doom itself and that she was merely nudging it towards a more productive bargain, but she hoped to have at least the self-respect not to let such a rationalization fly.

If she must pay the great cost in tokens that were not hers to give, the least she could do was to bear its weight.

Were this any other traveler, she might think them coddled, but she knew this could not be the case with this creature.

Indeed, when she considered what its upbringing must have been, she was left to wonder if she was not the coddled one, out of the two of them.

The little creature had effectively been abandoned in the wilderness, left to fend for itself from the moment it hatched.

For all she knew, the many ornate benches of Hallownest might seem a veritable luxury compared to whatever rocks and crevices it must have been curling up in or under out in the wastes…

All the while she had gotten to expect safety, dignity and comfort.

Before the calamity that toppled it all, she would have had accommodations befitting royalty waiting for her at all times in at least four separate places;

This little wanderer meanwhile would scarcely have known the comforts of a roof over one’s head, a door to lock or a proper bed to sleep in.. nor even a communal nest or burrow.

What she was witnessing here was merely the result of that:

It didn’t go look for shelter because it might not have that much of a concept of what shelter even is.

Challenging as though her lot may have been at times, she knew full well that she had been the lucky one…

She knew better than to ponder on what might have been or get loss in pointless, impossible scenarios that were irrelevant to reality; Dreams, illusions and fantasies were risky undertakins in a world suffocated beneath the Old Light’s miasma. Certainly it might have been possible for their father to realize that this one was alive – both in terms of its purely physical survival, and its by-now evident capability to make choices, some evidence that there would have been a point to taking this one with him, beyond gaining a component for the seal; It was conceivable to picture some alternate world where this one could have been a fixture at the White Palace – it, or any of the other countless others whose faces she had never seen, and therefore could not picture.

There’s an endless lot of what could have happened, as the only limit is plausible imagination.

All that matters, in the end, is that it didn’t happen.

But something else did, right here in this present, immediate, undeniable.

Hornet could not say what gave her away, if it was some sound or sight or smell that betrayed her.

She was not usually noticed from afar, unless she meant to be.

Perhaps she’d underestimated the tiny warrior once again; It might not truly have been as inattentive as she’d thought…

-or, perhaps not entirely.

She caught it looking her way, yes, but then it kind of cocked its head a little, perhaps in surprise or wonderment.

One might conclude that it only just noticed her, which would be consistent with the judgment that it had actually been dozing previously, or at least spacing out.

It did little beyond that, at first, at least nothing that would suggest that it anticipated much of a threat, such as readying its weapon.

She could have made off again, got away, left it wondering if it had spotted anything at all, or responded only to some product of its imagination, or some harmless critter.

Would it have an imagination?

It certainly had surprise, which would imply expectations.

She could have left.

She did not.

Instead, she revealed herself, stepping forth from the foliage.

A further olive branch, perhaps.

A calculated risk.

The little shadow gave no indication of being particularly alarmed.

It simply looked at her, unreadable as ever.

Simply noting her presence, making no great motion or discernible response.

She refused to be the first to glance away.

Then, it casually slid out one nubby paw from beneath its tattered wings, and lightly patted the space beside it on the bench, ostensibly issuing an invitation.

The creature was nothing if not brave – in the simplest, plainest way, without display or affectation to it.

It dared, but made no show of daring; It simply did.

When no immediate response was forthcoming, it briefly repeated the gesture.

Then, it waited.

The ball was in her court.

She would have to make a choice about this.

She knew it, too.

It was not in her nature to flinch away from a challenge… of sorts.

She sensed that, if she had turned away, that would have been grounded in a tug of fear felt somewhere within, and she refused to be compelled by it, even if that meant proceeding forward, with great, ceremonious seriousness, and then, finishing what she started, to the point of plopping herself down next to the diminutive warrior, arranging her legs at an angle.

If the creature was pleased, this was in no way discernible in its ever-abject lack of expression or salient body language.

It simply observed her while she moved and set herself down, and then, once she sat in place, returned to staring straight ahead, at nothing in particular, so far as she could tell.

It did not seem on guard in any way, nor show any reluctance to let her out of its sight.

Some of her cloak might have been brushing against the outermost fronds of its wings – if so, it did not react much to this. No flinching, no backing away.

It just kept sitting there in perfect silence, like she had seen it do this many times before.

She supposed that she had protected it earlier, or at least given it reason to believe that she needed it for her plans or hopes of preserving what’s left of the kingdom; It wasn’t altogether unreasonable of it to think that it might not have all too much left to fear from her anymore.

...reckless creature. Not too long ago, she was seriously considering whether to kill it in its sleep.

Though she wonders now if she could have, had she decided to try.

One might judge it to be a bit naive, foolish maybe, or overly trusting, but it certainly wasn’t weak, oblivious or dull-witted.

Was its judgment even so wrong?

She wasn’t planning to stab it right now. At least, not anymore.

She still would not recommend that it trust her, if she were a third party in this…

Her ponderings were rudely interrupted when she suddenly felt an unexpected weight at her side.

She froze at once –

Attention sharpening, anticipating the rush of information into her consciousness.

It was only the little ghost.

Nothing remotely resembling funny business had been attempted;

The small creature had simply gone right back to its nap, this time, letting itself sink against her side, coming to rest in the folds of her cloak with the quietest little rustle, face angled slightly downwards.

One supposes that it must in fact have been tired to a not so insignificant degree.

Clearly, it did not expect the faintest chance of danger from her.

Big mistake. She was one of the least harmless creatures remaining in these caves.

Certainly, she had no reason to do it harm right now, nor the intention, but it must know that this depended purely on her mission.

It ought to be careful. It ought to be wary.

Even a mighty warrior of is caliber should not be letting down its guard so easily in the presence of an enemy. Former enemy, at least.

Their goals might have aligned for now, but that was all.

Perhaps she had herself to blame, in part, seeing as he had just granted what seemed to be a request for her company, though she’d argue that it was still going too far in considering her enough of an ally to allow itself to be this unguarded in her presence.

How had it survived this long, being this guileless?

Then again, one could see how its harsh, lonesome upbringing might have made it eager (at least, by the standards of its likes) to jump at the chance of having an ally or a comrade.

Maybe even a sister.

It knew now, that they were technically related.

A pure technicality indeed – it should be more than apparent to the little creature that it could not count on expecting any of the loyalty or protection that came with kinship.

Their family had forfeited any right to claim it. None of them had protected, nurtured or guided it as family should. And Hornet, for her own part, was born after the little wanderer would have left the kingdom – they were perfect strangers. Enemies, through her own actions.

It had no reason to expect goodwill from her, if anything, it ought to resent her, if not for receiving the proper royal upbringing it had been denied, then for not providing what it might have been owed once they did meet.

But it seems that justice, retribution or even safety weren’t too prominent on its mind.

It may have been one of those more hopeful sorts, the kind of orphan who, instead of stewing over being abandoned, maintained some home of one day finding its long-lost family, who’d entertain the notion that maybe, just maybe, they didn’t mean to abandon it, or maybe they were under severe duress, lacking good options.

That would not have been an entirely wrong assessment.

Nobody had liked the plan, or had any illusions that it was anything other than an ugly act, necessary maybe, just barely better than the alternative, but at best sad and tragic.

It might well be that the little creature harbors some anger somewhere, but that wasn’t what it valued – it seems that it wanted, above anything, to find a bit of connection, of belonging, more than it seemed invested in adjudicating who’s right and who’s wrong.

If that meant overlooking her harsh greeting, then so be it.

That was apparently a risk it was willing to take.

Perhaps she shouldn’t be too surprised: For all that it resembled their sire in looks, its temperament, though somewhat obscured by its void-touched nature, rather seemed more reminiscent of the White Lady’s. More agreeable, perhaps. Even after everything, she couldn’t seem to bring herself to resent her fallen spouse, despite having ample reason to.

Whatever else it might be, there was no denying that the little wanderer was, in some sense, something like her sibling – half by blood, and half by adoption.

That had not staid her blade, but, it seems that this fact did mean something to it, or, at least, that it would want it to come to mean something, insofar as it retained some capacity to feel and want.

Which leads one to the question: Did she want it to mean something?

At first, she’d thought it best to remain detached.

If this creature were a threat to the kingdom, she would have to dispatch it, and if it wasn’t, she’d best compel it to leave just to be safe.

Should it decide to stay, however… and that, it seems, had been the path they were headed for… then there could be no illusions about what its fate would be.

It was a dangerous, risky thing, to care, or get attached; One opens oneself up to weakness.

It was particularly dangerous for an immortal.

Yet this tiny creature seemed to give it out all too eagerly. Did it feel the sting of loss less, owing to what was done to it? Or was it rather the opposite, that it somehow had a greater capacity, both to care and to stomach the fallout of caring?

Who could say.

Who could say what strange, empty dreams it might be dreaming? Right now she could see an about equal chance of their being utterly alien, or, conversely, perfectly mundane. Perhaps both descriptors might apply partially. Whatever the truth, it would keep its secrets forever, seeing as it was not in its nature to convey specifics of its inner experience, insofar as one existed.

One thing that could probably be said for certain was that it might have some sort of growing attachment to her.

It had explicitly requested her company… and it was now effectively napping on top of her, nestled slightly into the folds of her cloak.

It had no warmth, of course, and even its weight was quite less than might be thought, even given its small stature. But it was there, firm and tangible, clearly sensed.

The lightest, barely-there semblance of affectionate touch.

It didn’t use to be an unfamiliar sensation.

She had never been an especially affectionate person, but she was no stranger to the experience of it. Though only briefly, she had known a mother’s embrace once.

In the light of the Beast’s recent passing, the daughter left in her wake had found herself gathering up old, stray memories, looking to revisit as many of them as possible so that they would not fade – vague, primal memories, dominated by touch, smell and feelings more so than sights, sounds and clear meanings.

She could not name many details or specifics, but she knew, down to the deepest, most core part of her being, that that warm, familiar presence had been there once.

She’d known the touch of aunts, cousins, stepmothers, the village midwife, silent older siblings and various royal childminders, even some brief interludes of holding onto her father’s horns as he carried her on his shoulders.

Later, she had come to know what it is to play-fight or roughhouse with the other youths, the clasp of dear friends, or her mentor’s claws adjusting her stance.

Later still, she’d make the acquaintance of what it felt like to have a comrade supporting her weight, or far more often, to be the one supporting theirs, of firm handshakes forging pacts, and the pleasure of a lover’s caress.

And then, one by one, all these experiences and sensations had become things of the past.

A distant, bygone past, at this point.

Nothing had touched her for the better part of the last century that wasn’t the weapon of an enemy, and even that was fairly rare – she generally made a point of being too fast for them to hit.

The tiny warrior from the wastes had outlasted her swift assault with its impressive tenacity, withstanding the onslaught of blade, thread and traps until she could supply no more of them, only for them to end up here somehow, with the small creature’s weight brushing ever so slightly against her shoulder, with only the folds of her cloak between them.

One might hope that it would surely have come to experience warmth and kindness at some point during its long life and far travels, but she, out of anyone, would know for a fact that the little creature had never once been held by either of its parents.

It may have chosen to take a risk here, so that it might experience a little something like this, before it must meet its fated goal.

Hardly a large request, considering what it might be giving up to aid in the kingdom’s preservation.

And once that thought occurred to her, Hornet could not escape the conclusion that she was duty-bound to stay.

It wasn’t any more of a consolation that her father’s commemorative monuments, but her presence seemed to be what the little ghost desired, and easily within her power to grant.

Thus, it seems that she would be staying here on this bench for the foreseeable future.

At least this meant that somebody would be keeping watch while the small vessel naps, which might be accounted somewhat of a cause for relief.

With her free foreclaw (the one that wasn’t tucked beneath the small creature’s head), she dug around in her bag for her provisions, figuring that she might as well get some of them into her system if she was going to have some idle time on her claws.

She only meant to nibble a little, to make efficient use of her stop, but before she knew it, she had all but devoured most of what she’d carried on her, largely smoke-dried meat and some smaller bugs roasted to a crunchy, dry texture for the purposes of preservation.

With the situation having turned as dire as it has as of late, rest and recreation had not exactly been much of a priority.

She found herself a little tempted to lean against her companion in turn, but she knew better than to let her attention slip.

(iv)

The next time that Hornet came upon the little vessel as it was resting, she did not conceal herself, but simply walked right up to it, counting on it to notice her, which it did, soon enough, as might be indicated by the way it turned its head in her direction.

For but an awkward moment, she stumbled on the question on how to address it.

They were no longer enemies, but they did not start from the beginning either.

“Greetings, little Ghost.” would have to do.

So far as its blank face betrayed anything, the small creature seemed to be listening intently.

“Is right now a good time? I would not disturb you, if you’d rather rest. It’s nothing urgent.”

As best as she could guess, the little Ghost seemed curious as to what business she might have with it. At least, it did not give any indication that it thought her appearance an intrusion or an imposition.

“I have been thinking – I can see that you have been duly preparing yourself for your task. Your strength surpasses mine, but it has occurred to me that I may still be able to aid you some in honing your skills further. It can never hurt to polish one’s basics.

So, what do you say to some practice?” she proposed, pointing her needle forward for emphasis.

“No sorcery. No void tricks. No traps, either.”

So far as she could discern, the tiny warrior seemed to briefly consider these conditions, before getting up from the bench and raising its nail – just a little, it wasn’t a sweeping, dramatic motion, but quite enough to make its intention understood.

Making good on her side of the deal, the spider unclasped her tool belt, sending a few pouches of tools and supplies clattering to the ground. She meant to reassure it that she meant no trickery, mostly because she thought that such concerns may have been prominent on her mind if their roles had been changed.

Not quite leaving her would-be opponent out of her site, she gathered up her things, meaning to deposit them on the very bench it had been resting on, where they were unlikely to get lost.

She noticed the wanderer glancing in passing at her various lethal implements with what she would guess to be some measure of curiosity or interest, though it was, as ever, hard to tell with them.

Despite this, she heard herself speak before she’d fully registered the temptation: “...some might think you would show more concern about being in the presence of so many deadly weapons.”

Some might, and she was well aware of that, although she, personally, wouldn’t.

They were her tools and weapons, after all.

One might claim that a certain affinity for death traps runs in her blood, from both sides of the family. The creature wasn’t daunted. Indeed, despite her words, or even in response to them, in casually leaned a little forward to see what glittering sharp things she might be putting down.

“You can take a look at them later, if you want, although I would prefer that we first get down to business.”

If this had an impact on the little shadow at all, she thinks it may have served to increase its motivation… there wasn’t much that she knew about the wanderer, to be certain. It was hard to say what its internal experience might be like, which characteristics of bugs or even of higher beings might or might not apply to it; More than her father had predicted, clearly.

The best starting point was probably its observed behavior, as that did not depend on dubious preexisting notions; If nothing else, she knew that it fought with great skill, that it repeatedly set out to test itself against strong opponents.

Perhaps that was to be expected seeing as it had been created, most of all, to be a weapon.

Yet while it might have begun as such, she could tell by now that it had grown beyond just that – neither the opponent she’d faced those last two times nor the creature she had been observing in the recent past resembled a mere killing machine, but rather something possessed skill and honor that would not have been out of place among the knights at the Pale Court.

She could respect a worthy opponent, even relish in challenging them – and she did think that this feeling at least, must be mutual.

If she were to trust her intuition on this, she might conclude that it seemed outright excited to comply with her suggestion – she couldn’t have said what exact clues or markers she would have based that impression on, but it was there, something about the whole of it all coming together.

It waited for her to set down her tools, grab her weapon and get into a battle stance, and proceeded to come at her.

The small shadow had proven without a doubt that it outclassed her, but she had at least three definite advantages that she could bring to bear in full: She was still faster, she could jump higher, and she was used to working around her limits with strategy and cunning.

This would have mattered far less if her opponent had been going all out without the ‘no spellcasting’ rule in place, but as things were, she had some designs in mind to at least make the wanderer work for its victory.

Many rounds of sparring were had; Between bouts, she took a moment to point out any errors or openings she might have noticed in its technique. If some cruel twist of fate had seen her receiving the many privileges, advantages and resources of the proper royal upbringing it had been deprived of, the least she could do was to put the result of the dumb luck granted to her in its service.

She rather noticed her own errors due to their immediate effects, though she did feel like she ought to acknowledge them verbally, just so that the wanderer would not think her unaware of them.

It was the sort of opponent who could stir up her pride somewhat, though she took care not to let it get the better of her.

She was mindful of her fluids pumping, the thrill pulling the fibers of her body taut, the moment she’d forget herself and break out in giggles just as she was about to deal a decisive blow- or no, not today. (She narrowly managed to dodge an expert spinning attack, some new nail art it had recently acquired)

It was alright to go all-out, for once. This one could take it.

It was no less resilient than herself – if not far more so.

But even if its nature made it sturdier, she would not have it think her soft.

Besides, after so long spent wondering if her efforts were availing anything at all anymore, there was something immensely cathartic and invigorating to the idea that she might actually be helping or contributing in some way, however minute or indirect her contribution may have been.

She never had to make the same comment twice.

The wanderer was a remarkably quick learner, much more attentive and observant than she would first have believed despite its lack of reserve.

It might be more focused on open-ended exploration, which may have been while she, as a more goal oriented spider, may have first believed its wanderings to be aimless, but the longer she knew the little creature, the more she had to conclude that it was actually quite astute.

One must suppose that it would have gotten this from the same place as her.

Although its most admirable trait must be all its own, namely whatever foolhardy noble dedication had driven it to take the plight of these blasted lands upon itself, simply because no one else could – that, and it’s sheer determined tenacity.

As the metal of their blades met time and time again with various clicks and clattering noises, Hornet was forced to admit, despite herself, that she was somewhat enjoying this.

That she found herself liking the tiny warrior – not just detachedly admiring its skill or respecting its strength virtue as a matter of principle or appreciating its virtue as a ray of hope in desperate times, but actually enjoying its presence and company on a personal level…

It was one thing to know, on an intellectual level, that this creature could have been accounted as her kin. It was another to experience it, to feel a clear, evident sense of affinity and likeness sneaking up on her.

And still, she knew where it must go, in the end;

For the sake of the kingdom, she must not let her judgment be clouded by any sentiment that might arise.

Their family’s business was an ugly one.

But there was only so many time she could warn the wanderer off before she would have to start taking its desire to be part of this seriously.

She might be baffled at its choice, but it was still a choice; An informed one even, by now.

In the end, she would have to admit that the reluctance was all on her side.

Because the outcome had seemed obvious, one way or another.

Because, if nothing begins, then nothing must end.

It might be too late now, though it might well be too late now to avoid a beginning.

Even the end was not come yet, for all that it may loom ahead.

For now, in the more immediate present, they had merely ended up back on the bench thus far, thoroughly worn out – but it was a good, satisfying exhaustion, the sort after which one tends to sleep soundly.

Just as she’d promised, she’d handed over her bag of implements for the little wanderer to inspect, which it did with slow, simple, understated movements, nothing that could necessarily be identified as great enthusiasm, but, it was not a great lead to read sustained attention or even inquisitiveness in the way it quietly inspected the blades, traps, tools and snares at hand, sometimes appearing to recognize some of the unusual materials that might be found around the caverns, though it sometimes grabbed them in ways that suggested that it didn’t know what they were for, or how they might be used.

She might regret showing it these, if their paths should lead them to clash again…

But for now, that would seem rather improbable.

That might be why she dug herself even deeper by beginning to explain their use, make and function. The wanderer listened with rapt attention. It was warrior enough to appreciate sophisticated tools of battle, but unfamiliar enough with their making or their handling that much of what she had to say would be news to it; For its own part, it largely seemed to prefer the simplicity of its trusty old nail, though this did not stop it from being interested in her craft… maybe even impressed?

Occasionally, she would still stop and wonder how much of what she believed she was picking up from it was merely a reflection of her own projections or expectations, but deferring to such intuitions at least felt as if communication was taking place. Perhaps she’d have to make her peace with not understanding everything down to the last detail. Something, certainly, must be compelling it to listen to her.

What’s more, once she was mostly done explaining the contents of her bags, the creature reached under its wings to start pulling out some of its own equipment – she couldn’t say from where, seeing as it did not seem to carry any sort of back, packs or pouches.

Possibly from whatever internal space would otherwise have been meant to contain the heart of the infection.

It heaped on a pile of charms, and some tools of its own, though its collection was rather more modest – she spied a mantis claw, the core of an old mining golem, and what seemed like some kind of talisman that would seem to be the craft of the moth tribe.

The vessel could tell no tales of its own, but it was content to hear what she might have to say to the things it had to show her – for example, what she might tell it about the long history of conflict between Deepnest and its neighbors in response to being shown the mantis claw.

It had gathered a little something from all corners of the kingdom, really, along with the surrounding allied tribes, and clearly showed an interest in what she might have to tell it – one supposes that she might be considered one of the last remaining eyewitnesses to the kingdom at it’s height. It came here at least in part out of curiosity for the mysterious old ruins to begin with, and coming to learn that this place might be considered its long-lost homeland can only have increased its interest.

She wondered though, whether it might feel excluded at hearing of all the lost glory it had been excluded from… what’s gone is gone, what’s spilled is spilled, those days would never come back, and to hang onto such illusions could be a dangerous thing, a maddening, tempting, burning thing, the pavement of a road that would lead all the way down to the abyss.

Long had she willed herself not to dwell on it, not to hang onto what could not be kept, trying to focus on what little was still there, steadily narrowing her world in scope and focus.

Idle thoughts are the infection’s playground.

But this little creature wished to know.

About the strangers that could otherwise have been its compatriots. Of what it had simply taken to be a strange place of wonder.

Before all was said and done, it might be laying down its life for this place.

Not merely its un-life, or its existence, or its form.

Its life.

The least thing she could do was to acknowledge that.

So how could she deny its requests?

(v)

Hornet wasn’t planning to stop by the next time she saw it.

She was meant to be doing her patrols, all the more important now that the horrid force behind the infection seemed to find itself ever more able to compel and warp its victims.

No longer were the walking dead making even the principal roads ever more unsafe, the husks and infected beasts she seemed to be encountered were beginning to look ever more warped and twisted, overcome from within with obscene, bulging masses of writhing orange, pulsing with a strange life of its own that had nothing at all to do with the wholly consumed victims which it now inhabited more as rough scaffolds or wellsprings for its physical manifestation.

Increasingly, the throbbing bits of orange goop were beginning to clump together, beginning more and more to resemble solid flesh, particularly near the crossroads, where its epicenter lay entombed.

She hoped she’d never have to witness whatever end result this would portend.

The hunter knew well that she could not possibly hope to exterminate the shambling dead all by herself, but she was determined to get as many as she could.

Sometimes she’d find herself beginning to wonder whether these emptied shells of long-rotted beetles would not rise straight back up not long after she would have dispatched them.

The little knight (for she had come to think by now that it deserved to be considered as such) would no longer have been a source of worry to her.

It was supposed to be here. It belonged. It must technically be accounted as this kingdom’s reigning monarch. At very least, it would have as much of a right to be here as any other resident, no reasons left to watch or stalk it; It was an ally who spelled death to their foes.

If Hornet approached it this time, it was not because she was wondering what on earth it was doing on this bench, but because she could tell at a glance.

Had it simply been resting or taking a moment to admire the scenery, she might have passed without a word – maybe a brief greeting, if it would have noticed her first.

But it was plain, from a single look at it, why the diminutive warrior had sought out this relative place of sanctuary. No exceptional perceptiveness was required to reach the conclusion.

It looked somewhat busted up.

Even in discernible distress, its questionable choices remained – not merely its preference for the benches, but its response to her arrival.

You would think that a creature – most creatures, be they beast, bug or god – would have been apprehensive upon being discovered in a vulnerable position. If their places were switched, Hornet would certainly have been trying as she might to conceal any trace of weakness the instant she’d become conscious of having an audience, probably on instinct, before she could have formed any kind of distinct thought about it.

Even a complete lack of any discernible reaction would not have been outside the realm of the expected, considering its origins.

Instead, Hornet would have dared to wager that the tiny warrior might have considered her arrival to be a relief.

She’d found it just a little doubled over, curled up and closed in posture, yet once it saw her, it allowed itself to lean against the metal backrest of the bench, as if the reasons to stay on guard had been decreased by her arrival.

How paradoxical.

Aside from that detail, however, she could more or less deduce what must have happened: The shadow creature had taken a beating, but judging by the traces of orange ichor still clinging to its wings and its shell, whatever opponent it faced had come out looking worse.

Even so, the little knight had not thought it worth the gamble of seeking out some opponent from which to draw soul in order to mend itself, and instead dragged its strained shell to this place of rest to wait for its wounds to heal on their own – it was a strategy that she, too, could at times afford because it took her body hours or days to mend what would have incapacitated others for weeks if not months.

If anything, the little creature would likely heal even faster than her, given its fully divine parentage.

This, however, did not change that it seemed to be in considerable distress right now.

It was not in any immediate danger – a few streaks of darkness had clearly been emanating from a sizable wound in its size, escaping in stray leaks between the tiny digits pressed to the crack, but the stuff was in no way evaporating en mass.

It would survive, and hence, the marks would fade given time, though at the moment, its condition would seem unpleasant enough that it had retreated here to rest, rather than taking the risk entailed in trying to go find somewhere to have a bath.

Even as Hornet drew closer, the small warrior showed no sign of being alarmed by her presence.

It would seem that in its mind, or whatever approximation of a mind it may have, it had wholly and completely assigned her to the status of ally rather than enemy.

With less and less grounds left to call it a foolish choice, she was having to begin to consider the possibility that she may have been handed an undeserved grace, a prospect that lead her to strange sensations stirring, softening and tensing in various places deep within.

Some parts of her didn’t like to be the recipient of mercy, almost an inferior, submissive position;

Others felt the pull of debt and were cautious of where she might be lead to, if she let herself follow that path.

Hardened, guarded places resented being touched, or rather, resented what wanted to yield and open and soften beneath the touch, to know a family’s warmth once again.

To give a family’s warmth, to one unjustly deprived of it – a natural, self-explanatory drive, a trade of mutual benefit, that would have made the most sense of anything in the world under any other thinkable circumstance, but under this one, the real one, the only one that mattered, it would fall to her to know better, finding herself cast in the role of the villain time and time again…

Or, at least, that of the executioner, the prosecutor, the angel of death.

All these different drives pulled at her, beckoning her into a plethora of different, contradictory directions. It averaged out to something, in the end, like those sums of directed forces one might have to consider when designing an engineering project.

She stepped closer to the bench, without outright touching it, keeping her gaze on the little knight, just as it kept looking at her, still not alarmed in the slightest.

“Little Ghost. I see you have incurred some battle-scars on your latest venture.”

She briefly considered telling it to be careful, but, if she did, would it assume that she was saying this chiefly because she did not wish the kingdom’s last remaining trump card against the infection to be risked? Clearly it knew what it was doing; It was experienced, skillful.

She had wrongfully underestimated its capabilities once before; She wasn’t planning on doing so again.

“At least, it would seem that your foe was left looking even worse.”

The little knight did nothing to confirm this, but it did not deny the result of her deduction, either.

It simply kept looking at her, listening patiently to what she might have to say.

“Would you like me to lend you a claw?”

It was silent in response, of course, but she still felt that she ought to best explain what she meant, just in case that silence was a puzzled one.

“Silk has some properties that can expedite the healing of wounds, the Soul-infused kind all the more so. I could hasten your recovery some, if you let me.”

At once, the small creature rose to its feet, still on the bench, likely to bring itself up to her height in order to make her work easier. She could not help but note that it held on to the backrest in the process, moving in brief, interrupted jerk-like motions, remaining just a little bent over for most of it. It was incapable of making any sounds of anguish – she knew not whether to think that a blessing or a curse. Most would think it a hindrance to asking for help or making one’s discomfort known and noticed, but if it were her, she thought she may have found it tempting, if it were physically impossible for her to betray any hint of weakness.

Only her keen attention for detail and long experience in searching living creatures of all sorts for vulnerable points allowed her to note much of its subtle distress – until it was done standing up, and swept aside its wings to reveal its injuries.

The wounds looked nasty, painful and deep enough that they would have been life-threatening if they had been inflicted on a mortal bug rather than a higher being.

On one such as the little knight, they might be expected to heal on their own without even a permanent mark, but they still could not be pleasant.

The small warrior seemed remarkably sure that she wasn’t just going to thrust her needle inside the crack and wrench its shell wide open.

Although, to be fair, she very much did not do this.

She had no reason to, and, all things considered, it must know this. That she needed it for her plan, for her kingdom. That she would not exactly be doing this out of the goodness of her heart.

It must have figured out by now, just what its parents did to it.

Did it think her harmless, on account of her mortal blood?

If so, it would not seem to come from any place of arrogance, by now she had seen it many times, sitting besides various residents or its fellow travelers, listening intently.

It might believe her to be closer in nature to its… friends?

Yes, by now she did think that it would be accurate to use that world.

Any other explanation was beginning to require more and more convoluted explanations;

This might be a case where the simplest explanation was the easiest.

The wanderer must have noticed, surely, that it was different in some ways from others on the surface, but it would not have any preconceived notions about what that meant. Besides, its void-touched nature made it different even from other higher beings.

Perhaps it was simply grateful to anyone who would listen to it, or at least saw no reason not return what kindness it might be shown.

It would not necessarily know how she was different from its other friends, other than being aware that they were related, which would incline most to be well-disposed towards another unless given solid reason otherwise.

“Brace yourself…” she warned it, once she was set up and ready.

For all its various useful properties, the one thing that nobody had ever figured out to do with Weaver silk is to have it act as a painkiller.

The little knight markedly clenched one of its claws around the backrest of the bench, but otherwise bore her intervention with impressive stoicism.

“You are more disciplined than you seem, to hold still like this even though its your very first time.”

she commented, “I hate to think what you must have endured, to be this used to bearing pain with a with a brave face.”

Its features, of course, remained as unreadable as ever.

“...is it better now?”

Thus prompted, the little knight stretched and moved around just a little bit, to confirm that her magic had worked to its satisfaction, or perhaps to demonstrate it to her.

Either way, its movement seemed much freer and far less cautious than just a moment before, so she supposed that the silk had done its trick just as it would on anyone else.

“I trust you already know where you might wash yourself off?”

It actually nodded for once.

“Good. And please be careful.”

That second string of words had slipped out before she knew it. All things considered, she did believe that the little knight was most likely to take it as being spoken as a relative’s benign concern, not as a princess lording over a strategic asset.

Maybe that would be yet another undeserved mercy.

(vi)

Eventually, the pair of them somehow grew familiar enough with, and casual enough about each other’s presence that she just ended up outright stating her concerns.

They were sitting at a bench together, at the time, one that had just happened to be conveniently placed when they both had use for it.

Hornet had been sitting with her legs crossed, her needle placed within arms reach, leaning against the metal of the seat.

The little knight had been idly bouncing its legs, which did not quite reach the floor when it sat in place. At first, both of them had been simply concerned with swapping out some of their equipment for the next steps of their respective plans – at least, she would assume that the same was true for her companion – but before long, the activity they were both engaged in had shifted to what might be described as a kind of restful coexistence.

Hornet suspected that the little ghost may have left and gone about its business a good while ago if it were not for her continued presence. Although strictly speaking, there was nothing stopping her from departing, either.

Somehow, she still ended up remaining.

Long enough for her companion to grow bored of its playful motions and begin to exhibit telltale signs that it might be about to doze off.

“In all honesty, I would not advise you to consider sleeping in such an exposed place.”

The little knight snapped out of its daze and affixed her with what she’d guess to be a curious look.

At least, it turned toward her and cocked its head a little.

“It’s hardly safe. You might be ambushed in your sleep. I would suggest that you be more vigilant.”

It seems it took her prompt seriously enough to look around some, turning its head lightly in various directions, but when it did not spy any obvious threat, it ended up looking back at her and shrugging.

“There might be no danger right now, but you don’t know when some may arrive, or what might be lurking in the dark without your knowledge.”

It shows off its nail, perhaps to display the intent to deal with such danger if, and only if, it were to materialize in fact.

Hornet didn’t rate her odds of convincing it very highly, so she simply leaned back in her seat with a sigh. “I do suppose you know what you are doing, I cannot imagine that this would be your first time traversing dangerous terrain. Still, I would urge you to exercise caution.

Perhaps a burrow, a small cave or an enclosed room would make a more suitable place to rest?”

Her companion did not seem too convinced.

It did not really seem or look like or appear to be expressing anything, really, but somehow she couldn’t shake the impression that, out of all the things that it was not, ‘convinced’ would be the least applicable. Like it was especially not convinced. Not convinced in particular.

Certainly not convinced, out of all possible things.

She felt almost like she was being gently poked fun at, so preposterous seemed the notion that it might be considered to be convinced.

“...are you meaning to imply that I am fretting, or being overly serious?”

The little knight’s small, rounded face looked every bit as blank and unreadable as ever, easily mistaken for the very picture of innocence.

“Well, I would have you know that I simply do not relish in the prospect of your getting eaten by some wild beast, or skewered by a shambling husk. It would seem an undignified and altogether unfitting end for a warrior of your caliber.”

Before she knew it, the little creature’s weight had come to rest against her shoulder.

It really didn’t seem to have a care in the world, least of all in her presence.

Did it feel safe with her?

It really, really shouldn’t.

Yet despite the lack of warmth, she must admit that there was something almost comforting about the sensation of its weight.

She’d have to be careful not to nod off herself.

(vii)

“You certainly do seem to have taken a liking to our kingdom’s public seating,”, she remarked, on another occasion.

They were in the city this time, the never-ending rain prattling about beyond a window.

Maybe that’s what got her in something of a mood, despite herself.

Many times she’d walked past this bench, let it blend into the background as just another object, relevant at most for the function it could provide.

Now, in trying to follow the thought of one who had seen it with fresh eyes and come to appreciate it, she found herself taking in the details of it for the first time in many, many years – the make of its wrought-iron curves, the particulars of its design.

Like all artifacts ever wrought, it could not help but reflect something of its maker.

At least, it was hard for her, in particular, to separate the art from the artist, maybe because of how that particular artist was inextricably linked to her own existence.

Especially not in this place, where everything bore his marks, the marks of his folly, his contradictions, his absurdities, his empty promises echoing forever in their irony.

Yet, the little knight beside her had clearly spent some time glancing out at the spires and arcades, the elegant spike-like ornaments on the roofs, as if it were some great wonder.

Perhaps it would seem a wonder, to one who didn’t understand it, who didn’t recognize how it all works, who lacked the skill to spot its flaws, because unlike her, it did not have the principles and ideas behind the designs explained to it in great detail by the maker himself.

Once upon a time, she might have been impressed by the architecture herself, though she should not be, a hot guilty secret sheltered in a young girl’s bosom.

These days, she knew better.

But her short companion did not, and turned to look at her when she made her comment, as if listening patiently for her to supply more of what it might consider to be her secret arcane insider-knowledge of Hallownest’s public benches.

It would have been easy to ignore this or brush this off, seeing as no actual, direct request was made, neither by word nor gesture, or any other means, but playing dumb was unbecoming of her, and besides would not have been very convincing.

The least she could do for the ill-fated creature… or rather, for such a brave and honorable volunteer, was to answer it as best as she could.

“I was actually present, in part, while father was sketching the design for this type of bench – at least, I recall seeing a sketch of it on one of his drawing boards.”

This information seemed to draw a clear response of surprise – or at least, a brief, but sudden movement of the head.

The little knight took a moment to climb down from the bench, so that it might observe it as a whole from a distance, casting a long, deliberate look at it.

Contemplating the metal in silence.

Was it trying to know its creator, in the only way it could anymore?

In the Greenpath, they say that their maker’s mind and nature is revealed in every leaf, bush and vine, that all the lush vegetation of their home bears some fragment of her image, therefore, to know and live in harmony was to know their maker, and to live in harmony with her will.

Those interested in communing with her were told to meditate upon the once opulent greenery of their home.

Was the little knight looking for its maker in the sharp spikes of the buildings? In the tall, ribbed windows, or the elegant curves of this little iron bench?

Surely by now it must have figured out the truth. It must know what its maker had done to it.

It must have realized that he was long, long gone, that there was nothing left to commune with but a fading, lingering afterglow.

Yet, it was still looking.

For what, she could not say. The answer would probably be complex. One cannot imagine that it would not be, under the circumstances.

“You might have heard that he was very concerned with civil engineering, but not just the large, monumental projects, in fact he would often stress the importance of small details like this, and how they can make crucial contributions to making a place desirable to live in.

There is their decorative value, of course, and having the benches match rather than detract from the aesthetic unity of the rest of the streets, but this is only the beginning of it.

For example, most of the citizens used to be mortals, so there would always be someone who happens to be elderly, or infirm, or crippled, or about to lay eggs… such bugs may struggle to fully take part in public life if they do not have enough opportunities to rest their weary shells.

It would not do for them to be excluded from public life.

The seats would also attract foot traffic to local businesses – much of the city’s populations were artisans or keepers of diverse little shops. There were guilds, as an incentive for quality control and good treatments, but it was thought important that every bug would have the opportunity to make use of their unique, individual talents for everyone to benefit.

Father thought that unity was important, but that it need not come at the expense of the individual.”

She realized, of course, the absurdity of reciting this to one of the few individuals for whom the vaunted King and Creator had deigned to make an exception.

Still, that was, in fact, what the dwellers in this city had believed, and she’d been asked to recite it, so, she kept going, as if speaking of some distant place that had nothing to do with her.

Sometimes it did feel like a dream, to think that these streets had ever been bustling with activity.

“...indeed he thought that the community would be served best if everyone pursued their own talents and inclinations, that which only they could give to others – and that an individual, in turn, would be the most fulfilled if they could be appreciated for that contribution, to see it make a difference and improve the lives of their fellow-creatures.”

She’d expected the little knight to be resentful, or maybe just bored with hearing of the particular delusions of some largely bygone culture, but when Hornet paused to look at it, she found its large, dark eyes regarding her with what seemed like particularly rapt attention, like it found all that talk of ‘purpose’ and ‘contribution’ somehow profound or resonant.

One supposes that many would, if they were told that some old platitude came from their long-lost homeland or a deceased parent they had never come to meet.

But she had spent so long making her peace with the possibility that most of what had ever come out of her father’s mouth had never been anything but self-serving hogwash, that her home wasn’t anything special, doomed from the start to end up buried in the sands of time.

To convince her small companion that there was something worth preserving even in its burnt-out ruin was to lead it to act against its own interests.

To be fair, she had made a valiant effort to chase it off with the point of her needle and, failing that, to impress upon it that it would not like the revelations it might find if it probed deeper, that it did not wish to know, and that nothing pleasant awaited on the other side of the discoveries it might come to. Even after they began working together, she always made sure to stress that the choice would be its own. That it didn’t have to do it.

Would that anyone had told that to the Pure Vessel – but it was of course far too late for that. She was only a little girl when it left on its dreadful mission.

Still, even given the option, the little Ghost had chosen to seek that truth, ostensibly of its own, free will. An admirable trait, really, to face the truth even when its unlikely to bring much comfort.

It wanted to know – Hornet supposed that she too would be curious if she were to find herself, for example, in the long-lost homeland of her mother’s people.

Of course, those in the Beast’s confidence, such as Vespa, Midwife and many among her staff and her warriors, had relayed to her rather insistent protestations that Hornet must never, ever go there. Not for anything. Not ever.

There was no time limit attached to that warning, which rather lead her to presume that the reason had something to do with whatever had soured her mother’s kinsfolk on the subject of Higher Beings… herself included, all things considered.

The tribe had claimed her, yes, but that claim was a hungry, grasping thing, and her actual belonging ever in question.

Nor did the schemes stop after her mother took up her post.

She would not call herself an orphan, not when she had so many looking out for her.

The little Ghost had been an orphan, for all that the White Lady still lived.

But this did not change that those who should have been her mother’s family – who should have been there for her in her absence – had mostly looked at her as a very useful, very promising abomination.

That alone should have taught her that sharing blood alone is no guarantee that one will experience actual kinship.

The creature in front of her was by all means a stranger. An enemy, just recently.

But it wanted to be her sibling, for some reason.

Maybe out the longing someone might amass while wandering so long on one’s own.

She hadn’t entertained such sentiments.

Nor had she wasted time moping or looking at herself as a victim, when she knew too well that she had been more fortunate than not.

Some might well be capable of wallowing and moping while living in a palace, but that was not the kind of person she’d wanted to be.

Instead, she had told herself that it’s only natural that she would be seen as a monster, since that was simply precisely what she was.

Of course, if she were a monster, then her small companion here would be a monster thrice-over.

And certainly a useful one, so very useful, perhaps the only thing that might grant her hopeless cause a feeble chance.

But she couldn’t see a monster.

Not even to begin with – at worst, she had suspected a pitiful tragedy, regrettable collateral of grim necessity.

Now, all she could see was someone who was trying to help. To be of use. To find some place for itself.

Who did she have more in common with?

Who did she want to have more in common with?

The little knight kept listening, so she kept talking.

“Another reason why public seating was thought important is because it fosters community. It allows for the citizens to exist in public without necessarily having to pay. In a small village or tribe, everyone usually knows each other, and everyone must work hard to ensure survival, but in a place like this city, it wouldn’t be the case – there could be a risk of people drifting apart from each other, each associating only to their kin or those they work with, or even becoming isolated altogether, or to live monotonous, sedentary lives that dull the mind and body, if they have no incentive to go about. A public space like this encourages people to mix, to know their neighbors and be engaged in their lives, to encounter those of different ages, ranks and professions – at the same time, they can also serve as a place for quiet reflection, and invite one to stay and appreciate the city, or the scenery and nature of wherever the seats are placed – not just the shops.

It is also a question of promoting a sense of safety.

We had guards patrolling the streets, of course, but actual safety and perceived safety can be very different matters. If the people know their neighbors and can assume them to be watching, they will be more comfortable letting their children play in the streets.

A seat like this communicates that a public space is a place to be and be welcome in, not just somewhere to walk through.

You may find that a surprising number of factors need to be taken into consideration when thinking about designing or placing a public bench – it needs to fit with the surrounding buildings to serve a location’s unique character, one must consider lighting, shade, sight-lines, spacing, the needs of many different bugs of different kinds, ages and sizes, the material must be easy to keep clean and resistant to wear and tear – that was a particular concern of father’s.

If some fixture of the infrastructure or machine part needed to be replaced every 100 years, he would consider that wasteful and ineffective. He would endeavor to plan for every eventuality, to preempt every possible point of failure, to make his designs last.

He could see the future, to some extent, so perhaps a bench that is going to fall apart might as well be moldering already, as far as he was concerned.”

That turned out to be the point at which she could no longer hold back a tired, weary sigh, or the slightest edge of sardonic bitterness bleeding into her voice.

“In truth, no matter how airtight one thinks their plan is, nobody can predict everything. I doubt he ever thought that one of his own children would ever end up sleeping on one of these benches.

That would be just one of the many, many testaments to his follies you can see all around us.

For all his grand talk of ‘unity’, I do not think that anyone has ever seen him sitting on one of these while he lived. He would said he would not need the rest, and the Lady along with many of his staff used to blame it on his reclusive temper, but I wonder sometimes if he simply thought it beneath him to be sitting there with everybody else, whatever he might say to the contrary.

Some might say that he must have been deluded, to think he could overcome time itself.

Nature always takes its due in the end… that much has been shown decisively.

In the end, all his silly little contraptions outlasted his kingdom. What good is a pretty piece of steel, with nobody to sit upon it?”

Before she knew it, she felt a light touch on her shoulder, through the folds of her cloak.

Only then did she realize that she had drifted far away from this present place and time.

It was obviously the little Knight who took a hold of her, having stepped close to her, looking somehow determined as it looked straight into her eyes, even though its face appeared as blank as ever.

Somehow, she had allowed this, without flinching away as it drew close, or reaching for her needle.

The creature grasped her intently, even firmly, insofar as its nubby little claws would allow, and then it lifted up its other claw once it could be sure to have her attention, uncovering the jagged, slightly raised bright mark branded upon its palm, ostensibly to convey its purpose.

‘This kingdom is now my responsibility as well’, perhaps, or maybe even ‘You are not alone in this anymore.’

For one sharp, fragile instant, she did not know what to do.

Gallant as ever, the little knight spared her from having to decide, since it didn’t take much longer for it to flop itself back down upon the bench.

It pointed at something else beyond the glass panes and the rain, presumably, something it would be interested in hearing about.

“Ah. That spire was actually not one of father’s, though many of the other architects would copy his style out of reverence. That much was not a strict requirement, although his approval was required for major projects, he would not allow anything that wasn’t up to code or which would disturb the overall aesthetic harmony of the city. It used to house the guild-houses for many of the artisans and traders, as well as some unions for laborers and servants….”

(viii)

“Ghost”, she spoke again.

By now, Hornet had been starting to think of that moniker as something much like the little knight’s name.

“Usually, I would not be opposed to keeping watch as you rest, but right now, I am somewhat exhausted myself and I cannot say with confidence that I would be capable of staying vigilant for as long as may be required. May I propose a compromise?”

Ghost’s interest was definitely piqued.

Strictly speaking, all it had done was to raise its eyes a little, but she would have been willing to make a bet.

A good thing, she supposed, since it increased the probability that it might listen.

It could be stubborn when it wanted to.

“Before I spotted you, I had already staked out a good place for my own use. It would not be too much additional work for me to spin a cocoon large enough for the both of us, and I’d rest easier knowing that you were not ambushed in your sleep. You may come with me for tonight, if that is acceptable to you.”

Hornet could have sworn that she detected just the slightest trace of reluctance – which was not unexpected, really. She was well aware that most bugs associated the presence of spiderweb with lethal danger rather than homely comfort.

Even brave, stoic, partly-eldritch knights are not, it seems, necessarily an exception.

A healthy, natural respect, really, that was perfectly reasonable to keep.

If anything it was a comforting sign to see that the little Ghost did possess a sense of self-preservation after all.

But it seems that its trust in her ultimately outweighed its apprehension.

Someone less observant or less familiar with it may not even have noticed the brief pause before it readily leapt up from its bench, by all accounts ready to follow her.

“After me. Take care to be quiet.”

She could have been leading it into a trap or an ambush, for all it knew, but if that possibility had crossed its mind at all, it must have judged the probability to be negligible.

To be fair, there would have been no signs of trickery for it to pick up upon, because none was intended.

She lead her companion to some denser patches of roots, shrubbery and foliage, where the pair of them would not be exposed out in the open.

At this point, she thought it safe to turn her back to it – she could mostly tell what it was doing from the subtle noise of its steps.

She only turned around when she heard it pause, to find that it must have been rummaging through… wherever it was that it kept its things, to produce a small, rounded lantern with a singular lumafly within. She had half a mind to object to such a move, as it could well draw unwanted attention, but a fraction of an instant later, the thought occurred that it was probably doing this for a reason.

Their surroundings were getting a bit dark, weren’t they?

Not too dark for her standards, but then again, she would have been used to the tunnels of Deepnest.

She had at times heard some surprise expressed when she charged ahead into certain rooms or areas without lamps or candles, so she would know that what was good visibility to her must not necessarily register as such to others.

Weavers were most at home in dark caves, but Ghost would obviously not share any such ancestry.

Having procured its little lamp, it looked at her, ready to proceed, probably wondering why she was still standing there staring at it holding what to most would be a completely unremarkable item.

In the hand of anyone else, it would be.

“I’m sorry, it’s just- I mean no offense. But – You are a creature made of living darkness. And I just realized you cannot see in the dark. That would seem to be yet another thing which father failed to predict.”

The little knight looked at her in silence.

“I’m sorry. I was merely making an observation. It does make sense that you wouldn’t be able to, all things considered – I doubt that either father or the Lady ever even experienced what it is to be in a dark place, seeing as they would, by their very natures, bring some measure of light wherever they go. I meant no disrespect. I would scarcely have the grounds for it either, considering that depending on who you ask, I am either a spider missing half her legs and most of her eyes, or a Pale Being with rather limited reserves of Soul.”

Ghost retorted, in a manner of speaking, by gesturing at the various verdant plants in its surroundings.

“…you’re not exactly wrong. Not to mention, the both of us make for some rather… compact wyrms.”

At this, it outright nodded, several times, in what she could only take as solemn, heartfelt commiseration over their shared vertical challenges.

“I’m three-hundred-and-twenty-six years old, and I still sometimes get asked if I am old enough to be drinking nectar!”

There was a shift in its attention when the number was mentioned. It paused, ever so subtly.

Then, its next action became quite noticeable, as it briefly mimed a counting motion with its free claw, and then proceeded to point at its own chest.

Oh.

Oh, of course.

It must not have had the faintest idea, having had no knowledge of its beginnings, nor any means by which to tell the time.

Yet another thing which civilized people took for granted that had been callously stripped from it.

This, at least, she could easily remedy:

“About ten years more for you, I would suppose. I wasn’t familiar with the specifics. As you might imagine, it was not exactly something which either father or the Lady were too inclined to talk about. I’m certain that I heard it mentioned that... the other Vessel, at least, was brought into the Palace in the springtime, so 337 would at least be a reasonable estimate.”

The little knight fell silent at this – well, more silent than usual, somehow, as if pausing to process this information, taking a moment to glance down at itself.

Then, some particular thought seemed to have occurred to it, causing it to glance back at Hornet.

“Of course I would be younger. Once mother would have received her… payment, that would have been the moment of no return, from which there could be no going back. She would have wanted to see some proof of concept first. Although, after all these years, it is but a negligible difference.”

The many weights of fate hung palpably between them, in that instant.

There was nothing to be done for it.

No way to change the past, and no means to say anything for certain of the future.

She proceeded to keep going, keep moving, stay focused on what needed doing.

There was a favorable fork in the branches of some shrubbery that had earlier seemed to her like a good, secluded spot for a cocoon to spend the night.

She ended up spending a bit more Soul than strictly necessary to speed up the process of spinning it; It would not do to keep guests waiting.

...how long had it been, since she could claim to have ‘guests’?

Or any sort of company at all.

It must be a three-digit number now, since she’d gone to bed with the last of her partners at her side, to find the venerable old warrior cold and stiff the next morning, gone in her sleep.

All things considered it was about as merciful as such a death could be, she hadn’t suffered a protracted illness, she was still going about without the need for a crutch the day before, although her marching days were long over.

She’d feared that Hornet might leave her,

She’d gone and buried her like all the others; There wasn’t a big blow-out, no moment of conscious decision that she could never do that again.

There was nothing new about it – she’d been used to being left behind ever since she was a little girl; Most of the times, there had not been much choice in it.

Next time she’d been tempted to pursue someone, she’d simply decided to pass on it, along with the inevitable end.

Even the other immortals involved had largely found some way or another to be removed from her life; This one would be no different; It was bound to leave as well, sooner rather than later, never mind that it had thus far endured for longer than she had.

It must have lost many cherished comrades over the years as well, maybe even recently; This kingdom was a dangerous place.

But that, too, she could not change.

Once she was done with the basic structure of the webbing and the actual cocoon, she hung up a few assorted amulets over the entrance, a hodgepodge of things sourced from various parts of the kingdom and its surrounding territories.

If parlor tricks like these could actually hold back the dream plague, neither of them would ever have come to exist in the first place, but they might at least add a few percentage points to the odds, which could make a crucial difference one of these days, especially now that the miasma hung heavier than ever over all remaining minds here.

She firmly prompted the little Knight to watch and pay close attention as she set up the traps in the perimeter, as she did not want it idly bumping into a pit filled with spikes first thing in the morning – it helped that it seemed somewhat fascinated by the mechanism, if not outright impressed.

(The two of them might, in fact, be related.)

Now, among the natives of Deepnest, a proper place to nest would be demarcated largely by ‘natural’ factors like a stable roof, appropriate moisture, being in a safe, defensible dark place – that sort of thing. Families would huddle in a pile for warmth, though it was not unusual for someone to stay with their close friends or others in their profession.

The goal was to stay safe and warm. Some of the larger dwellings in the village would be subdivided into private rooms, but some inhabitants were perfectly content to occupy some hidey-hole out in the tunnels – many had dispersed far out back when the plague hit. If the infection had been a more conventional disease, that might have saved them.

Among the Weavers, however, perching order had been serious business, governed by rank, seniority and a couple of other rules besides some of which would have been hard to even explain to an outsider. The highest spot is usually reserved for the head steward of a given settlement – or the queen, if there is one.

While her mother yet reigned, Hornet had shared her spot whenever they had stayed among her kin, or taken one close beneath her, once she’d had the skill to see to the required webbing herself.

After the Beast left for her eternal duty, however… well.

A princess could certainly claim the top spot if there is no queen. But one such as herself, in the top spot? That could have been controversial – and some of the sorts in favor were more dubious in their intent than those against.

Would it be taken as undermining the head steward, as a challenge, even?

In the olden days, a challenge of rank meant a duel to the death, upon which the winner may consume the loser. To be spared was once thought the worst fate, as it was tantamount to stating that the loser had no powers worth the taking, and one so embarrassed would often provoke further fighting to seek a dignified end.

It was one of the things that Herrah had changed, even before their arrival in these new lands. One such as her could get away with that, without being thought soft or weak; She knew to make herself respected, even feared, without however trampling other’s pride or dignity to the point of earning their hatred. She had been tough, but fair – and no less tough as an act to follow.

The first time that Hornet stayed in the den of her tribe after her mother’s departure, she’d stashed herself in whatever lowly corner had been assigned to the other half-blood youths.

She’d known well that her mother had only seen value in the tradition in so far as it could prevent a disorderly scramble and was by no means wedded to its principles, and if asked, she would have insisted that there was no insult in residing with her fellow youths, unbowed even then – and she did believe that, truly, but the shift in the perspective from which she got to look out at the great common hall certainly did its part to rub in the loss of her mother.

Some of the most solitary nights of her youth had been spent in that great, communal hall.

Rarely was a spot ever shared – mated pairs might do so at times, or new mothers with freshly hatched young. On that latter occasion, it would have been expected for siblings to nest together, but that was considered to be for young children.

Certainly, herself and Ghost would have been accounted far too old. Much debate might have ensued to adjudicate who should rank higher, and it would have gotten ugly.

Though, of course, lineage was counted preferentially on the maternal side, so, if she had brought it with her as a guest (in some excessively improbable what-if where they would actually have known each other as children), it might well have been turned out the gate and told to go find itself a pile of compost, or wherever it was that half plant, half wyrm creatures were supposed to go.

Sure, she could have pulled rank, or caste, or lineage, or any other dozen things, she could have challenged then and there and would likely have been able to eke out a victory against some of those gossipy whisperers even as an adolescent, but that would just validate their view of the world.

She could have, she would have been really damn tempted, but she would not give them that satisfaction…

It did not matter what they would have though, anyways. Those particular spiders were long gone, probably perished somewhere faraway. One hopes they were victorious in taking back their homeland, but there isn’t much grounds for optimism.

She missed them, too, in the end, despite everything.

Once her work was done, Hornet leapt up into her temporary abode and held up a claw to help her sibling bridge the gap.

She helped them climb inside, and watched as it deposited its trusty little lamp in a corner of the small elliptical space, pausing to throw the lumafly a piece of fruit as compensation for its heroic services as a nightlight.

If she had to guess, she’d think the little Knight seemed almost jaunty at the prospect of this improvised sleepover, enough so for the heaviness of that earlier moment to have been dispelled.

Ghost must be trying to focus on the present as well, and Hornet did appreciate this.

Belatedly, it occurred to her that she probably ought to express this before it was too late.

“I wish to let you know that I am grateful that you choose to keep me company today.”

There was no great mystery about the meaning of the swift, little nod that ensued.

It wasted no time in flopping onto its side and curling into the tiniest little ball of amorphous darkness.

She had expected that it would be hard to get used to sleeping in the company of another after so long. It seemed only natural than one would struggle to let down one’s guard, especially with a former enemy.

Instead, she had the most restful, dreamless sleep she’d known in years.

Although, one must suppose that it should not seem so strange to feel safe with one’s family.

(ix)

There was still something rather bothersome, about the sight of it sleeping on those benches.

She couldn’t help but feel that there was something rather forlorn-looking about its little form.

Something just irked her.

Perhaps it was more about her than it was about Ghost.

It was going to keep doing what it was going to do, and that included napping wherever it pleased, but she still felt she ought to do something about it.

Her claws would not stay idle.

There was that awful meddlesome part of her that threatened to put herself in charge of a problem if nobody else was going to do it.

The project began as a little something to occupy her restless claws while keeping watch on her patrols, but before she knew it, it had grown and expanded into something rather substantial.

Something she could fold up and bring with her, in case she were to encounter her long-lost sibling once again.

She didn’t even wait to find it on a bench – any sighting would do.

Descending from one long bright string, she made a point of setting herself down right in front of it, so as to have its attention right away.

Her sibling looked up at her with some surprise.

It was not that common for her to outright seek it out.

But right now, she would not be deterred in her purpose.

“Ghost,” she stated, serious and deliberate in her words.

“I wish for you to have something.”

She ceremoniously proceeded to unclasp one of her bags, removing the single object that had been stored inside it – something like a shimmering white cloth, once neatly folded, but slightly crumpled from the transport.

“I must still advise you that I find your habit of napping on public benches to be somewhat unwise, but in the end, the choice is yours – clearly, you are a capable and seasoned traveler with experience beyond my own. But if you are going to be sleeping out in the wilderness, I would find it reassuring to know that you at least have something to cover yourself with.

Hence, I procured this for you. It is yours to do with as you please.”

As she explained that last part, she unfolded the token in question so that its intended recipient could inspect it.

For the most part, it was of a silky, shimmery surface, although the threads used to to sew together the seams and add some elegant embroidering had been treated with the same red dye that she used in most of her work, a pigment derived from a shellfish particular to Deepnest’s subterranean lake.

Among the artful patterns were some in likeness of stars, which boasted of a faint, pale glow – these somewhat drew the little knight’s attention.

It poked at them curiously with its nubby digits.

“I’ve imbued this with my light”, she explained, “I am only able to do that in fairly limited quantities, but it should suffice for the purpose of providing you with some modest comfort in dark places.”

The Little Ghost continued to look at it carefully from all sides, seeming to take note of small intricacies in the sewing, pausing here and there to feel the material, stretching it, touching it, looking at its texture in the light.

It might be supposed that this could be taken as appreciation. Certainly definite interest.

She would hazard a guess that this wasn’t its first time receiving a gift, even a precious one – she’d witnessed its typical actions for a while now, and it largely followed along its solitary paths, pursuing its purposes, or just exploring what lay ahead in careful, meandering paths, it would not hesitate to stop along its path to help someone in need, or just to listen to whoever it might encounter on the way as yet another subject of curiosity. Acting in this way would tend to spark appreciation once in a while.

She certainly did not begin her work in the expectation that it would smile, or jump for joy, let alone say ‘thank you’. It was what it was – she liked to think she had the wisdom to respect it as such.

Besides, it did seem to be taking its time to study its newest possession thoroughly.

It would not be a stretch to take that as appreciation.

A strange, warm feeling long forgotten alighted tentatively in the core of her, as a delicate, rosy bud after a long, bitter winter, terribly out of place among the harsh frost.

It did not suit her at all.

Even so, her long-lost sibling folded up the first and only gift she would manage to bring it, and put it away, wherever ‘away’ was.

(x)

The next time Hornet caught her sibling resting on a bench, she noticed that it had, for once, curled up on its side, shielded from the metal of the bench by the wrapping itself in the gift she had granted it, all bundled up except for the lengths of its horns sticking out at the top.

Despite herself, she couldn’t escape the ridiculous, unbidden thought that the sight was downright adorable.

It might be a Higher Being, it might be an artificial construct composed of eldritch primordial darkness, welded to its undead shell only by their father’s sorcery, it might be a masterful warrior of unmatched skill with the nail… but still. So cute.

Like the tiniest little dumpling of doom.

She realized then that she was going to miss it terribly once it would come to be absent from the kingdom’s many benches, just like everybody else.