Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Carrying water was hard.

Of course it was. It was a heavy liquid that jolted and moved with every single step you took. You had to stand very straight and make sure that you had an even gait. If you started to tip over even just a little bit then you had to use all of your core muscles to straighten back up.

Not to mention the bruises that came from the bar across your shoulders. The wood wasn’t kind to skin, but it was better than having shoulders and elbows straining at the joints.

Carrying water was hard, and doing it in the dragging cloak and mask Mary wore didn’t make it any easier.

But better discomfort than mobs. Mary thought as she eyed the passing bugs next to her through the slits in her mask.

Mary kept her head down as she continued to trudge forward, passing the various travelers on these cross roads without acknowledging their friendly nods. They weren’t too bothered by her lack of response. They knew how hard it was to carry water.

Mary had become a regular sight to these bugs, making her steady way to and from the hot springs. She was the one who carried water to the farming village ever since the pipe to the blue lake had been damaged.

The gruz, fat flying creatures that tasted like shrimp, needed more water than a regular bug. And before they had been supplied with the simple twist of a faucet, but after some accident that Mary still didn’t know the details of, the pipe had been too damaged to use or be easily fixed. A few farmers had to start carrying water from the nearest hot spring to the troughs, but not only was it hard work but it took hands away from the other time sensitive jobs that were around the farm.

It was pure luck that Mary had been in a hot spring drinking what she could when the bugs had arrived with their buckets. Their loud complaints and groaning had drawn her attention. The halfhearted offer of a meal in exchange for help had been all the incentive that starving girl had needed to lend a hand.

That had been weeks ago, and now she was a regular sight in the village and on the roads.

As Mary carried her buckets of water, she took a sharp turn from the narrow roads of the crossways and into an open room in the cave system. Lanterns on poles filled with ‘luma-flies’ dotted the open paths every ten or so feet, giving off plenty of light to see from and brightening it enough to give off the impression of an early morning or late afternoon, a grayish quality to the surroundings but plenty light.

Mary walked down the main street, the bugs dodging around her as they went about their business. Stalls on the sides of the road selling food or trinkets. The town was too small to have a building dedicated to a shop, building supplies to expense to be brought down, so everything was displayed on woven mats on the ground or small tables. It was odd to think that wood was a hot item. Strange to her that a small town like this place would have more things made from carved stone and metal than wood.

But it made sense, being underground and all what materials were more readily available.

As Mary passed the gruz farm’s gate another farm worker nodded at her from where he was carrying his own burden of plants for the gruz to eat.

Mary’s eyes caught on the shine of his carapace from the movement even as she continued past.

It was the shine that always made her remember that she was amongst creatures that were not her own kind. It was common here for bugs to shine their hard outer shells till light reflected off of them, Mary imagined it was their version of makeup or a show of being clean.

Mary had never noticed how . . . matte she was as a mammal until she was surrounded by creatures that reflected light so much. The villagers rarely wore more than an opened cloak or a bandana to protect their antennas from the bouncing gruz newborns, so Mary was often surrounded by reflected light despite the dark caverns.

It always made Mary worry that she was too obvious with her cloaked figure and mask. She had seen other masked bugs, and even a few that wore as much fabric as she did, but they were often few and far between. Not to mention more exotically shaped than the common bugs that scurried around the crossroads.

But so far no one had mentioned the fact that she wore a mask and cloak at all times.

The villagers were very friendly despite the fact that they didn’t know her name, where she came from, or what she looked like under her thick dark fabric. And that’s exactly how Mary wanted to keep it. She wasn’t sure how the kind villagers would respond to seeing what she looked like, but if they had any response like the first sentient bug she ever came in contact with then she didn’t want a repeat.

Mary was startled from her unhappy memories as a small bug ran toward her before skidding to a stop a bare few inches from her cloaked legs. All of the villagers knew that she did not want to be touched and that she would go to great lengths to keep it from happening. So far everyone had been very accommodating, probably thinking that it was some sort of quirk of her unknown species.

“Ma’am! Ma’am! Are you done? Come tell us stories!” The child bounced, it’s antenna shaking in anticipation as they stared up at her in hope.

It was one of the farmer’s many children. Mary had been terrified when she had first arrived, shying from all contact and stuttering out excuses, trying to keep her contact with these creatures as short and as infrequent as possible. But as the days went on and she continued to sleep unmolested in a small shack at the edge of the village she had relaxed and loosened up.

She had spoken to the other farmhands more, began to stick around when gossip was being shared, and on the days when she helped sort the gruz feed she chipped into the conversation to relieve the boredom from the simple work.

Mary still remembered the day that she had told a modified version of the story of “A bugs life” to the other workers. They had been entertained, but it was only when Mary had turned around to see the crowd of children behind her that she had realized her story was greatly enjoyed. The kids of the village had latched onto her the moment that they learned that she was an untapped well of stories. Disney having filled her mind with many time wasting stories that could be very simply changed to entertain the baby bugs that lived in the village. The kids had hounded her for stories every day since then, and she had been happy to deliver.

“I still need to put the water in the trough, but I’ll be around in a moment. Gather the others and I’ll come soon.”

The little baby bug shrieked in happiness as they ran off to collect their siblings and friends for another story time. The surrounding bugs all chuckled as they watched the interaction. One of them, an insect with a rounder shell than the others called out to her, “Are you not out of stories yet there Storyteller? You’ve been entertaining the hatchlings ever since you first came here! Will the well ever run dry?”

His words caused the surrounding bugs to laugh, and she chuckled with them even as she continued on her way. She still wasn’t very comfortable speaking to the adult bugs of the village.

She knew that she made mistakes when she spoke, used vernacular and words that wouldn’t make sense to insects. The one time she had used the word ‘skin’ had been met with confusion and questions that were hard to answer, but she had managed to play it off as a word from her distant homeland.

Children were easier. If she stumbled and used a word that they didn’t understand, then they would just accept that it was a word that they simply hadn’t learned yet. By talking to them, she was getting better at thinking through what she said, but she was sure that there would always be things that she would stumble over.

As Mary finished pouring water into the troughs for the gruz, she wondered if she could perhaps change around Sleeping Beauty enough for the children to understand, or if it would be too difficult to turn the story into something for bugs.

“ . . . and they lived happily ever after. The end.”

The hatchlings were all in a tizzy after the story. All of them turning to a friend of a favorite sibling as their antenna’s wiggles in the air in excitement.  The story had everything that all young children loved. Beautiful princesses, dashing knights, magic and sword fights! So what if she had to keep stumbling over the words nail and soul when the hero slayed the monster? So what if she had to describe the pristine sheen of a carapace instead of handsome face? So what if the princess had glittering wings instead of flowing hair? As long as the children were happy.

“One day I’m going to go on an adventure like that!”

“I want to fight with a nail one day, and save a princess!”

“Wasn’t it scary for her to sleep that long? Wasn’t she afraid of dreams?”

The children all quieted down at the words of that child, a light gray little creature who was nervously twisting a bendy plant in their hands, a somber mood taking over the group.

Mary frowned behind her mask. She still didn’t understand what these villiager’s had against sleep and dreams. They would try to stay up as late as they could, and whispered to each other about how so-an-so had been infected with ‘the dream’.

Mary had assumed that it was something like a superstition or maybe just an euphemism for something else, just to gentle the conversation for the children. But it had made all of the kids afraid to sleep at night and have nightmares. Even right now, she could see the signs of exhaustion in the kids, half closed eyes and drooping antenna.

Maybe some old tricks from babysitting in her teen years could work here. But these kids were afraid of dreams, not monsters in their closets. She couldn’t just get a spray bottle, put some menthol and water in it and tell the kid that it was Anti-monster spray.

But as she looked at the child and the bendy little plant in their hands, a hardy little thing that grew numerous in the cracks of the cave floor, she had an idea.

“Would you like for me to make you a dream catcher?”

Her words cut through the somber air. She once more had the attention of the children.

“A what?”

Mary reached out, her hand covered in the cloth of her cloak as she plucked the plant from the child’s fingers. She began to bend it in a circle, winding the long plant over and over again to keep it in place. “A dream catcher. It’s a special bit of magic to catch dreams and nightmares as you sleep. They can be made from anything!”

The kids all clustered around as they watched her wind the plant. She finished off her circle with a knot and was happy as it stayed in place. Mary then ruffled around the hem of her cloak to find a loose thread. It wasn’t hard with how tattered her cloak was, and she carefully pulled it free, her hands made a bit clumsy with how she had to do it through her cloaks’ fabric, but soon she was crisscrossing the string over her hoop of plant. “Dreams are things that fly and can be easily tangled in nets and webs. If you hang one above where you sleep then the dreams will get stuck in the thread. Because dreams can only exist in your heads, if you wake up before they can get in they have to return from whence they came.”

Mary tied the last knot and looked upon her hoop. It looked nothing like the dream catchers from her memories, but it didn’t have to. She gently handed the ugly hoop the child who had asked the question about dreams.

The child took it reverently, staring at the handy craft in its grip like it was the answer to all of their sleepless nights. But as always with children, more questions came.

“How do I work the magic? I don’t know how to do magic, I’m too little.”

“Don’t worry, the magic of a dreamcatcher comes from the intent behind it. It’s made with affection and then given away with concern. You only have to name it! If you give it at name then it learns that it is your dreamcatcher. It won’t work if it’s sold, stolen or if you make it yourself. You can only give them away or receive them because it’s the feelings of the giver and the receiver that give it power.”

There was a quiet moment where all the children looked at the hoop with awe, and then she was rushed by the kids all begging for a hoop of their own. Mary was nearly overwhelmed, only their good manners keeping them from crawling all over her as she laughed and began to wind more plants and pick off more threads inviting the children to learn how to do it themselves.

Surely this little trick would help them not have bad dreams, it’s more in the belief than it is the item.

Mary returned to her cottage, hands sore and cramping from making a dozen dreamcatchers for the children.

Mary lived in a little round looking shack on the edge of town, styled like a large stone egg. It had a low door that she had to duck a bit to enter an a single small window.

It was too small for any more than a single occupant and had been emptied a few years ago when the bachelor living there had gotten married. It had been offered to her for the night after her first job carrying water. She had been obviously exhausted and stuffed full of food, about to just sit next to a wall and pass out. Mary remembered her first paranoid night here. She had slept in her cloak with her mask in front of her and her back to the door and window.

The cottage had formerly had nothing more than a single wooden platform to sleep on. But now with her having taken up a permanent residence for the last few months, her habit of collecting things has filled it with a slew of rubbish. Pretty rocks, sticks of the perfect size, every kind of string that she could find, and all of the fabric that she could get her hands on.

She had curtains in front of her window now and lots of fabric hanging from the walls to help insulate her small room.

The caves were cold, and while it wasn’t enough to freeze her, it wasn’t comfortable unless she was wrapped in her cloak, and she needed to take it off to at least clean it.

Mary had managed to make some kind of rudimentary underwear despite not being able to sew anything. There was no needle to be found that wasn’t a weapon of some kind.

For her breasts, she just draped a wide cloth around her neck and tied it under her boobs. Anything to keep them from bouncing as she walked. She was too stacked for that to be anything but painful.

As for her underwear, it was really nothing more than a loin cloth held up by a braided of cloth tied around her waist to keep it from sliding down. She had to keep tying it tighter and tighter, the hard work making her lose weight too quickly to be healthy, not to mention her only ever eating gruz. She was already sick of its shrimpy taste and would kill for some vegetables. Her boobs were even starting to shrink, falling out of the sling while she was walking and making it an uncomfortable time back.

She hung her cloak and mask in the hooks hanging from her ceiling and flopped down on her messy nest of fabric that served as her bed. She stared at the celling for a bit before she heaved a sigh.

Nights were the worst. She didn’t want to leave her home to go and explore the cavern when it was emptier. Just like on the surface, it was dangerous to be alone at night, doubly so if you didn’t even have a weapon. But she didn’t have anything to do this late. She was still so used to staying up at night and reading or playing games or just! Doing anything else but sleeping instantly!

“Haa, of course it would be the lack of entertainment that would get me. I managed to adjust to the weird outhouses, bathing out of the buckets I lug to my room, and going around in a huge cloak while also feeling like I’m about to flash someone, but it’s the boredom that gets to me.”

Mary groaned as she pressed her palms to her eyes and rubbed them. She needed to sleep. There were no alarms here, and the faster she got used to getting up in the early morning the faster she would become used to sleeping early. But it was so hard!

“ . . . once upon a time, in a land far far away . . .”  Mary laid on her back as she muttered the words, deciding to practice a new story for the children tomorrow.

“There was a kingdom in tunnels and caves. Where bugs walked on two feet and spoke to each other. They were scary and kind at the same time. They were afraid of dreams and loved to hear stories. One day a bug who wasn’t really a bug wandered in lost and confused . . .”

Mary’s eyes were closed and her breathing had evened out. Sleep claimed the lost mammal in this bug’s nest.

She did not dream.

Chapter Text

Mary hadn’t thought much of it when she taught the children how to make dream catchers but apparently they had been embraced whole heartedly by the entire town.

They began to pop up all around the village. One could hardly look in a window without seeing a cluster of them hanging from the ceiling in the room beyond. There were even dreamcatchers hanging in the gruz pens! As if the simple minded creatures needed protection from their nightmares!

A few bugs had come to her home nervously and had requested a dreamcatcher from her. Mary had always given one to them, at first thinking that they were too embarrassed to ask a friend for something so childish, but as more and more of her handmade dreamcatchers were requested she had begun to think that something was up.

 As the days passed, more and more dreamcatchers appeared, lining the windows of the village, dangling from the lights and corners of the houses. They were even decorating the sides of the carts that carried the gruz meat to places unknown. The carts came back every time picked clean of meat and dreamcatchers. The villagers went out of their way to assure Mary that they never took payment and always gave them away.

More bugs began to greet her in the village as well, strangers to the little town who came to buy gruz or to simply stare in awe at the town entirely covered in hooped reeds and string. The traveling bugs calling her Storyteller with more respect than she had ever been addressed with. Where once it was a placeholder for a name, now it was a title.

Mary had no idea what the hell was going on, but she just continued to do her job, nod at these odd bugs who stared at her, and to tell stories to the hatchlings after she delivered the last of the water to the trough.

But it wasn’t just hatchlings anymore. Now a days more and more of the villagers all shuffled down to the little open place that she entertained the children and listened seriously as she told stories about heroes and monsters. They would come up to her after the story and ask about its meaning.

And well, most stories did have a moral, a little something to teach the listener, but when she told it to these bugs them all seemed to think that she was some kind of wise sage giving pearls of wisdom.

It had only all clicked for her when there had been a panic at the gruz pens.

It had been a slow day, time passing like molasses. There had been no visiting bugs in the village today, so Mary had been lulled into a false sense of security.

She had been in the middle of telling the story of The Princess and the Pea, changed to the poppy seed to make it more sensible, when a harried bug had come running from the farm yelling her title.

Mary had stopped in confusion, getting up from the ground as she began to grow concerned.

“What? What’s wrong?”

The bug huffed, his sides expanding with ominous creaks as he caught his breath, “In-infection in the gruz pens, please come!”

Mary’s heart rate picked up. An infection?

She had heard the talk about it, but had it entered the town? The gruz were always kept in the pens, how would they have come into contact with the disease.

Mary began to rush to the pens, pushing her cloak forward with her arms to keep from tripping as she ran over what she knew about treating illness in her mind.

Was it feed a fever, starve a cold? Did they have anything to disinfect wounds? Was it more like a sneezing sickness or a vomiting sickness? Would any of her knowledge even work on bugs?

And why had they thought she would know anything in the first place!

When Mary finally made it to the crowd surrounding the pens, the bugs all moved out of her way so that she could see what held their attention. One of the farms hands was speaking panickily to the boss, who was wringing his hands.

“I swear I checked them all this morning! None of them had been moving slow or had a hint of infection! It was only when I came to feed them this afternoon that I saw that one of them had been asleep. When I had nudged it, I saw it’s eyes. It wasn’t infected earlier! I swear!”

The boss’s antennas pressed close to his head, “Are you saying that it came on so suddenly? In only a few hours? We get days of warning! Either you skipped out on your duties, or the infection is getting faster, so you better pick your truth and stick with it boy.”

Mary pressed past the frantic pair and peered into the pen. At first she didn’t see what was wrong, the gruzlings simply buzzing thorough the air bouncing off of any surface they touched, the metal mesh keeping them from bouncing through the cave. But then orange drew her attention to one in particular.

It wasn’t acting any different from the others, perhaps being fatter than it’s siblings, but it’s eyes had a sick sheen, like a film over the bulbous organs. As she followed that one with her eyes, she listened to the murmur of the crowd behind her.

“ . . . usually after sleeping for the night, if a nap is long enough . . .”

“ . . . it’ll start to swell quickly . . .”

“ . . . dripping that disgusting pus! Who will . . .”

“ . . . damn things burst if you don’t kill it early . . .”

 “The others will get infected if we don’t remove it soon.”

At these murmured words a number of things suddenly made sense to Mary.

The infection that the villagers were afraid of must be a disease that took a night to incubate. Bugs would go to sleep and wake up with an orange sheen in their eyes. And from what she heard from the tidbits she caught, it was a fast downhill spiral to a messy leaky body.

But  . . . this was a disease that affected bugs. And she had never heard of a disease that got bugs sick affecting mammals. Bugs spreading disease sure, but not a ladybug flu or anything.

Mary would bet good geo that she couldn’t get this infection, not when she wasn’t even a bug.

With this in mind, Mary quickly unlatched the gate and slipped into the pen.

The bugs behind her had gotten a little louder at her action, but someone had to get the infected insect out of the pen, and she might as well be the one to do it.

Mary reached and grabbed the net used for catching gruzlings. It was awkward to hold, her cloak getting in the way of the grip, and she couldn’t lift it too high without showing her legs. but Mary was patient and it didn’t take long for the infected gruzling to bounce toward her at a height she could easily catch with the net.

With no struggle at all she had contained the diseased livestock and was making her way back to the pen’s door. It was opened for her and she quickly went through before one of the gruzlings could bounce out.

Mary took it away from the pen and the crowd followed behind. It would be a bad idea to taint the place where they butchered the gruz, so it would be best to just pick a spot away from the houses and the places where the children played. So she walked till she was at the back of the cave where the walls made a corner.

Mary kneeled to the ground. Her cloak softening the rocky cave floor for her knees as she took the gruzling out of the net. Mary used her spare hand to keep it’s body pressed to the ground as it’s little wings buzzed.

It felt odd. The gruzling had looked fat while in the air, but now touching it with her covered hands she could feel how the segments seemed to be swollen with fluid. The body easily distending under the pressure of her hand.

It was disgusting, but she would deal.

Mary stared down at the gruzling. She hadn’t killed one before, not having the stomach for it, and even now she didn’t want to kill it. But she wasn’t a doctor, and these bugs didn’t know a cure. A quick death was all that she could give it now.

“ . . . give me a nail.” She whispered, knowing that one of these bugs surely had something on them. The caverns weren’t always safe even if the town seemed to be.

There was some movement in the crowd before one of the villagers came forward with a short nail. It was gunmetal gray and looked more like a steak knife with a hilt, but it didn’t have to be pretty or elegant to kill.

Mary reached for it, only for the villager to shake their head and drop to their knees. “You don’t kill Storyteller, and we won’t make you start here.”

They raised the nail over their head, antennas buzzing in nerves as they prepared themselves. It was no grand thing to kill a gruzling, but it was nerve wracking to deal with the infection. Even like this.

Mary gave a nod, relived that she wouldn’t have to do it herself even if she was still vaguely nauseous to be holding the creature that was soon to die.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

The villager nodded before taking a breath and saying, “May you dream no more.”

And they slammed the nail down.

It was like cutting into a soft boiled egg, the skin splitting easily while thick orange goo oozed out from around the stabbing nail. The gruzling barely twitched, dying instantly as it’s nerves were expertly severed by the villager. It was a much swifter death than anything that Mary would have managed. But as the villager removed their now orange slicked nail from the corpse and Mary let go of it, there was a new problem.

A diseased dead gruzling seemed like almost as much as a problem as a diseased living gruzling. But if there was one thing she knew, it was that heat could get rid of most bacteria.

“Collect dried plants, we should burn the body.”

The villagers all did as she said, quickly collecting the dead stalks of the plants that grew plentiful in the caverns.

In no time at all there was small fire, just big enough to burn the gruzling to a crisp. The villagers had multiplied as the news of the infection spread and now the whole town was watching the body burn.

Mary wasn’t sure what to do, it seemed like a somber event, almost like a funeral.

A bug walked up beside her, Mary looked over to see it was the boss. He was watching the fire, his antenna pushed forward toward the crackling light.

He heaved a sigh, his body slumping before saying, “I had hoped that the dreamcatchers would protect the gruz. But I suppose that it was too much to ask wasn’t it? They had no minds gifted from the Pale King, and couldn’t name the dreamcatchers. It was a lost cause from the beginning.”

Mary looked at him in confusion. What did the dreamcatchers have to do with the gruz? Did the bugs here think that the little handicraft made of string and weeds actually protected them from this disease?

Mary wanted to tell them that it was useless, that it was just a knick-knack and didn’t have any real protective properties at all. But just as she opened her mouth, a child whimpered and raised its arms to be held by its parent.

Mary closed her mouth and turned her masked face back to the fire. They were already in a scary situation. Might as well let them sleep easy at night thinking that their nightmares were held at bay by such a simple charm. But, perhaps once she could get the boss alone she could clarify the fact that the dreamcatchers were useless against any threats not coming from one’s own mind.

By the time the fire finally burned out. The gruzling was nothing more than a charred hunk of coal, the only orange coming from the slowly dying embers.

The villagers finally dispersed, and went back to their homes or continued to finish up the last of their chores.

Mary went back to her little shack of a home smelling like burnt shrimp and smoke.

When she removed the mask to sleep, she saw that there was a single dot of dried orange marring the white. A single fleck of infection right next to the thin slits that served as her eyes. Just a few centimeters to the side, and it might have gone directly into her eye.

The drop was easily whipped off the white and the cloth was burned by the single candle lighting her dark little home.

Mary had nightmares that night. Of frantically running from a slow creeping flood of glowing orange fluid, and getting nowhere as it slowly engulfed her.

Knock, Knock, Knock.

?

Knock, knock.

Oh, someone’s at the door.

Mary stumbled to her feet, heading straight to her cloak and mask. “I’ll be right there, just hold on!”

She struggled into her cloak, popping her head into the hood made for it, and then firmly fit the mask over her head, making sure all of her hair was inside of the fabric and readjusted her tits back into their sling.

She was quick to get herself back together and she opened the door, expecting to see one of the children having been sent to wake her up to join the other water carriers.

Instead she came face to chest with another bug.

Mary froze. She slowly tilted her head up and up until she was finally looking up at the face of the bug towering over her. He seemed to be adorned in armor and was wider than she was tall.

“Are you the one they call Storyteller?” The voice was deep and brassy with an odd accent, very different from the bugs around the village. This bug was obviously a different species than the other bugs around here, and Mary had no idea what was going on.

“I . . .  am I in trouble?”

The bug’s eyes squinted down at her, seeming to be confused at her question. “Why do you think you would be in trouble?”

Mary was immediately embarrassed, thankful once again for the mask that protected her. Not only a tool for disguising your mammal-ness, also very useful for hiding how embarrassed you are!

“I-I’m sorry, it’s just that  . . . never mind. Yes, the villagers here call me Storyteller. Do you need something from me? A dreamcatcher perhaps?”

Please just want a dreamcatcher.

The bug seemed to straighten up to an even greater height and began to speak with the specific type of rhythm of someone reciting something from memory.

“The Pale King-“

Who?

“-orders that you come to the palace grounds-

Where?

-to have an audience with the court.”

Mary was dumbstruck. The bug king wanted to see her? There was a palace? There was a court? Why the hell did they want to talk to her? Could she run?

The bug might have been able to sense her thoughts because he stepped to the side and showed the numerous other smaller armored bugs that had been standing behind him, blocked from her sight by his girth.

“We have been sent to escort you. We will be leaving immediately.”

“ . . . what the fuck?”

Mary was still in a complete daze as she sat between two of the smaller guards on a bench, waiting for the king to see her. Mary knew that the trip had taken hours. She had been surrounded by the armored bugs the entire time, and hadn’t been able to see much on the trip. She had been shuffled into a tram, the back of a beetle, and in an elevator before finally crossing a huge bridge and brought into a huge pristinely white palace.

Early on in the trip she had managed to politely request that they don’t touch her and they had respected that all the while sticking as close as possible to her. As far she managed to get out of them, they had been sent to find her working off her cloaked description and the title “Storyteller”.

But she was still confused all to hell about what was even going on. They themselves didn’t know why the Pale King wanted to see her, just that it was urgent that they were not to harm her or lose her.

So here she was, sitting on a pearly white bench bookended by armed guards, in an off white castle about to meet the king of the bugs and have a little discussion with him.

Did they know that she wasn’t a bug?

Did they know that she stole the mask and cloak she wore?

Is it still stealing if it’s from a dead body?!?

As Mary worked herself into an anxiety attack, the doors next to the bench she had been sitting on finally opened and her heart stopped as her head jerked to stare at the bugs coming out of them.

There was a group of them, all of them a similar type, if different sizes. The largest of them, the boss if she was going off of the decoration on his cloak, was floating.

 . . .

What the fuck?

No, he really was floating, a solid foot off the ground with an odd glow about his feet. His cloak fluttered in the space between his feet and the ground, implying that it was either supposed to drag on the ground like her cloak did or that this bug was always floating and made his clothes to reflect that.

WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?

Mary stared at the group of bugs as they passed. The bugs caught her obvious staring and sneered at her, making a noise that sounded like a chirp but was apparently meant to be taken like a snort of disapproval. But Mary barely registered the offence. Her eyes were glued to the floating bug until they turned a corner on their way out of the palace.

Mary was absolutely out of her depth. Not that she had been in her depth, but she had been assuming that maybe this would be regular court. But like, with bugs.

But now she was working with the reality that this was going to be magical court with magical bugs.

This was a new level of weird shit now. Fuck, this was a different dimension of fucked.

“The king will see you now.”

Mary got to her feet, not even looking at the little pale robed bug that was standing in front of her as she wobblily followed them. Her good manners keeping her at an even pace behind them without stumbling over the smaller bug.

She walked through the doors, and saw the many bugs standing throughout the room. But what really threw her was the sight of the bug sitting on the thrown. Something deep inside of her psyche just sputtered and went out.

The king of the bugs was small and wrapped in white. His horn covered head was the only thing that seemed kingly about him, the horns looking like a crown. But he still left an impression with how he was literally glowing like a glow stick, making it a bit hard to actually look at him dead on.

Eventually Mary led by the little robed bug to was left standing alone in a circle on the floor. once the bug that led her there stepped outside it began to glow brightly and Mary had a wild gibbering moment of panic before she just . . . excepted the fact that the bugs could do magic and that she was going to have to . . . deal with that.

A calm surrounded her mind, and Mary gave up on controlling the situation. Not that she had a chance to begin with, but all of this was so far out of her ability to comprehend that it wasn’t even something she could panic about anymore. She would just go with the flow and hope she ended up somewhere she could live with at the end.

The king of bugs stared at her for a moment, seeming to make eye contact with her through her mask. When he spoke, his voice reverberated through the hall, seeming to be much deeper than what could have ever come out of such a small body.

“Storyteller. You have been called before me to discuss a device that has been distributed by the bugs of the crossroads with promises that they will keep the infection at bay. The bugs were questioned about the origins of this device and they sighted you as the origin. Is this true?” With a flick of his hand, one of the white robed bugs came forward with a very familiar item on a plate.

It was a dream catcher. A shabby little thing that was made from reeds and strung with what looked like straw twine. Obviously one of the works of the villagers, probably made by one of the children who she told stories to.

“I- yes. I taught them how to make dreamcatchers.” At Mary’s stuttered words the throne room buzzed with whispers.

The thing had been named.

The king’s body seemed to tighten at the noise before he continued with his proclamation.

“This Dreamcatcher appears to be able to do what it is promised, to stave off the infection. Sleeping under one of these devices can guard a sentient bug from the blinding dreams. Storyteller, you will tell the court how you created this device and the magic that fuels it. With these devices we can stymie the infection and reduce casualties until the vessel is ready.”

A lot of information had just been dropped, and Mary barely knew what to address first. It was obvious that the king thought that she knew about what he was talking about, but the only thing that Mary had any idea about was the ‘infection’.

Mary cast her memory back to just a day ago, when she had realized that the villagers thought that the dreamcatchers were protecting them. And suddenly, their assumptions made more sense. She had told them that the dreamcatchers were magic, why wouldn’t they have believed her in a world where bugs can just float around without wings?

Suddenly Mary was faced with a problem that she had not expected.

These bugs can do magic.

 These bugs thought that she had magic.

The king was demanding that she explain her magic.

She hadn’t done magic. She doesn’t know how to do magic! If magic was possible for her then surely she would have done some before now? Hell, she has had regular dreams and nightmares even with her old childhood remedy of putting a named dream catcher over her bed.

So surely it wasn’t her doing the magic here.

But . . . bugs can do magic. And the dream catchers, anti-monster spray and a million other little rituals that she had used to calm children down and get rid of their irrational fears had worked because they thought that they would work.

Was it really just the placebo effect?

And if it was, she couldn’t tell them that. It wouldn’t work anymore!

 . . . you know what, she’ll give him the middle ground. It’s not her problem, he’s the king here he can decide.

“Your-,” Oh god how do you talk to royalty? “. . . majesty. I will tell you how to make the dreamcatcher, and how I understand the magic to work. But I warn you now. The more people who know the dream catcher’s workings then the more likely it will fail. I will tell you, and you alone the secret of the dream catcher, and what you choose to do with that knowledge will be on you alone.”

The pale king reeled back as if Mary’s words had physically slapped him. She had a moment where she was worried that he was going to get angry at her. That she had spoken too bluntly. But as the moment stretched out and more and more people began to whisper to each other, causing the hall to fill with noise, he didn’t move.

It was only when Mary was sure that she was going to be beheaded or something that the king stood up. Sorta. He was apparently longer than he was tall, and moved like a naga. All slithery, his body moving not in a straight line but from side to side as he moved forward. But Mary could hear the little tip-tap of what must have been dozens of legs under his white robes.

He walked toward her, until he was at the edge of the glowing circle, and said with less reverb, “I agree to your terms, Storyteller. We will go to the workshop.”

He made a motion with his hand and the glowing pattern that she had been standing on went dim. He turned his back to her and began to walk away, toward the back of the room and Mary jolted forward to follow him. The bugs all had silenced themselves when their king had moved, and in this quiet Mary was suddenly aware of how her own steps were so quiet amongst the noise of the king’s many legged gait.

Hopefully no one was really listening.

It was only when the odd pair had gotten to a door in the back of the giant room that a piece of the wall seemed to detach and follow them.

Mary startled hard, her cloak flaring as she spun to face the moving statue that suddenly fell in step behind the king. It didn’t seem to respond to her, just continuing it’s even pace walking behind the king. Mary was slow to follow, but as the gap between her and them widened, Mary sped up in order to not get left behind.

Mary walked to the side of this new bug, and did her best to hide her staring from the slits in her mask.

It . . . didn’t look like a bug. It was taller than some of the doors, causing it to duck down as they moved deeper into the palace. What little she could see of its carapace was a matte black, no shining that she had seen on all of the others.  It’s head was like porcelain, like the king himself, but unlike the king, who still had mobile eyes, this creature was just one solid sculpture. Mary didn’t even see its mouth.

But maybe it was just a weird helmet. Mary herself was currently in a mask, so surely this bug was just wearing some sorta fancy helmet.

Please let it be a helmet.

Mary began to concentrate again, her surprise draining away in place for anxiety. She was about to enter what she assumed to be a small room with a king and his . . . guard and it was going to be a shit show, she just knew it.

But she didn’t have a choice or an idea to get away, so she followed docilely through the palace until she was led into a room and the guard took up guard duty outside the large heavy door.

The workshop was larger than she expected, but way more cluttered than she thought possible. Things were strewn about the room and there wasn’t any light source, all the light coming from the glowing king himself. In the shadows of the room Mary could see odd shapes that resembled bug shells and limbs. If it wasn’t for the fact that a few pieces of the obviously metal contraptions dangled close enough to the kings light to be seen she would have thought she was surrounded by corpses.

Mary followed him to a desk cluttered with vials of thrashing black liquid and faintly glowing designs on the tablets that bugs used as paper.

The king settled himself on a stool, his lower body curling around it as he turned to face Mary and locked eyes with her through the mask.

“We are alone, now tell me the secret of the dreamcatcher.”

Mary swallowed, “Oh, um right. The secret of the dreamcatcher is! That! I! . . . can’t do magic.”

There was silence.

“Explain.”

Mary flinched at the dry tone of voice that the king had used, and with that one chip in her shaky confidence, Mary began to word vomit.

“Well, the thing is . . . that where I’m from we can’t do magic. We’re aware of it, but only in tales of far off lands. But we use the stories of magic and legends to soothe our children from their irrational fears. It’s quite common for a child at night to think that every little dark place is bustling with monsters. So in order to calm their mind and to quickly get them back to sleep it has become a part of our culture to  . . . well . . . lie to the children. Parents and siblings will make up elaborate rituals and mythical beings to safe guard and fight these monsters. A dream catcher is one such ritual.”

Mary was looking away from the king, her head tilted down as she wrung her hands beneath her cloak her nerves making her voice rise in pitch.

She was telling a king that she had just made it up, that it was fake, that the thing he had been taking so seriously was for children.

She could only imagine his anger and embarrassment. She was so thankful that this was happening in a private meeting where he might calm down before kicking her out, and not getting publicly humiliated and killing her in response.

“So, it’s called a placebo effect. Irrational fears are hard to think around. If the fear is irrational, then you need an irrational solution. As long as the child thinks that the dreamcatcher is guarding them then it will work. They calm down and stop focusing on the horrors of their imagination, and as such are able to sleep.”

Mary glanced up at the king, his face unmoving as he stared at the dreamcatcher in his hand. She needed to finish up her explanation and then let him make a decision. She did not want to be here when he finally had all of the information sink in. When he realized how stupid this situation was.

“If you tell them that the dreamcatcher works, then it will, but if you tell them that it has no power . . . then it won’t.”

She went silent after that. She had explained as well as she could, she was going to let the king decide now. But it was too awkward to just ask to leave.

So she stood there, slowly rocking on her feet as she waited for the king to go into a rage and to throw her out for being a fraud. Maybe she would be escorted back to her village, but maybe she would have to make her own way. The caves were a maze though, and she wasn’t sure if the village that she lived at even had an official name, and it’s not like there was only the one gruz farm was there? Surely she couldn’t get back if she asked for directions to the gruz farm village. Well, she would have to try.

“A sickness of the mind, brought on by a dream, being cured with a lie. There is poetry in this somewhere.” The kings voice was soft and quiet, but is snared Mary’s attention, jolting her out of her planning and back to the present.

The king was slowly nodding his head, seeming to have come to a decision while she was in her own thoughts. He looked straight at her and it was as if she could see the steel entering his gaze.

“Tell me everything that you have told others about these dreamcatchers. I will take even a flimsy cure relying on belief. Even a ‘placebo effect’ is better than nothing.”

The king seemed to glow with energy as he began to move around the room, legs clicking like a type-writer as he scurried around the room and collect pieces of metal and other odd things that had been in drawers and on shelves.

Mary did her best to dodge the whirl-wind that the king had become but eventually she was crowded toward a low table, the perfect height for the king to work at and a slightly too low height for her. The collection of objects were placed in front of her and she stared in confusion at the assortment of items.

“Show me how to make a dreamcatcher, I will surely be able to write instructions and spread them through the kingdom so that others may be able to sleep peacefully. This particular cure will not be able to keep it out of the unthinking creatures and beasts but what can save even some of my people will not be squandered.” The king waved at the items, obviously meaning for her to use them.

Mary reached out with her covered hands and grabbed a metal circle and what looked like thread on a skein. She began to wrap the thread around the hoop to make a loose net. It took nearly no time at all to show the king that there really was nothing more to it, just some strings across the hoop.

“The only real rules are that you must name it and give it away. They cannot be sold, stolen or made for yourself. Dreamcatchers were always supposed to be gifts and shows of concern for another. That is all that there is to it, and all that I have told others.” Mary handed the king the new dreamcatcher, and he examined it, turning it over and comparing it to the one before.

He placed them down and immediately set to work making his own. He fumbled a bit in the beginning but with very little effort he soon had his own dreamcatcher in hand.

“Yes, if these work then it won’t be difficult to spread them through the kingdom. And as long as they are readily available then my people will be guarded from the infection at their most vulnerable.”

Mary was relived. The king wasn’t angry, just desperate. He wanted to save his people and if a children’s remedy would do it then he would take it. She wasn’t going to get in trouble! She might even get a ride back home!

“Will I be returned to the village then?”

The king paused in his writing before looking up at Mary. “You will be staying in the palace and teaching others. A room will be prepared and I will have some servants retrieve your things from your hut. I can’t afford having you tell others about the secret of the dreamcatchers, so you will be kept close.”

Mary tripped a little at his words, hands slamming into the table to stabilize herself as she gapped at the short king before her.

“WHAT!?!”

Chapter Text

Mary woke to the sound of bells, the chiming breaking the silence of her dark little room delicately. Like ripples on a lake, the noise roused her from her sleep and she opened her eyes to the darkness.

Mary whined as the bells continued their little song, dragging her body from her soft bed and stumbling toward the chiming metal. She grabbed them clumsily in both of her hands and silenced them.

When Mary had first seen the bells, they had enchanted her. The bells had been made from a silvery delicate material that felt more like crystal then metal and had complex designs etched into their surface.  She had been amazed at the delicate craftsmanship and had thanked the Queen for the kind gift. Now she wondered if she had the strength to crush them in her grip.

There was no sound more heinous then the one that always woke you up.

Mary released them and fumbled her way to the door. She opened it with her eyes clenched shut, the bright white light penetrating the thin skin and blinding her even through her eyelids.

The giant glass bulb that housed the lumaflies in her room never went off. Something about the King being nearby gave them the energy to shine without ever going dormant. This just meant that she was always blinded whenever she left her bedroom.

Mary blindly walked with her hands out as she headed to the corner of the large room that held the bathroom. When she made her way into the alcove she began to blink madly to adjust her eyes to the bright light and brilliant white room.

She would have killed for some sunglasses.

Mary used the toilet, which was really more of a hole in the tile that could be opened or closed with the pull of a rope. It was much cleaner and less disgusting than the outhouse that had been in the village.

Mary then made her way to the basin and facet that served as her sink. She let water fill the shallow bowl before washing her face and scrubbing at her skin with a damp cloth. As Mary washed up, she dazedly watched her reflection in the shined metal that served as her mirror.

She had gained back the weight she had lost since she arrived in this cavernous place. Her breasts had filled back out now that food was plentiful and she no longer had to lug gallons of water around the cave system. Not to mention her stomach and thighs had plumped up. She was so squishy amongst all of these shelled bugs. Not to mention pale. She felt like a marshmallow in a bag full of hard candies.

As every day went by it became odder and odder to see herself in the mirror. She was so used to seeing bugs by now that seeing her own face gave her pause. She couldn’t help but to start comparing her own body to the bugs. To look at her soft pale skin and find it lacking next to a shiny hard carapace. To gaze into her wet eyes and wonder if she would look good with segmented eyes instead.

Mary was startled out of her critical examation of her reflection by the ringing of the bells again. She side-eyed the little string that curved around her room, kept close to the wall with hooks. It was connected through a hole in the wall to a little handle outside in the hall. It was jolting faintly, the bug outside her door tugging it in a rhythm to once more cause noise to fill her room.

Mary reached out and pressed her hand to the string, halting it’s jolting and allowing the bells in her room to slowly quiet.

So impatient!

Mary huffed and turned her focus on her hair, the braid she had slept in had come undone and needed to be rewoven before she got dressed. Mary finished tying off her braid and then left the bathing alcove to go over to the chest that held her loin cloths and breast slings. She had managed to get more of them and in better fabric qualities and pretty colors! But the bugs around here still had no idea what she meant when she asked for sewing supplies and she had given up at making something else.

She had sort of understood when she had looked at what more noble bugs wore. The cloths were all single swaths of cloth held together with clasps. So far all the decoration that she had seen were metal pieces that were simply stabbed into the fabric or layers of cloth all worn at once. Mary supposed that here was less danger to get poked when you don’t have any soft vulnerable flesh.

So that left her with her simple underwear. She had gotten used to wearing it a while ago, and it wasn’t as bad to wear now that she wasn’t doing heavy work, but she still felt naked under her cloaks. Not to mention with her weight gain, she has been feeling a bit more exposed, the fabric not quite covering her entire backside.

The cloaks themselves had gotten a few upgrades as well. She had sleeves now, but she had them go far past her hands, nearly touching the floor. This allowed her to life her arms without worry while not having to fear her legs being exposed.

 The fabric was much thinner now, and much softer on her skin but that was a blessing and a curse. She had been gifted cloaks in a variety of colors, but now she was chilled all of the time! She had to layer up to stay warm in this cold white palace.

Mary wiggled into her delicate cloaks, now adorned with a metal clasp that signaled her as a resident and not a visitor. It was a flat circle of metal about the size of her fist with a barbed design on it. It looked oddly like a sawblade.

Now fully dressed, or as dressed as she ever got, Mary headed to her door.

This door was why she was so comfortable in the palace. It was a large heavy contraption that swung inward when not barred by the large metal slab that rested on some hooks across the doorway.

With this in place, no bug could enter her rooms, and even if someone broke in, it wouldn’t be a quiet or quick affair. Mary had finally felt completely protected in her small windowless suite that she had been given. She slept so well now, no longer afraid that someone would barge in and see her without her cloak and mask.

Mary hefted the bar up, a joint keeping it close to the wall as she lifted it with difficulty. When it finally slammed down on its resting place on the wall, Mary grabbed the ringed handled on the door and began to pull it open.

When the door was only just opened a foot, Mary slide through the gap and as the door slowly closed on its own she greeted the white robed bug that had pulled her bell’s string, waking her up for the day.

“Tinsy, good morning.”

The white robbed bug gave a dramatic sigh. The bug ignored her greeting and grabbed the dangling sleeve of Mary’s cloak. Mary’s personal retainer began to tug her down the hall.

“It is well past morning, Storyteller. Lunch is being prepared and I’ve ordered some sent down to the workshop. You sleep so long that there has been talk of you being a cicada despite your small size.”

Mary smiled as she let the bug tug her down the hall. Mary rather suspected that Tinsy liked ordering her around. That the strange and mystical Storyteller, who was called to the palace by the Pale King himself, easily rolled over to the demands of a lowly retainer.

Tinsy had been her assigned helper since the king had basically locked her in the palace. Tinsy was about her height and had the same gray color of most bugs in the place. But she had large fluffy antenna that flapped about with her every word and gesture. She was a fussy little bug that would begin to do a task without being asked to, and get huffy if anyone told her that her help was unneeded.

Tinsy was a godsent to Mary who didn’t have the first clue of how to survive in such close quarters with other bugs. She had welcomed Tinsy’s aggressive fussing and forceful ‘suggestions’ on what to do. Those and the fact that Tinsy had a habit of judging all the bugs around her for less than cordial behavior, letting Mary learn what small actions could be considered a slight or a overly friendly gesture. Antenna for example, were to be kept to one’s self. You were never supposed to have them touch another bug. Even getting too close could be a slight. To do so was either an action of concern between family, friends and lovers or a very invasive check.

Lucky for Mary, she got away scotch free from most of Tinsy’s etiquette judging by virtue of being a very exotic bug obviously from an incredibly far off land, and some cultural differences were to be expected. That and the fact that Mary’s cloak hide any appendage that could have been used to insult others. Compared to all of these bug’s many arms, antennas, and wings, Mary’s cloaked figure had very few ways to communicate her emotions.

Apparently her lack of body language just made her voice all the more powerful, if the retainers could be believed.

It was because of Tinsy’s assumptions that Mary had managed to get away without explaining a large amount. That she wore cloaks because of her culture, that she was so against being touched because she was sensitive to other bugs’ soul. That she needed so much water was because of her ritualistic cleansing. That she said some odd nonsense words was obviously because she spoke a different dialect.

It was all accepted and waved away under the great banner of being from out of town.

Mary was eventually towed to a door that would have looked the same as all of the others in this white palace, if it wasn’t for the artistic symbol of a dreamcatcher carved into the metal. 

Tinsy left her there, scurrying off to do one thing or another to make Mary’s life in the palace run smoothly.

The work shop, once the door was opened, was a strange juxtaposition. It was a large room with long tables that filled the space. It was stocked with huge skeins of different thread made from a variety of plants and silk. Large boxes of hooped wood and metal had the lids pried open sat on the floor within easy reach of the workers.

It was a grand room that could easily hold a hundred workers. But only the table ends closest to the door had bugs bustling around them. There was only a small handful of bugs sitting at the tables or running back and forth from one place to another. Their little black hands holding string and metal hoops as they twisted the materials into dreamcatchers.

She didn’t have many assistants. When production had first begun, the room had been stuffed with bugs, each one in a chair and working away at the dreamcatchers. But when the king had done a quality check, basically one big scheduled nap time, only a few of the dreamcatchers had done their job. It had taken a few days to talk to everyone and get a real answer out of them, but most of the workers had just been here for the geo.

Mary had managed to hamstring herself a bit with her stipulations of the dreamcatcher having to be made in concern for whoever would get the item. Most of the works had to be let go, but the ones that remained all had a running theme. They had all been personally touched by the infection, either having lost someone important to it, or having had struggled with the light themselves. But they all knew how bad the infection was, and were worried for the entirety of Hallownest. Wanting them to have peace, and doing what they could to help.

And so there were only a few professional dreamcatcher makers, but there didn’t really need to be many. The king made sure to spread the process of how to make them throughout the kingdom. So really the dreamcatchers made in the palace were really only distributed in places where it would be difficult to get the materials to make them for the bugs themselves.

Mary made her way to her own table. It was originally a thing of beauty, with delicate carvings on the legs to make it appear as though it was undulating. It was obviously a work of art made by a known carver. But now it was buried in Mary’s disorganized mess.

Hoops awkwardly piled, wads of string getting twisted together, tablets strewn about in lopsided stacks. It was a disaster. But it was where she worked, and despite how slow she went, and how odd her dreamcatchers came out, they still worked perfectly well as the others. The products from her helpers were always so much better than hers, the strings distributed more evenly and in intricate designs. Though, they did have the advantage of not having to work through a layer of loose fabric.

And yet, still requests came for her own personally made dreamcatchers. Mary couldn’t help but imagine whichever snooty bug that requested such things were always disappointed to see the dreamcatcher delivered.

One of her assistants, a taller but with eyes that seemed to squint about, saw her come in and placed his half finished work down to approach her.

“Storyteller! We have managed to complete the quota for the week, and now we are working to make a surplus, but we are running out of silk for the dreamcatchers.”

Mary hummed and reached into the mess of her desk to remove the tablet that she had been working off of last night. There had been a sudden increase in the dreamcatchers they were being asked to supply.

Apparently the ones that had been used before, being made of reeds and plant fiber, had been snapping from a moisture problem. What should have been an item to be used indefinitely, had to be instead replaced every other week.

The solution had been to make dreamcatchers of silk and metal, but those couldn’t be made in any place but in the palace workshop. And where ever these special dreamcatchers were going, it was to a place with one hell of a thriving population.

Metal was easy to get, but silk was an import to the kingdom. It was expensive and came in a variety of different grades, and the one that had been decided to work best for the dreamcatchers was a thick type that was actually many silk strings twisted together. It made it harder to acquire

 and was of a shorter yardage.

Mary studied the numbers, and judging by the inventory of silk sting that they had left, the workshop would run out in roughly three days if they continued at this pace. If they switched to plant fiber then it would be fine, but going by the last month, a new bulk order for moisture resistant dreamcatchers was assured.

“I have a meeting with the Pale King later today. Perhaps I can make a request for some thinner silk to be delivered? It will take longer to make a dreamcatcher with them, but surely some being made would be better than none. And speaking of our supplies, how are the hoops?”

The tall assistant bug had drifted over to the strings on her worktable, he began to untangle them as he spoke to Mary.

“More are arriving each day. We have a large supply of them, but we actually might outpace the smithy’s if we continue to streamline the process. But we have not been informed of any shortage of material or a problem in the forges so we should be fine.”

Mary nodded before plopping herself in front of her desk and reaching for her supplies. Her assistant handed her one of the untangled spools of thread and she began to wrap it around her hoop. She needed to make some dreamcatchers herself before Tinsy barged in with lunch for everyone.

Meeting with the king was always an odd affair. Whether it happened in the cloistered chambers of his workshop with his unusual guard outside the door or in the open, high ceilinged room of his public office with the guard behind him. It had something to do with being in the same room with the king. His presence was  . . . substantial.

Just being near him made Mary feel like she was sharing the room with a titan, like there was a giant somehow just out of sight. It had made her anxious in the beginning, but with all new things in this cavern, Mary had adapted.

“Good evening, your majesty. How have you been today?”

The king blinked a number of times at her, having been reading a tablet when she walked in and sat down at one of the benches to the side of his large desk. Mary hadn’t been very good at acting like she was a refined noble who could interact with royalty. She had made constant mistakes, but no matter her fumble the king never seemed to get offended or angry. Mary had eventually learned that as long as she was polite then the king didn’t care how she addressed him or how she acted. It seemed to be mostly the court bugs and retainers that loved all of the pomp and circumstance.

Mary made an effort to not often speak to the court bugs who visited, but the retainers were all under the impression that her lack of correct conduct was just a part of her mysticisms.

Another thing that set Mary apart from others of this kingdom was that she was missing something whenever she spoke with the king or queen. Some sort of bug cue or instinctive reaction that all of the others had when they were in the presence of royalty. Maybe it was magic? Either way, Mary always had to give the king a few moments to adjust to her not having whatever reaction she was supposed to in his presence.

“Greetings Storyteller. I have been well. Tell me, how does the workshop fair? I understand that the city has requested a large number of specialty dreamcatchers.” The king set the tablet aside, giving Mary his full attention. A rare occurrence for a busy bug such as him. He always seemed to be juggling a few different things at once, never stopping or slowing down.

“The workshop has been thriving and we’ve managed to make a surplus of dreamcatchers. But we’re running out of the correct weight of silk for the water resistant type. I don’t suppose that you would be able to acquire some thinner skeins of silk until denser ones will be available? We could create some plant fiber dreamcatchers, but since only the palace workshop can make the water resistant kind I imagine it would be better for us to focus on those. Production would slow down with the extra time we would need to take, but surely something being made would be preferable to a total stop.”

The king tapped his fingers on the table in thought, “Yes, I believe that would be a prudent course of action. I will be talking to a representative from Deepnest today, I will mention this. Anything else?”

Mary and the king talked shop for a while, discussing if the new designs had any effects on the populace. The king had been making some noise about infusing either the hoops or the silk with soul to see if there was an obvious difference, but experimentation could take place after every one was safe while sleeping.

Time passed, the discussion meandering to various hypotheticals and talk of supplies. Every now and then a retainer would step toward them, drawing the kings attention for a moment. Mary would wait patiently for him to be done and easily restart the conversational thread they were on.

Mary had learned after weeks of awkward stilted conversation that the Pale King was a bug that was actually quite easily led in conversation. The poor man seems to be entirely unaware of how to speak to someone on equal footing to him that wasn’t his wife. It was difficult to find a middle ground, Mary also being the type to let others lead the conversation, but when they kept going in circles she was the first to realize what was going wrong.

Now he was quite pleasant to speak to.

But the King had other things to attend to than a single person. So when a retainer came and stayed near to the door Mary knew that someone important had arrived. 

Mary got up and nodded toward the king with a polite, “Till next time.” And then began to walk toward the door, when it quite suddenly was thrown open.

“Wyrm, I will not let you avoid me any longer. We need to discuss matters and letters will not suffice.”

Mary jumped at the loud voice and sudden motion, but then her entire existence was consumed by the sight of the bug in front of her.

The first thing she truly noticed was the mask. She so rarely saw other masked individuals in the palace. It was long and pointy, with lots of eyes and no mouth.

The second thing she noticed was the size. This bug was huge! Nearly as large as the special guards that had half of their size made up in armor.

The third thing she noticed was the legs, and it was at that point that thousands of years of evolution kicked in and she noticed nothing else as she screamed bloody murder and flung herself backwards.

She sprinted back toward the king, mind only focusing on getting as far away from the GIANT SPIDER as fast as she could. She nearly slipped on the floor, cloak getting tangled around her legs as she rounded the desk and pressed herself to the back of the pale king’s throne. She sensed more than saw the sudden movement of the guard as he dodged her.

Mary stared straight in front of her, her eyes seeing nothing but white and the black of the guard as her mind was a buzz with nothing but the chant of spider! spider! spider! as she began to hyperventilate.

“Wyrm, what in the great abyss is going on? I’m used to your cowardly little servants scuttling from me, but they usually at least pretend that I’m a civilized being.”

“I don’t- she hasn’t acted like this before! Storyteller, calm yourself. Herrah will not harm you.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to promise that. Who knows what the future will bring?”

“Herrah, she is already in a panic, we need her to return to her mind, not frighten her more.”

There was movement from the corner of her vision and Mary flinched away before she focused in on the king. He was beside her, having left his chair to bend over her. His face was as always unchanging, but his body showed his anxiousness as he got as close as was proper.

“Storyteller, are you aware? What is wrong?”

Mary managed to force some words through her breaths, “S-spider. H-huge spider!”

The king seemed to deflate at Mary’s words, and a hearty laugh sounded from outside of her sight.

“Oh Wyrm, your little False Weaver is so feebleminded! Not even your more corrupt city goers have such an obvious prejudice against my kind.” At the female voice’s words, the king stood and began to argue once more. The mixing of the voices behind her distracted Mary from her panic and allowed her to begin thinking.

Prejudice? Oh god. They thought she was being racist?

 . . . was she being racist?

Oh god, she was defiantly being racist.

But . . .  it’s not her fault! Spiders are scary and she has instincts!

But, bugs look down on instincts don’t they? They take a lot of pride in thinking past them.

And currently Mary was not thinking past them.

“I- I apologize. I’m- I am being very rude right now.”

There was a pause in the argument behind her, and Mary took that opening to continue with her explanation.

“I’ve not seen many different kinds of bugs in Hallownest, and you were my first spider! I apologize for my response, but from where I was from, spiders do not get to your size.” Mary began to stand, still gripping the king’s chair as she regained her feet. She wasn’t ready to turn around yet.

“My species has a . . .history of unexpected death by spiders. In the land I am from they are small and stationary so it is common for one of my kind to stumble across them, and when we do we have a habit of being bit. The surprise of dying from such a small injury has . . . lead to some explosive responses.” Mary brushed off her cloak, and readjusted her mask. She took a deep breath and walked out from behind the chair, keeping her eyes on the ground

 “I . . . do believe that as long as you do not take me by surprise, I should be able to suppress my instinct. I do apologize once more for insulting you. You did nothing to deserve such a response and it was only I giving into my instincts that caused this scene.” Mary finally raised her head to look at the spider once more. It was just a huge and scary as it was last time, but know that she knew what was coming, all she did was flinch back a bit.

The spider had a large body and carried herself oddly. There was a cloak over her head, catching on what seemed to be horns and falling around her upper body. The larger lower body, and the way that the spider was tilting upward made Mary think that there was a resemblance to a drider in the way she carried herself. She wondered, if the cloak was removed, would she look like a regular bug underneath? Or was there another reason that she hide her upper body from sight.

Mary wished that she could have smiled at the spider, but with her face covered, she would just have to use her body. She brought her hands up and spread her arms like she was asking for a hug, “Let us try this once more! They call me Storyteller! I am the one who has brought the story of the dreamcatcher to Hallownest! What may I call you?”

The giant spider walked toward her, the many legs clicking on the floor as she got closer and closer. Mary immediately felt like maybe this wasn’t the best decision. Perhaps she should have simply run from the room?

The spider leaned down toward Mary, until their masks were level and barely a foot apart. There was a pause before the deep female voice came from behind the intimidating many eyed mask.

“I am Herrah the beast, Queen of Deepnest. You had best control yourself, False Weaver, or your next insult will have consequences.”

Mary felt sweat trial down her spine at the queen’s words and could only manage to squeak out a strangled, “Neat!” in response.

The king gave a sigh that seemed to drain the rest of the energy out of his tiny body. “Hollow Knight, escort the Storyteller to her workshop.”

Chapter Text

Mary had experienced many things since ending up in cave system ruled by sentient bugs. She had experienced the feeling of wandering around naked in the dark. She had eaten raw non-sentient bugs. She had been forced to suddenly move into the bug palace. She had seen magic and swordfights. She had experienced a lot.

But nothing, so far, had been so awkward as being alone with this tall silent bug that she had never seen away from the King before.

The Knight walked beside her, but because of their significant height difference he seemed to be moving in slow motion. One of his steps was three of hers and it was odd to walk at her regular pace next to a creature that could leave her in the dust in seconds.

The silence was killing her, she had no idea about anything about him. But surely she could manage some small talk while they walked to her workshop?

“So, Hollow Knight? Quite the title! Is there a story behind it?”

Mary looked up at the knight, her body language as open and curious as she could make it, waiting for his response. The best way to make a friend was to have them talk about themselves!

“ . . . ”

The knight was silent, not even looking down at her in response to her question.

“ . . . uh, my own title is Storyteller! I got called that by the villagers when I kept entertaining the children with stories. If, ah, the name didn’t give it away.”

Oh god.  More silence.

“The village I lived in was a Gruz village! We, uh, raised Gruz! You know, those big fat flying bugs with the eye’s? Not that other flying bugs don’t also have eyes, but the eyes are very big on the gruz. I think that they taste a bit odd myself, never had them before I came to Hallownest. Do you like gruz?”

“ . . . ”

Mary was going to die. She couldn’t stop talking. This bug was obviously uninterested and didn’t care what she said! He was just doing his job and was probably counting the steps until he could leave her and go back to his actual job. Not escorting a chatty idiot that couldn’t take a hint.

“Heh heh, you, umm, don’t talk much do ya?”

Oh god, someone save me please!

“HOLLOW!”

A high-pitched voice cut through the tension of the hall, quickly followed by the sound of fast clicking little feet.

Mary had just managed to turn around, seeing a blur of red traveling toward them at an incredibly fast pace before it slammed into the cloaked legs of the silent knight who had also turned toward the noise.

“I found you! Play with me!”

Mary stared down in befuddlement at the little red cloaked bug that had wrapped it’s little arms around the knight’s legs. The small bug looked like Hollow did, but instead of a solid piece of porcelain, the eyes moved and she could see the mouth under the white shell.

But the biggest difference was that when she looked into the smaller bug’s eyes, she saw the reflective sheen of light reflecting off of something inside. Not the matte darkness that she glimpsed in the knight’s eyes.

Well, thought Mary, that and the size.

“Princess! Please wait!”

From behind the small group came another voice. It was an out of breath retainer who seemed to have been forced to chase after the little bug. They finally reached them, and wheezed for a few moments before speaking again.

“Princess, I was told to bring you to the White Lady. Please do not bother the Hollow Knight and the Storyteller.”

The little bug had managed to climb the unmoving knight while Mary had been distracted by the retainer, her small little body perching itself on one of his pauldrons as she squinted down at the retainer.

“I wanna play with Hollow! I can visit with Mother later! Hollow is always busy!”

The retainer seemed to be trying to figure out how to argue with a child, but Mary was enthralled at the sight of the first child she had seen since being taken from the village that one morning long ago.

A baby! A little girl who was there, in front of her! Oh, Mary hadn’t realized how much she had missed children. And now that there was one in front of her, she wasn’t going to let go of a chance to interact.

Besides, the knight was a strong bug. If he hadn’t wanted to have a little girl climb all over him then he would have been able to stop her. He was obviously being so gentle with her. Mary was by now an expert on how bodies looked under cloaks, and it was obvious that he was holding out his arm from his body some in order to give the little princess more room to balance.

He wouldn’t be doing that if he wasn’t at least a little concerned with the child.

 Mary stepped forward, doing her best to project an understanding aura as she addressed the retainer.

“Perhaps Hollow could escort us to the Queen? We were one our way to the dreamcatcher workshop, but if the princess would like to spend time with him I would not mind a delay. I haven’t spoken to the Queen in some time in fact, perhaps we could talk while Hollow plays with her.”

Mary turned back to Hollow and his little passenger, “That would be ok, wouldn’t it?”

Mary knew that she was pleading, but there was a child! She wanted to play too!! Surely a little time would be fine, right?

The little girl answered for Hollow, a loud “YES!” bursting out of her before she began to bounce in place on Hollow’s shoulder. “Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!”

Hollow began to walk back the way the princess had come, his even and smooth stride allowing the child to stay perched on his shoulder as she began to chatter away at him, telling him all about the things she had done recently from sweets she had eaten to bugs she had seen.

It was the cutest thing Mary had seen since she had come to the palace.

Mary followed behind the pair, leaving the retainer to sputter behind them. Mary couldn’t help but notice that while he had been walking slow before, he was practically glacial now. Seeming to try and milk as much time as he could out of the little girl’s presence.
Mary’s smile was hidden behind her mask but she suspected that if either of the ones in front of her turned around, they would be able to tell what her face was doing.

The Queen’s part of the palace reminded Mary of a greenhouse. Slowly, the plants that populated the halls of the palace began to creep out of their pots and planter boxes and climb on the walls. If one walked down the halls, you were sure to come across a dedicated group of gardeners who were shaping and clipping away at the growth. Tucking vines back into patterns and nipping at the protruding stems with little brass scissors.

The plants in the halls were all white somehow, either from how they were sprung from the Queen herself, or because she was conforming to the King’s aesthetic. But as one crossed through the unofficial boundary between the public quarters and the private ones, color began to fade in and the plants were let free.

Soon, the floor was covered in twining roots and you could barely see the walls through the leaves and vines. Plants dangled from the ceiling making curtains in the halls cutting off the light that was so prevalent throughout the palace. It was nearly claustrophobic in the last few legs of the trip before passing through a wrought iron gate that had long since been anchored half open to the ground by the flowing plants woven in the bars.

After the gate, the halls were no more. There was only a large circular room, more like a stadium really, with different levels along the walls going up to the very top where there was a luma-fly bulb large enough to illuminate the entire room like it was midday.

The Queens Conservatory was a bit misnamed, no glass insight but with a few open windows towards the top to let fresh air flow in and out. Plants flourished in the room, tall grass waving as you walked through the stalks, giant plants with flowers large enough to sleep in growing in strategic places around the walls. Wild black thorns that were carefully tucked behind decorated barriers or trimmed back.

There were bugs dotting the grand place, gardeners and retainers both. The gardeners puttering around with watering cans and clippers, both encouraging and restraining the plants while retainers delicately stepped around the growths to get to the tables that were set out to do their work.

As the odd little group made their way into the garden, they all headed toward the middle of the room where the Queen preferred to sit in a gazebo shadowed by a large plant that always reminded Mary of a cabbage.

And there she was, her large body resting on a chair made specially for her. The long and thick tendrils sprouting from her head delicately holding a tablet in front of her eyes.

The tendrils were her hands and feet for all that they looked like hair. She could move unassisted, her large body dragging across the floor as her tendrils pulled her forward but usually preferred to seat herself for the day and not move until the King came for her.

To see the Queen travel was to see a creature that was not supposed to move struggling. In her own rooms she cared not for who saw her drag herself, her dignity untarnished by the unnatural actions she had to take. But when she had to go great distances she would allow herself to be placed in special wheeled chair for the sake of time and keeping her clothes from become too dirty and tattered. She cared not either way, but it was usually faster to move herself than wait for a chair, no matter how her servants and gardeners wrung their hands to see their Queen drag herself on the ground.

Mary had no idea what the Queen actually did in the kingdom, but she suspected that she worked more with the short term projects of the kingdom than anything else. Things like planning of events, tracking the size of the populace,  scheduling the common maintenance, and making sure that there was enough food to go around. The Queen seemed quite content to deal with each problem that arrived before her and not the type to go out searching for things to fix like the King did.

Once they got close enough the retainer that had been following them for the trip rushed ahead and pronounced their presence.

“White Lady, Queen of Hallownest. I present to you the Princess Hornet, the Storyteller and The Hollow Knight.”

The Queen put her work down and Mary could see the smile in her eyes as she greeted them.

“Hornet! I am so happy to see you. And Storyteller it has been some time since you have visited me.”

Mary felt a little guilty. The Queen was a wonderful woman who had an aura of grace. She was a woman who knew exactly where she belonged in the world and was content with her place. It was a great comfort to Mary when she had first come to the palace and had been so lost and confused. The first few days after being introduced to the Queen, Mary had spent hours of her time sitting in the queen’s conservatory, winding dreamcatchers and having idle conversation about plants or sitting in silence. Mary had been so thankful to be allowed to rest in this relaxing place, and even more thankful that the Queen hadn’t tried to ask any questions about where Mary had come from or what she was.

“I apologize! The workshop has been busy and I had neglected you!”

The Queen laughed as she waved Mary’s words away with a flick of a tendril. The white appendages reached out for Hornet still sitting on Hollow’s shoulder. Hornet let go of Hollow’s horn and reached out with her little arms as the Queen delicately lifted her up and brought her to the Queen’s lap.

“Oh Hornet, little darling, did you manage to steal the Hollow Knight away from your father?”

The little bug reached up, her pointy little feet surely digging into the queen’s softer body as she hugged the Queen around her neck. Her little horns bonking into the side of the Queen’s head, but the Queen just pressed her tighter to her chest as she hugged the little bug back in the only way she could.

“I didn’t steal them! I found them in the hall! Father wasn’t there at all, so it’s not stealing! Finders keepers and I found them! So I get to play with them until someone can take them away! That’s the rule!”

The Queen chuckled before letting the little bug down to the ground, the wiggly little girl nearly falling down before sprinting back to the knight. She tugged on his white cloak before demanding in a high pitched squeak, “Play tag with me! You’re it! One, two, three, go!”

And with that the little red cloaked girl darted off, quickly being lost in the grass with the Hollow Knight following behind.

Mary cooed a bit as she watched the funny little game. Hornet all but invisible but for how the grass would wave at her passing, and the stoic knight picking his way through the garden, darting a hand from his cloak every now and then to insight a squeal and sudden change of direction from the child.

“Oh, they are just adorable! It’s been so long since I’ve seen a child, and she is so cute! How have I not seen her before now? I hadn’t even known that you had any children!”

If Mary had been watching the Queen, she would have seen how her eyes seemed to squint in pain at her careless words. But since she was focused so firmly on the adorable little show she missed the obvious ques that she was digging into a sore spot and continued on.

“Does she have any siblings? Oh, please tell me there are more! I would happily volunteer for watching them!”

“No, Hornet does not have any siblings.”

At the Queen’s very somber words, Mary finally turned toward her friend and quickly realized that she had been speaking of a sore spot.

“I- I am sorry. Was there an accident? No, I’m sorry you obviously don’t wish to talk about it. Uh, umm-”

Mary fluttered her hands, not sure what to do. But the Queen just gave her a sad smile and turned her eyes back two the playing two.

“Do not worry Storyteller. You would not have been told, it is something that is not often discussed in the castle. The princess is not a child of me, but of my husband.”

Mary was thrown for a loop. Did the king cheat? Was the little girl born from a concubine? Maybe she was just adopted, but no. The little girl resembles the King so much, even as she looks like a more animated version of the Hollow Knight.

The Queen hummed, her eyes growing fond as the knight succeeded in snatching the little princess from the grass and gently tossing her away to be chased himself, hoping from place to place instead of running, looking for all the world like someone trying to keep a small dog from their ankles.

“The King does not want children, but Hornet was born out of an alliance between the Queen of Deepnest and Hallownest. She will never rule the eternal kingdom, but will eventually take her place as the new queen of Deepnest. But she will live part of her childhood in the halls of the palace. It is . . . wonderful to have offspring in my halls. I could not resist, nor did I try, loving her as if she was one of my own.”

Mary could see the longing in the Queen’s eyes. This was a woman who desperately desired children, and had such a gift dangled just out of her reach. She seemed to hold no grudge against either her husband or the woman who gave birth to his child. Mary wasn’t sure if she was in awe of the Queen or pitied her.

But either way, this was too heavy of a topic to be having. Mary cast her mind for a topic to distract the Queen from her bittersweet longing.

“I accidentally screamed at the Queen of Deepnest today.”

That certainly jolted queen out of her maudlin thoughts. “You what?”

Mary ducked her head in shame as she began to explain the event that happened earlier.

“I hadn’t known that there were any spiders in the kingdom, much less that the Queen of them was coming to see the King! My species are quite afraid of spiders, and that is with a different species of them that are a fraction of the size of the Queen. Spiders from where I am from are often deadly poisonous and as such we are taught from a young age to never bother them. To suddenly see a spider multiple times my size and so close caused me to . . . well. Scream. And run away. And hide behind the King’s chair.”

The white lady blinked at Mary a few times before only saying, “Oh dear. That was not a very good impression. Deepnest does not look kindly on those that cower from them. What happened afterwards?”

“Well, I managed to get a hold of myself and apologize. I meant no insult, I truly wasn’t thinking at all! Do you think I will be able to make up for the offense? Her kingdom is the one supplying the silk for the waterproof dreamcatchers isn’t it? I don’t want to be the cause of trouble for the supply line. ”

The queen gazed down at the Storyteller, her brow raising to give the smaller being a Look.

“Well, you did well by apologizing immediately, but it will take time to have Herrah forgive you. She is not one to hold grudges, but only when your worth outweighs your slight will she truly no longer think of you as a pest.”

Mary deflated at this. She wasn’t good at dealing with many others, and the Queen of Deepnest seemed like the type of person that she was super not good with. A woman of action where Mary was more of a girl of words. Mary was very good at apologetic words, less good at apologetic actions.

Getting forgiveness was going to be an uphill battle, she could tell.

A loud “whump!” attracted the Queen and human’s attention from their conversation and back on the two bugs playing. The Knight had apparently been tripped and had landed flat on their back. The Princess was standing victoriously upon the fallen knight, her hands on her hips looking all for the world like she was a hero who had just slain a great enemy. But then the Knight’s hands snatched her feet and easily dangled her upside down  as she gave a shriek of laughter.

Mary was instantly jealous. There was a baby right there, wiggly and sweet but she couldn’t rush over and give it a hug or some tickles.

But, she thought as she gave an absentminded wave to the Queen as she walked toward the pair, that doesn’t mean I can’t play.

Mary got close to the pair, only stopping once her shadow touched the two rolling in the grass, getting green stains on their cloaks. They paused as her shadow covered the knight’s head.

“Can I play too?”

Here was the moment of truth, was this child outgoing enough to include her in the game, or was she going to get all shy from being addressed by a stranger.

The Knight stared up at her, upside down and unblinking, but the princess righted herself and glared up at her, like she had barged in on an important meeting.

“Who are you?”

Just as Mary suspected, the little girl hadn’t really noticed her presence beyond another body in the room. But at least it was an ignorance of her question than a flat no. And she didn’t seem to be shy, just oddly defensive. Like she was just waiting for an insult.

“I’m called Storyteller, and I would very much like to play with you and Hollow. I haven’t played any games since I moved to the palace.” Mary leaned even farther over and said in a stage whisper, “Everyone is very stuffy here and just wants to work.”

The princess just seemed to squint harder at her, “My Mama says that you’re a false weaver who can’t hold a thread worth a damn.”

Well, thought Mary with a surprised blink, out of the mouths of babies I suppose.

“Well . . . I suppose she’s right? I am not a weaver, I just have to do so because if I don’t people might get hurt. I’m much better at telling stories. Can I play with you in exchange for me telling you a story later?”

The princess seemed to think about it, looking from the bug she was sitting on from the strange masked bug that she hadn’t met before.

“I guess it would be ok, but don’t be mean to Hollow! They get to play too!”

Mary was so happy! She was given permission by the child to join! She got to play with the baby! “Of course, of course! I won’t be mean at all, I promise! I would prefer to not be touched, but would you like to play tag? Red light, green light or ‘the Queen says’? I know lots of different games!”

The little girl tilted her head, she hadn’t heard of the other two games. Hollow was a wonderful playmate, able to take all kinds of rough housing that the other children would cry about, but they didn’t know many games. “How do you play those?”

Mary quickly explained the rules to the little girl, and she seemed happy to play. Soon Mary and the knight were standing a ways away from the little girl as she quickly turned back and forth, shouting “Red light, green light” at the top of her little lungs. Mary wasn’t very good at the game, her swinging cloak often getting her sent back to the starting place, but half the point of playing with children was letting them order you around. The Knight on the other hand seemed extraordinarily good at the game, freezing perfectly every time the princess whipped around. In no time at all Hornet was tagged by the knight and they were faced with a dilemma. The knight seemed to refuse to speak no matter what, Mary hadn’t yet met a bug who couldn’t speak at all, and as such couldn’t call out colors.

It was Hornet that decided that to make fair Hollow could raise his arm a second before he would turn around and point at who didn’t manage to stop in time.

And so the game continued, with the Knight winning every time he wasn’t the one being it, and Hornet and Mary pretty evenly matched as they stuttered forward and back.

But it wasn’t long before the game devolved into the two adults chasing after a squealing child. Mary lunging at the child whenever she was herded close by the Knight, whapping at the princess with her cloak sleeves and having the child squeal before being turning to chase after the Knight who had to quickly reverse as to not trip over the little girl.

They eventually ended up teaming up to try and corner Hollow. Mary blocking his escape attempts with her cloak spread wide as the little girl hunted him down.

Eventually Mary and Hornet managed to bring the knight down, Hollow obviously allowing this to happen. They ended where they started, with Hollow flat on his back and a child sitting on his chest giggling breathlessly, with Mary collapsed to the side, panting in exhaustion.

Mary felt wonderful, her body gross and sweaty beneath her cloak, but full of endorphins. She was sure that she would be sore later, unused to so much movement with how she had been so stationary at her job. But she knew that she wouldn’t regret this. It was the most fun she had had in a long while.

But she could tell that both her and the princess were due for a rest and a snack. Perhaps even a nap for both!

Mary looked toward the Queen and saw that she had anticipated such a thing, already having had her work cleared away and had a number of covered platters on the table.

Mary chuckled as she hoisted herself to her feet, “Princess, Hollow Knight. I do believe the Queen has readied a snack for us.”

The little girl perked up at the mention of food, and zeroed in on the covered trays. She quickly got off the knight, and began to tug him toward the table.

The much larger bug followed easily and soon everyone was sitting at the table. The princess sitting in the Queen’s lap stuffing her little face with slices of meat.  The knight having been dragged to sit as close as he could on the bench beside them. Mary herself sat across the table and was very carefully drinking from a hollow reed stuck in a cup of water. She needed so much more water than the average bug, and the ones who were with her the most had learned to supply a beverage to her as often as possible.

Mary still didn’t like to eat bug meat despite not getting sick from it, keeping toward the cut pieces of different vegetables that came right from this very conservatory. Mary knew that her diet confused the bugs in the kitchens, able to eat anything but preferring so few things. A picky eater through and through.

Neither the Queen nor the knight made any movements toward the food.

Soon the platers were picked clean, and Mary could see the little girl lagging in the Queen’s lap. Mary supposed that she might as well help the nap that was coming along by living up to her name.

“Princess, would you like to hear your owed story? I know one that I do think you would enjoy.”

The princess grumbled an affirmative, her eyes already begining to squint in exhaustion, the long playing and full meal quickly doing its work in putting her down for a nap. The gentle petting of the queen’s tendrils over her back was most certainly helping.

But Mary, the storyteller, and the maker of dreamcatchers couldn’t help but glance up. To sleep was dangerous, a dreamcatcher needed to safeguard against the infection even with an afternoon nap. The Queen noticed her mask tilted up, and gently nodded her head toward a corner of the gazebo where hung a very well made dreamcatcher. A large metal hoop threaded through with still living veins that dangled from the hoop. Something not from her own workshop, more than likely made by the Queen herself.

Mary smiled, nodding her head at the queen before beginning her story.

“Once upon a time there was a young princess, and she decided that she was going to go on an adventure  to save a bug locked in a tower. . .”

By the time Mary finished the altered story of Rapunzel with a princess saving the prince by spinning a web up the tower and fighting the evil witch that was keeping him captive, the little girl was out like a light on the Queen’s lap.

Mary stared in longing at the sweet little girl, but knew that she couldn’t touch. It would be obvious even to a child that she didn’t feel like any kind of bug in Hallownest. Too soft to be a normal bug, and with a hard center that no maggot or slug had. Mary was sure that they would find her body disgusting, what with how it was basically inside out to their sensibilities. And she didn’t want them to be disgusted or hate her, so it was better that they never knew at all.

The Queen kept gently petting the sleeping child in her lap, her eyes once more full of bittersweet longing.

Mary looked away, and focused on the knight sitting stoically at the queen’s side. Surely the day of play had softened him up enough for conversation? Even if he wouldn’t talk, she might get a nod out of him.

“So, Hollow Knight, the Princess seems to adore you doesn’t she? Have you often been a playmate for her?”

The knight was once more silent, and unresponsive, staring at her with his empty eyes. But the Queen seemed to have taken Mary’s words as addressed to her. “Yes, the Hollow Knight was often tasked with watching Hornet on her visits to the palace. She would crying non-stop if she was put down or held by one of the retainers. In the beginning we would all juggle her between us, but once I was not there and Herrah and my husband both had to read something, so they gave her to the Hollow Knight for just a moment. I was told it surprised them both that she had barely even whined before cuddling in to continue her nap. The Hollow Knight had often held her after that, and now that she is older she continues to insist in teaching it games and playing with it.”

Mary froze. Had the Queen really just . . . ?

“It?”

The Queen looked up from the child in her lap at the ice cold tone of voice that had come from the Storyteller’s mouth.

“Yes? Hornet will often steal the Hollow Knight from my husband’s side and play games with it. It had learned how to interact with her quite well. At times it can nearly appear to be alive.”

Mary didn’t know what the hell was going on. The knight very obviously was alive. He played with a child and allowed the princess to climb all over himself. Was this some kind of prejudice? Did the knight need help?

“Ma’am. You are going to need to explain to me why you are talking about the bug next to you like it is an object.” And the reason better be good, when unsaid.

The White Lady blinked, startled at the Storyteller’s increasingly tense voice and the fact that she referred to the Lady as something other than ‘Queen’. The bug hadn’t used a different term since the Lady had been introduced to the Storyteller with it. But as the White Lady thought about their conversations, and all of the things that the Storyteller was unaware of, understanding dawned.

“Oh dear, Storyteller. Has no one told you about the King’s plan to contain the infection?”

Mary continued to be tense and wary, the Queen’s change of topic not being regarded well. The only reason she hadn’t begun to raise her voice was the sleeping child in the Queen’s lap. But if this continued for much longer than Mary might have to do something drastic.

“He’s going to put it in a perfect vessel or something. What does that have to do with the fact that you are referring to a sentient being like an object.”

The Queen began to pet the child in her lap once more, a deep sadness breaking into her mind as she contemplated the fate of her children below her, and the empty puppet next to her. So many sacrifices for the bugs that worshiped her and her husband.

“It has much to do with it Storyteller. Before you came along with your dreamcatchers, my husband was desperate for anything at all that would stop the infection. The only thing that seemed to be unaffected by the encroaching orange light was something called the void. It is a dangerous substance that comes from the abyss. The void did not cure the infection, but swallowed it and snuffed the light out. It killed the bugs just the same as the infection did, but at least it did not reanimate the shells afterwards.”

The queen looked toward the body of her lifeless child, a tendril tracing down the face that resembled her husbands, but still held hints of her own in the shape of it’s motionless eyes. Perhaps if the life inside of it had been allowed to flourish, it would have eyes as blue as her own.

“The King created a plan to trap the source of the infection. He created the Pure Vessel. A being with no mind to think, no will to break, no voice to cry suffering. The Hollow Knight is the Pure Vessel. A being created of void and god. No life resides inside of it’s shell. It is a thing that does as it is ordered, but can be taught all the same.”

Mary was struck dumb. The knight had been a- a robot this whole time!?

Mary studied the still unmoving bug to the side of the Queen. He- it- they hadn’t moved the entire time that the two had been discussing it’s very existence, or when the Queen had touched their face. Were they really . . . ?

“He- it-,  . . . I can’t believe that-.”

Mary groaned, clonking her head into the table. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before looking up at the Queen once more.

“Your majesty, I think I need time to process this information. I mean no offense, but I believe I will be taking my leave now.”

The Queen nodded, understanding that this was difficult knowledge and that the Storyteller would need some time. But as the Storyteller rose from the table, so did the Hollow Knight.

Mary froze as she stared at the towering bug. One that she was now wrestling with the knowledge of.

“Why is . . . ?”

The Queen watched the Hollow Knight for a moment before saying, “I do believe that it still must accomplish a task. Tell me Storyteller, did my husband give it an order before it left his presence.”

Mary thought for a moment, before realizing that yes, the king did tell the knight to escort her to her workshop.

“I suppose that they technically haven’t taken me where I am supposed to be.”

The queen nodded, knowing how unfulfilled orders can suddenly cause odd responses in the knight. In the beginning, she had taken these sudden actions as hope that maybe something still lived in the shell of her child. But as each instance had been explained away by her husband, she had stopped expecting anything from the puppet.

“You best let it take you then. The Hollow Knight will return to my husband’s side once it’s tasks are complete.”

Mary climbed to her feet, giving a little bow to the Queen as she left her presence. Behind her the Hollow Knight followed.

The Queen watched them go. The sight of her empty child walking away leaving her with an unearthed grief that she had thought she was beyond. But she looked down at the small princess in her lap and smothered the sadness with love. Even if she couldn’t have a child by her husband, this little demigod will be given all that she would have given her own.

Mary walked in front of the knight. Highly aware of his slow foot steps behind her. Now that she was focusing on it, she realized that it was the only sound that he made. No sounds of breathing, no clicks of joints. The only other sound that she could strain her ears to catch was the soft flutter of the cloak that he wore.

Was he really nothing more than a robot? An automated machine that could be given tasks and learn? Even then, wouldn’t that make him more of an AI?

Mary didn’t understand! This was out of her grasp, more in the realm of the magic that these bugs could do.

But if it was a person . . . if it was a real person . . . could she even tell? What would make a bug drop a façade that they had lived their entire life in?

Mary checked her surroundings. She had already moved past the Queen’s boundary, the plants once more becoming orderly and the halls bright.  But in the long hallway they were in, there were no other bugs, not even an echo of far off steps.

Mary stopped and spun to the knight behind her. He stopped as well and stayed in place as he looked straight forward above her head.

“Uh, please kneel.”

The knight immediately lowered himself to the floor, grass stained robes ironically enough dirtying the floor instead of the other way around. But he was still too tall too properly see.

“Bend your head down.”

The knight was now facing the floor, and Mary slowly walked till she able to easily see into the holes of his mask. There was nothing there, just pure black that gave no indication that the holes ever ended.

“Hold out your hand.”

Giving orders was so odd, especially when the one you were giving orders too seemed to be a very large dangerous bug. But her words were followed promptly and without pause.

“You really do seem robotic.” Mary muttered, anxious about what she was about to do. But she didn’t want to hurt him, or do anything mean. She didn’t even want to touch him much, it being very bad to touch someone who can’t consent. But she figured that a hand would be ok. It was the most touchy part of anyone right?

The knight’s hand was black and matte. It consumed the light just as much as his eyes did, looking less like an object and more like a hole in her vision. Mary suddenly understood why he must wear such a large covering cloak. Without it he much be so strange to look at, like a part of space missing from the world.

Mary couldn’t even see any detail in what the hand looked like! She was only able to tell from the shape that the knight had long fingers with dull tips, no claws or sharp edges. It would have been nearly three times the length of her own hand.

Mary took a deep breath, and raised her own hand. She paused for a moment before beginning to ruffle up her sleeve until it was just barely covered by the thin fabric, her palm being brushed by the cool air while the back of her hand and still had the fabric laying on it.

Mary hovered her hand over the knight’s open palm. Was she really going to do it? Was she really going to touch another living person for the first time in months? Just to check if they were really a person or not by if they reacted in disgust?

Mary let her breath out as she looked up at the face of the Hollow Knight. She pressed her hand to his and was overcome by the feeling of the bug’s hand.

It was cool, but not cold. More like a room temperature velvet than flesh, but there was a steady hum of something in the soft parts of their hand. Something moving below the surface in a steady beat.

And speaking of soft parts, there was very little carapace. Instead of how she expected his hand to feel, all hard and jointed, it seemed as though what hard parts there were was focused more on the tips of his fingers. As Mary lost some time exploring the Hollow Knight’s hand she discovered that he did have some hard parts, but that they all seemed to be concentrated on the backs of his hand with gaps for joints. His palm was soft and velvety, a suitable substance to explain why it devoured the light the way it did.

It was only when Mary was sliding her hand toward his wrist that the immobile appendage under her hand twitched. Mary yanked her hand away, her sleeve immediately fluttering back over her skin, even as her palm throbbed in want. Her body was desperate for a touch that wasn’t her own.

But she had been doing this for a reason! A reason . . .

“You really are empty.”

The knight remained unmoving on the floor, not having reacted to her sudden movement or the feeling of her weird skin. His eyes hadn’t widened, he hadn’t moved in disgust, there had been no reaction at all. Well, leaving aside his twitch, but Mary was fairly certain that that had just been a muscle reaction..

“G-get back to your feet. We will continue on now.” Mary turned her back to the bug, the knight, the robot.  It really was empty. Surely nothing could have controlled it’s reaction to having an inside out bug touch them.

Mary hurried away, clenching her fist again and again, trying to get rid of the feel of velvet on her palm. She didn’t look back at the knight at all, but she heard the steps of his steady pace begin behind her, still keeping the same distance behind her despite her increased pace.

She quickly came to her workshop, fleeing from the knight behind her, embarrassed despite having nothing to be embarrassed by. All she did was touch a robot! So what if her skin still hummed from the sensation! She was fine, she didn’t do anything wrong and she hadn’t hurt anything.

Everything was fine!

Outside the door, now that the knight had completed the order, it turned and made it’s way back to the king.

It meant nothing at all, that hidden beneath the white cloak it wore that it’s hand was curling and uncurling. The muscles twitching faintly as the heat of the Storyteller’s strange hand slowly left it’s palm.

It meant nothing at all.

Just a physical reaction.

She had been tickling them after all.

Chapter Text

Mary was in the dark, but she could see none the less.

She was bound in fabric. Tight layers twisted around her body and squeezing her tight. Silk threads around her wrists like manacles, keeping her arms wide and restraining her hands by winding around each individual finger. No matter how she jerked her arms, her hands couldn’t untangle from the threads.

She struggled like a fly in a web, legs kicking uselessly as she hung in the darkness.

But then the darkness moved. First it shuddered like a sheet in the wind. Then it fell, light suddenly blazing all around Mary. But as the darkness dropped it fell upon something. An unseen entity was covered in the darkness like it was a cloak. But despite the way the darkness moved like there was something beneath it, Mary couldn’t see anything in its gaps. She could see nothing even with the light shining so bright all around.

The empty cloak of darkness was in front of Mary suddenly. It reached out with a sleeve that quickly changed to a hand of darkness and laced it’s long fingers into her own.

Mary stopped struggling as she held hands with the darkness. Blinded by the light, and still tangled in silk and cloth, but now her palm throbbed in the cool grip of the darkness.

Ring. Riiing. Ring!

Mary’s eyes did not snap open. But she did give a groan of despair.

Mary rubbed her eyes as she bowed her back on the bed.

Another dream about being caught in fabric and holding hands. It didn’t take a psychologist to tell her that she was touch starved and resentful of all of the fabric that she had to wear. She just hadn’t realized how much she missed physical contact until she had touched the knight.

Mary rolled out of her bed with a thump, knees hitting the floor as she slumped there for a moment.  The bells continued to ring as Tinsy surely went wild tugging on the string.

Today the water proof dreamcatchers were going to be shipped out, and Mary along with them.

The King had taken her explanation of what caused her panic at the sight of the Queen of Deepnest to heart. He decided that it would be good for her to see more of the different kinds of bugs that Hallownest housed, so that she wouldn’t be taken off guard again.

Well, that and for her to make an appearance at a small event.

Apparently there had been all sorts of odd rumors buzzing around about her. Things like, ‘the Storyteller kills a bug each to make her dreamcatchers’, that ‘she was falling ill to the infection herself’, or that ‘she doesn’t actually exist at all’.

The King had obviously been refuting them, but for every rumor he quieted another three sprung up. Despite how much she knew she was going to hate this, Mary had agreed that a public appearance would do something to quiet the frantic masses. At the very least the rumors of her being a shambling husk or not real should quiet.

But she knew that she wasn’t going to like it. Parties hadn’t been a thing she had enjoyed back home, and she doubted that the new scenery and different attendees would change that.

Mary had already packed a small bag to travel with, just some spare underwear and another cloak, but she was going to miss the safety of her room. Mary was going to be in for a sleepless night full of paranoia. It was going to be like her first week in Hallownest all over again.

Mary finally got off the floor and began to get ready to leave. But she must have been going too slow for Tinsy because every time she silenced the bells, a moment later they would begin ringing once more.

Mary was just getting more and more frustrated as she got until she was finally heaving the door open ready to yell at the bug who was making those bells ring so much. But she was stopped cold by a giggle and a flash of red.

“Good Morning Storyteller!”

Mary’s anger was forgotten in an instant at the sight of the little child. The Princess was too short to read the bell string and was being held around her middle by the silent Hollow Knight who in turn had to crouch to get her that low.

It was cuter than kittens in a basket.

Mary made a noise that surely no bug could have made and rushed toward the pair of them. She fluttered around them, making high pitched noises as she got as close as she could.

During the few days that the Princess had been in the palace, she had sought Mary out any time that she had managed to ‘kidnap’ the Knight from the King.

The child was convinced that the Knight was their sibling, and would get huffy at anyone who said otherwise. It remined Mary an awful lot like how a child will have a favorite toy or imaginary friend and take great offence at any adult disregarding them.

Mary had apparently managed to get on the Princess’s good side, not only by playing games with her, but by also treating the Knight like a person.

So Mary managed to become a princess’s playmate along with being proclaimed a robot’s friend.  She didn’t quite know how to feel about it, but well, . . . Mary had thought that the Knight was a person before, so it was actually harder to keep reminding herself that they weren’t really aware and sentient. It was easier to just keep treating them like a person even if they never responded.

Besides, they seemed to take directions better when she explained it to then like they were a person. Mary had managed to teach them how to play a few more games, hide and seek being particularly difficult to explain. There had been that one time that Mary had taken her hands from her eyes only to see the Knight ducked behind a bench with their horns coming from the top and their butt poking out.

Mary had laughed herself sick.

“Good morning Princess! Good morning Hollow Knight! Did you come to see me off?”

The little bug wiggled in the Knight’s grip until they seemed to get the message and gently lowered her to the ground. The Princess rushed forward and grabbed a double handful of Mary’s cloak, her little head tilted up at the disguised human.

“Yes, yes, yes! You’re going to the city! Mama says that it’s full of feebles and greedies so you need to take me with you! I can fight with Hollow against them and keep you safe Storyteller!”

Mary cooed at the little girl, but knew that she had to dissuade her from wanting to come. The Queen of Deepnest refused to allow her daughter deeper into the King’s land at the moment. The fact that she was allowed to roam so freely in the castle was only allowed because of the familiarity that time brought and the presence of the Hollow Knight. Apparently he had orders to put the princess’s life above all others in the castle.

Mary can’t say that she disagreed with this sentiment.

But the little princess was bored in the palace, having explored all that she could ages ago, and now she wanted to go on adventures with her trusty knight. The King and both Queens had tried to convince her that this wouldn’t be a fun trip. But well, they all didn’t quite know how to gently dissuade children.

“Really? You’ll come? Hooray! Then I can make you go to all of the parities I have to! Parties where you will have to talk to every single person there, no matter how boring or mean they are. You’ll just have to wear my big heavy cloak and all of its pointy medals and pins!”

The child seemed to be having second thoughts about joining in on the trip. She had let go of Mary’s cloak and had taken a step back toward the knight.

Time to really hammer it home.

“Maybe you’ll be so good at it they you’ll always have to do it, and then I will get to s\spend all day playing with Hollow! Let’s see how you’ll look in my mask.”

Mary reached down like she was going to swipe at the little girl. The princess shrieked before turning and hiding behind the knight, her little horned head poking out from behind his cloak as her little eyes stared at Mary in suspicion.

Mary laughed once more, before crouching down to be the same level as the princess, “It’s not going to be fun you know? The problem with greedies and feebles is that you’re not allowed to fight them off with a nail or needle. You have to use your words to make them think that they won even if you’re the one getting the prize. It’s really hard, and I’m not very good at it! I’m just going to have to stand in a corner and let everyone look at me before going and sleeping in a strange room. It’s not going to be fun at all. But maybe when I get back, you and Hollow will be able to spend a few days together and we can all play some games! Or, we can act out a story! You can be a dashing princess who saves the silent knight from the evil clutches of the mysterious cloaked villain.” Mary raised her hands and shook them to make her cloak wiggle when she said those words, giving her a wobbly effect.

The princess had taken a particular delight in saving the knight, whose only job was to sit behind Mary as the two girls smacked sticks while making sound effects with their mouths. The princess would always manage to defeat her, and rush toward the knight. The Princess would save him from Mary’s clutches by grabbing his hand and tugging him away. But every now and then it would be the knight who managed to break from the ‘magic circle’ and pluck up the little princess whenever Mary got the upper hand.

All of the play dates had put Mary in a much better mood, even if after playtime the Queen of Deepnest would come to collect her child. The giant spider still scared Mary, but now that she knew there was a giant spider about, her instinctive fear response had changed to freezing instead of screaming.

It was a work in progress.

The princess didn’t seem all that excited at the idea of a future play date, but she was a smart girl who wasn’t as easily distracted as some children Mary had known. 

“But you are both going! Hollow is big enough to take care of you, but what will happen if I’m not there to take care of Hollow? People will be mean to them!”

Oh, was that the problem? Well, that was simply fixed.

Mary stood back up, and cleared her throat.

“Princess Hornet of Deepnest,  daughter of Beast and Wyrm. I, the one titled Storyteller, do solemnly swear to protect and safeguard the Hollow Knight from cruelty and villains as long as it is within my power to do so. “

 Mary bowed low with a flourish, letting her cloak’s sleeves flair as she crossed an arm over her chest and threw the other out behind her. “Do you except my promise of safety, Princess?”

Hornet narrowed her eyes at the bug bowing before her. She had seen other bugs do this to her mama and her mother and her father. But this was the first time someone had bowed to her alone. It made her swell with pride. She moved out from behind Hollow and stood as tall as she could in front of the Storyteller.

“I accept your promise Storyteller! Keep Hollow safe.”

The princess looked back at Hollow as well, “Keep the Storyteller safe too. She might be good at talking but she’s not very fast or very strong. And she gets lost easy. You are going to have to lead her around a lot.”

Mary straightened up with a huff, all the drama done with quite quickly. As much as the princess seemed to be susceptible to dramatic shows, she was just as quick to move past them. Such a quick little child.

“Oh come on, that’s mean! I only get lost sometimes in this palace, and that’s just because everything looks the same. I’m much better than I was in the beginning!”

This was true, when she had first be moved to the castle, Mary had gotten lost daily. It had gotten to the point that she had to be escorted by Tinsy everywhere. She had eventually learned to navigate the main halls, but every now and then Mary would take a wrong turn and wander for a while until she found a retainer to help her get back to where she was meant to be.

The princess gave Mary a look from where she had once more begun to climb up the cloak of the Hollow Knight, who stayed as unmoving as usual.

“Really? Then do you know how to get to the carriages?”

Mary paused.

“Ummm.”

The princess shook her head from where she was finally perched once more on the knight’s shoulders, an adult habit she had to have picked up from her father.

“Come on Hollow, let’s take Storyteller where she needs to go.”

Mary watched from the open door of her carriage as the Queen was loaded up into the same carriage as the King. Her large body was being carefully lifted and adjusted to tuck it into the wide shell like carriage.

Mary herself had been shoved into her own carriage after Tinsy had arrived, angrier than a wet cat about how she had disappeared from her room. There had been no explaining that the Princess had come for her, Tinsy not waiting a moment before swooping in and doing a check of the carriage all while making a particular high pitched noise that remined Mary of hissing.

Tinsy had been anxious about this day sense she had been told about the party. Apparently how Mary acted and was perceived in the noble public was going to reflect back on how Tinsy had been serving her. Tinsy had been drilling her about what was and what was not acceptable behavior every spare moment that she had.

But Mary had managed to figure out another reason that Tinsy was in a tizzy.

Apparently, since the Queen was coming along with the King to the city, some of her personal gardeners had come along to control the growth that would happen. And all of the bug retainers brought would be sharing some close quarters.

Unlike all of the other retainers who seemed to have been from a variety of social classes and species before making their way into the personal service of the king, the gardeners always seemed to be from the same ten or so families. Every single one of them had spent some time gardening for the queen. It was common for a younger bug to come for a few years to work in service before entering the courts, and just as often for them to retire in their old age and care for the gardens once more.

The only reason Mary even knew this about them, was because Tinsy was always up in arms about one of the younger gardeners.

Tinsy had been tripping over this one particular bug every time she had gone with Mary to the queens conservatory. She complained about everything about him. From the way he pronounced his words to the dirt he always had on his knees, there was always something to whine about.

And of course it had nothing to do with the fact that he was a friendly bug with a voice as smooth as whiskey and a tendency to abandon whatever he was working on to lean on a tree or wall and tell Tinsy that she was looking very attractive today.

Nothing at allllll.

But quickly the carriages were filled and the slow train of bugs and supplies began to roll over the giant bridge that separated the palace from the rest of the caves.

Mary was left alone in her personal carriage, decorated with dreamcatchers and swooping fabric. She had thought that Tinsy was going to ride with her to the city, but apparently it would have been too presumptuous for her to ride with a titled bug.

There wasn’t much to do, a thick curtain tied over the single window, and Mary didn’t want to untie it and let the warmth out. So Mary just dug into the basket of string and hoops that she had packed for the journey. But upon opening it up Mary began to curse. There was plenty of the delicate thin grade silk that she had been using this last day to make dreamcatchers, the supply of their usual having run out. But there was only a single hoop! She had forgotten to get more!

If Mary made a normal dreamcatcher then she would only be distracted for ten minutes tops! If this was going to distract her for the entire trip then she needed to make sure that it would actually chew up the time.

Mary began to spin patterns into the webbing, crisscrossing the string and making knots. The little intricate designs kept getting caught on her cloak and after having to undo the third loop to keep it all tight, she just turned her back to the door and pushed her sleeves up her arms.

The stopping of the cart would warn her long before the door opened.

Mary got a bit absorbed. The silk sliding over her fingers as she wove and wove.

Her world narrowed down to the sight of her own fingers pinching and knotting the silk into the pattern of a spiral. Her breathing had slowed down even as her fingers seemed to speed up. The slow rocking of the carriage calming her mind and seeming to lull her into a trance.

tap tap tap

“Storyteller?”

Mary was shocked out of her meditative state by the sound of a gentle knock on the door and the sound of Tinsy’s voice.

Suddenly the world flooded back in. The carriage wasn’t rocking anymore and Mary was suddenly aware of the cramp in her hands and the crick in her neck and back. There was an odd rushing sound coming from the outside as well.

They must have reached the city.

Mary made a loose knot in the nearly finished dreamcatcher and tucked it into her bag before stretching her back. Her spine cracked and Mary gave a sigh of relief.

She shook her sleeves back down before she opened the door to greet Tinsy, but upon opening it her mind came crashing to a halt.

Was- was that rain?

Tinsy was talking to her, but Mary was frozen, staring out over and behind the bug.

All around Mary were bugs busily working at unloading the carriages. But just past them, where the low ceiling ended, was rain.

Mary slowly stepped out of her carriage, bare feet chilling instantly on the wet metal of the ground, but she barely noticed. She wandered dazedly past Tinsy, the little bug having realized that she wasn’t being listened to, over to where the awning that the carriage was parked under ended and the rain was coming down. She stopped at the very edge, her cloak slowly soaking in the water that sat in puddles on the ground.

The sound of rain was constant but not thunderous, and every breath drew moisture into Mary’s lungs. The air felt heavy, like a storm, but no matter how long she waited there was no crack of thunder. 

It’s like being underwater.

That was the only thought that Mary had as she stared out at what little of the city she could see. The flickering lights from behind huge glass windows catching her gaze before her sight slid to the next shining object. At the light of the lamps glittering off of the slick metal buildings and the bridges that curved over the slow moving canals.

How could something like this be inside of a cavern? Because yes, she could still see the walls as far off as they were. There were thousands of tiny droplets of water coming down in a steady slow fall. There was no sun, no sky, no sign of an opening in the roof above. But it was still undeniably raining.

There were many places in the caverns that Mary hadn’t gone to, but she was sure that there wouldn’t be a place that came near as close to being magical as this city.

“Welcome to the City of Tears, Storyteller.”

Mary jumped. Tinsy had come up beside her, the bug’s normally clicky steps drowned out by the sound of falling water.

“How is this possible? We’re still in Hallownest right? Is there a hole to the surface?”

Tinsy shook her head as she also looked out at the city.

“No. The city was built underneath of a lake. The stone should have been thick enough, but near it’s completion it was found that the stone above was porous. Water began to trickle down and give the city the appearance of constant rain. The King had insisted on the entire city being made from silver and glass, and the bugs finally learned why that day. His foresight was very useful, all of the bugs of Hallownest were thankful.”

Mary tried to look at the ceiling, only to get some water in her eyes. She ducked back under the awning and shook her head.

“Can we explore some? I would love to give this place a closer look!”

The fussy bug made a hissing noise, and seemed to be affronted at the rain. “You couldn’t drag me out into that wet mess. My fluff will take forever to dry in this moist air. You can go, I’ll make sure that there will be something dry for you to wear at the party.”

Tinsy immediately flounced off to do her self assigned job, immediately getting lost in the shuffle of unloading the carts and busy bugs. Mary huffed a sigh, before wandering over to where the queen was once more being delicately lifted from the carriage. The King was nearby, watching the maneuvering while also speaking with one of his retainers.

Mary figured that she needed permission before leaving, or at the very least to tell them that she was going off.

The Queen was obviously busy, so she approached the King. She came at him from the side, so it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t notice her waiting. But Mary knew how to play this game, wait for a pause and then strike.

The moment that the King’s attention drifted toward where the Queen was being situated in her chair, Mary spoke out.

“Your majesty, I will be exploring the city before the party.”

It was almost funny to see how the King’s entire brain seemed to derail from Mary’s sudden proclamation. Mary had learned that to get your way with the king, you simply told him what you were going to do, and did not allow him to decide if you would or not. No asking for anything.

 “ . . . we have no one to spare to be a guide for you Storyteller. You cannot be allowed to go alone, you do not know your way around.”

Mary frowned. The King was right but she wanted to see this place! She felt like a child in wonderland and she wanted to see as much as she could.

Mary’s eyes flicked to behind the King, where the Hollow Knight stood still and silent. The knight was often left to stand behind the king while he worked. And Mary knew that the knight knew his way around most places, surely he had a good enough mental map of the city to lead her.

“Why not . . . lend me the Hollow Knight? Surely your knight will be able to lead me back to the royal residence with time to spare. And it can only look good if the two main defenses against the infection were seen together. You were just going to have him stand behind you anyway, surely this would way something can be done with the tools at your disposal?”

The King narrowed his eyes up at the Storyteller, but seeing as all he could see was her cloaked body and her slit eyed mask, he gained nothing from the effort. Her mind was the same as always, a slow steady thump that reminded the Pale Light of a drum, never stuttering or pausing even if occasionally it beat faster in response to high emotion.

The King was not entirely comfortable with the Hollow Knight leaving his side outside of the castle. The Pure Vessel could be confused if given conflicting orders, the first few years of raising it had been a trial and error of learning to phrase orders and informing it when tasks were considered finished. But various trips out of the castle had allowed the Pale Light to learn that what guidelines might work in the castle, did not always work outside.

The Pale Light was just about to refuse the Storyteller when he was interrupted.

“That is a wonderful idea.”

The White Lady’s gentle tone broke through the tension, her seated figure being rolled toward them. She rolled herself next to her husband, and laid a tendril over his tensed shoulders.

“The Storyteller needs to be seen interacting with the citizens of Hallownest, not just with the upper crust. There are rumors that she’s not real at all, and more than a single cloistered sighting will help dissuade this assumption. The Hollow Knight being seen with her can only help with the push to get a dreamcatcher in every home.”

The Pale Light’s body relaxed a bit at her touch, even as he released a sigh. His wife was correct. A single sighting of the Storyteller by only a few bugs would not do much to dissolved the rumors of her being a manufactured being covered in a cloak and mask. Best to have the common bugs catch glimpses of her out and about with a true empty creature so that differences could be drawn.

The Pale Light sighed, giving in to the gentle push of his wife and looking over his shoulder to the Hollow Knight.

“Hollow Knight, keep the Storyteller safe. Have her back in the royal residence by the seventh bell.”

The Storyteller gave an excited little shake and made a high pitched noise that the Pale Light had learned meant she was happy, before she reaching behind the him and snagging the Hollow Knight by his cloak. She dragged the Hollow Knight behind her like she was the Pale Light’s daughter, excited to play. She got half way to the exit before the Pale Light’s voice managed to stop her.

“Don’t forget the umbrellas!”

It was like exploring a drained undersea kingdom. Everything was wet and the sound of rushing and falling water enveloped your senses.

There weren’t many bugs, out, a few dotting the walkways here and there, all of them rushing to their destination whether or not they had an umbrella or just a cloak. But Mary could see large covered streets that were just as busy as any market. Bugs squeezed in tightly to get to shops and stalls.

Mary thought about adventuring into the packed area, but decided that it would be safer to stick with the emptier and wetter streets. She would surely get knocked about in the crowded streets and might even lose Hollow Knight in the press.

Mary gently twirled her own umbrella. It wasn’t like one you would see from where she was from. It was really just a leaf with a metal ring to keep its shape and a stick to hold it. But when you’re made out of a shell, all you really care about is keeping the water from your antennas and eyes.

The street was cold and wet, but Mary was actually sort of happy that she didn’t have any shoes. She had decided that they gave too much away about her foot shape.  If she had gone through with the idea to weave some sandals out of some plants then they would surly have been ruined by the water.  

Not that the cold water of unknown cleanliness was pleasant to step in, but at least her feet had some good friction on the slick stone ground even if all of the stairs had to be taken on her tip toes. Made to only accommodate the small single toed feet of most insects, the stairs in Hallownest were often thin and steep.

“It’s so pretty! There’s something like this back where I’m from, but I’ve never gone myself. Instead of a city built under a lake, there is a city built on top of the sea! Buildings can become submerged during bad weather or even just a high tide. It’s supposed to be a very romantic place, but I think that the City of Tears might be more impressive than The Floating City.”

Mary couldn’t help talking at the Hollow Knight, though she would go quiet whenever another bug got close. As much as it was supposed to just be a robot that did what it was told, she couldn’t help but feel awkward walking in front of him in silence! She used to talk to herself all of the time, completely unable to let the silence sit.

And it was a million times worse with a person! If she wasn’t concentrating on something then she just had to fill the silence.

And that’s how she ended up walking next to the towering Hollow Knight, not even able to see the top half of his body because of her umbrella, and yet chatting up a storm.

It was freeing in a way, the knowledge that she wasn’t talking too much, that the other person wasn’t just waiting for her to get done so that they could also say there piece. It was doubly relieving to know that she didn’t have to watch herself, that there wouldn’t be any awkward questions about something that she let slip.

“Venice was known for its masks too, but they weren’t used like how Hallownest does. Where I’m from there’s no need to have another face made. Or, well, not one like these.” Mary reached up to touch her own mask. It was a round thing, bigger than she probably needed. The only marks breaking up its imitation of an eggshell were the two thin and long slits that signified her eyes. The slits were angled down at the edges, giving her a look of sadness.

Appropriate for the city she supposed.

“The women of my species often paint their faces. It can be used to just accent the face, adding odd colors that everyone knows is just for decoration, but there are some ways to use it to change how you look entirely different!”

Mary wandered over to the edge of a bridge, the Hollow Knight following close behind.

Mary peeked over the edge, looking down at their reflections in the slow moving water. They were both nothing but shadows with white faces in the reflection of the water.  Unable to be distinguished by anything but the size of the splotches of white.

Mary was sure that there was poetry in there somewhere.

Mary turned around and tucked her umbrella close so that she could look up at the Hollow Knight.

“I guess that might be why the mask bothers me so much. It feels too much like trying to be someone else entirely, or hiding. But hiding was the whole reason I put this mask on in the first place. It’s just been bothering me more lately.”

Mary leaned on the bridge’s railing, her back getting wet but she doubted that she was going to be able to wear this cloak again for the entire trip. There would be no drying it in the chilly wet air.

 Hopefully Tinsy brought multiple changes for her.

“I still want to hide, but it’s become less about hiding from the world and more like I’m pretending to be something I’m not. I mean, I have a title! Given to me by royalty! There’s not even royalty where I’m from, I would have never expected something like this to happen. It’s like, everyone has these expectations on what ‘The Storyteller’ is supposed to be and I end up feeling like if I let them know who I really was then I would let them down and get thrown out.”

Mary tilted her head toward the Hollow Knight, smiling behind her mask up at the unmoving statue beside her, “I’m exaggerating I know.  But if they saw what was underneath the mask, even if they were disgusted, they would still keep me close. I’m too important to the dreamcatcher business, but I doubt I would be given as much freedom or good will.”

The pattering rain was suddenly over shadowed by the sound of a very loud high pitched bell. It rang five times before going quiet. Mary’s time to be put in the city was running short, she only had about an hour and a half before she would be needed back at the building where the king and queen would be staying and taking guests.

Mary pushed off the railing, and gave her umbrella another little spin. “Come on Hollow, I want to see more of the city before the party. We can start to head back at the sixth bell.”

Mary got exactly one step away from the bridge’s railing before one of the few bugs that had been walking near them seemed to slip.

She didn’t see more than a blur of a dark cloak, a flashed of reflected light and the bugs hands. The must have been carrying something and had flung out their hand to try and catch their balance.

But Mary had spent months dodging even accidental touches with other bugs. She flung herself backwards, her feet sliding on the thin steps of the metal bridge, and flipping right over the hip high railing.

Mary had a moment of stomach turning vertigo before she splashed into the water.

The moment the water engulfed her body, it was like Mary was possessed by all of the swimming lessons that she had ever been given as a child.

Her eyes snapped open the moment that the water was moving a bit slower over her face. She could see the light from the lamps above the water, and began to make for them.

It took a few moments to right herself, especially with her mask and cloak messing with her ability to simply kick out, but she eventually broke the surface of the water with a gasp.

It was difficult to swim in a cloak, but swimming wasn’t the goal. Mary spread her arms and legs wide. She took a deep breath, letting her chest inflate with air while she tilted onto her back. She breathed shallowly as she took in her bearings.

She was still just near the bridge, the water in the canal moving so slowly that she had just floated a few feet down stream. She could even see her umbrella, upside down and slowly filling with water, floating over where she must have fallen in.

There was a quick movement on the bridge, but Mary wasn’t at a good angle to see what was going on. The bug that had startled her into falling must be trying to talk to Hollow, they were going to get nowhere of course, but still.

Mary needed to get out of the cold water and back with the Knight. She looked at the sides of the canal. They were awfully tall. She would either have to get help or float farther downstream to get out. Surely there was a place nearby for bugs that accidentally fell in? A little ladder or something.

Maybe Hollow could get her out? His arms were pretty long, and he had to be strong.

“Hollow?”

At her voice the movement on the bridge seemed to pause before there was the white face of the Hollow knight peered over the side. They had also lost their umbrella and the water looked odd with how it ran down their face. It pooled in their eyes before running down to drip off of their chin.

The knight was just as stoic and unmoving as always. Mary felt a little bit of relief that as long as she could explain away why she was soaking wet and missing her umbrella, no one would find out that she accidentally tossed herself into the canals. It would save her the embarrassment.

“Hollow Knight, I will need help getting out! The walls are too high for me to climb. If I get close to the wall, can you lift me out?”

The Hollow Knight began to walk to the side of the canal that Mary was closest to. Their face never turning from where Mary waited, floating in the canal. Once they reached the edge of the canal, Mary flipped over onto her stomach and doggy paddled over to where they had crouched.

Mary had been right, the knight’s arms were long enough for her too reach, they were long enough to touch the water!

Mary paused before the offered hand.

 Mary wasn’t sure what counted as heavy to a bug like Hollow, or any bugs really. She had seen regular sized retainers lift crates full of metal hoops, but she had also seen others struggle just to shift a table. It had to be connected to species, but Hollow was something made. Who knew what he could do.

Mary tilted her head up, trying to say her order with authority so that the Hollow Knight would follow it. She had found that sometimes the knight would allow themselves to become damaged to accomplish an order, and she didn’t want to hurt him.

“Do not lift me out if the action injures you. We will find another way out if you cannot do this.” And with that Mary laid her hand in his, the wet cloth sticking to her skin.

The Knight’s large black hand swallowed her hand, wrist and some of her forearm. Her arm throbbed as someone touched her, even though the soaked fabric. His hand squeezed into her flesh, first gently, but as Mary’s arm continued to easily give under his grasp, the hand squeezed till it could feel the bone underneath. Once the Hollow Knight seemed to be satisfied with his grip, the knight stood up, easily pulling her from the water.

Mary dangled from the bugs hand, shoulder twinging under her weight, befuddled as hell that she was being so easily lifted.

Hollow knight raised his arm high enough to look her right in her masked face, her soaking wet body dripping water back into the canal.

Slowly, and with a gentle turn to keep her as steady as possible the Hollow Knight held her over the wet street and lowered her to the ground. When Mary’s feet touched the ground she expected to be released, but even when she gently tugged at the Hollow Knight’s grip on her arm . . . he didn’t let go? In fact his grip just loosened a bit before sliding up her arm to close around her bicep instead.

He began to pull her by the arm, turning toward the way they came. Mary followed behind, wet and getting colder by the second. The caverns were cool at the best of times but soaking wet they felt fridge. When it was just her feet and calves being wet it wasn’t so bad but now her whole body was getting chilled to the bone.

Mary was suddenly struck by fear. What if she got sick? She probably wouldn’t die, but if she got a fever then she could be in trouble. No one could take care of her, there was no medicine that she could take, no chicken soup.

“Hollow, I need to get warm and dry as soon as possible. It’s too cold for me to be this wet, I might get sick.”

The Knight didn’t pause in his quick pace forward but instead of going straight down the canal where they come from he took a hard right. After a few more turns and a staircase he was crowding her into a building with a sign for a hot spring out front.

Mary was startled. Yeah, she had told him that she needed to get warm, but she hadn’t really expected him to take it as an order.

But there she stood, soaking wet on the tiled floor of a waiting room with a snooty looking bug staring down at her from where they sat behind a tall desk.

“Do you have a reservation.”

The question wasn’t a question. The clerk had zeroed in on the soggy masked bug and had already decided that there wasn’t a chance in hell that they even had the geo to enter the pleasure house. Bugs from out of the city saw the hot springs sign and always tried to get in, but they never expected to have to pay for the pleasure of using the springs. And they didn’t need a masked bug polluting the atmosphere of the pleasure house.

“Oh, uh, no but I really need to warm-”

The clerk cut her off, they didn’t need to hear her sob story, just to get her out of the establishment.

“Without a reservation you would need to pay a higher entry fee, the cost would come to be about 1,300 geo per person. Would you like to pay the fee?”

Mary was flustered. She didn’t have any geo on her. Did she even have any geo? Was she even getting paid? How much money was that even, what it like a thousand dollars or was it more like thirteen?

As Mary continued to flounder in her confusion, the Hollow Knight made their presence known. Despite how large they were, bugs had a habit of ignoring them when there were more attention catching things around. And the Storyteller, shaking gently and dripping water on the floor was more eye catching then a being of void.

The Hollow Knight reached over and gently set a King’s Seal on the counter.

Mary was relived, she had seen Tinsy handle one of those before. It was apparently like a credit card where a bill would be sent to the castle with a special code to connect it to a particular seal. If the Hollow Knight had one, then surely it was ok to use it. This was for her health after all, she could explain it away easily if asked.

The clerk stared down at the little carved lump of metal in front of them.

This was a King’s Seal. A seal only given to those with the authorization to have their expenses paid for by the castles coffers. A seal that would only be given to those who were trusted not to abuse it. A seal that was currently sitting on the counter of a pleasure house.

“ . . . follow me please.”

The clerk left their seat and led the two bugs to the elevator. He shooed them inside of the metal cage and yanked the lever. As the three rose up, he tried to regain some face by explaining the rules of the establishment.

“The Pleasure House is an spa that provides many services and entertainment. We currently house Marissa the Songstress. We simply ask that you do not enter the rooms marked as private. Any and all used oils, creams and brushes will be added to your tab at the end of your visit. Please no bothering the other guests.”

Mary had latched onto the word private, managing to butt into the clerk’s quick prattle, “Excuse me, but do you offer private rooms connected to the hot springs? I would be more comfortable being uncloaked in a room without others.”

The clerk paused, his antenna wiggling before answering her question. “We do have a number of private bathing rooms. Would you like to rent one? It will add an extra charge to your tab.”

“Oh yes! Yes please! It’s been so long since I’ve been able to enter a hot spring.” Mary clapped her hands in excitement, but stopped at the wet gross sound that her cloak sleeves made when they hit each other. She would have to wring it out once she was hidden away.

There wasn’t any more conversation as the odd group’s elevator finally reached the top of the building and the clerk led them to a room with a smattering of bugs all sitting on large plush chairs and facing a singing butterfly.

“Please wait here while I prepare the room.”

As the clerk scurried off, Mary’s attention was snagged by the sight of a sentient flying insect.  So far she had thought that it was only crawling bugs that had minds.

The butterfly’s pink wings were spread out behind her as she stood on a small stage, her voice haunting and clear as it filled the space. She was wearing a long red skirt and a high collar but she had left her middle bare.  Her antenna were so fluffy that they nearly looked like she had blond hair trailing down her back, but they twitched gently during her song and broke that illusion.

She was beautiful.

She was singing, but not singing in a way that Mary really understood. There were no words, and her mouth seemed to barely be moving, but her skirt seemed to be shuddering with the vibrations of her voice.

Mary was enthralled by the sound and sight of this creature. The bugs that had become to familiar to her suddenly seemed so alien once more. And they were wonderous.

The clerk from before cleared his throat broke Mary out of her trance.

“Your room is ready now.”

Mary followed the bug once more even as she cast glances behind her to catch one last look at the songstress.

They were eventually taken to a metal door with a number 3 on it. The clerk unlocked it with a key around his neck and the wet bugs entered.

The room was small, with a shallow but wide pit in the floor with steaming water gently trialing in and draining out at once. Over to the side was a smooth carved bench with some blankets and pillows piled on top. A small table held a few towels. A single lumafly lamp kept it from being pitch black, but it was just what Mary needed to warm herself up for a while.

The clerk closed the door, leaving the two bugs alone.

The Hollow Knight was still gripping Mary's arm.

The clerk hurried back to his desk, ruminating over the two who he had just left alone.

Ordering a private room for two in a pleasure house? He could only wander about what kinds of activities those two were about to get up to. And how! The larger bug was three times the smaller’s size, and had kept a possessive grip on her the whole time! And judging by how soft and round she looked with the water logged fabric sticking to her, they weren’t even the same species!

Mixed couples weren’t rare, but having to come to the pleasure house to meet? Just what were they hiding?

The tall bug looked exotic, perhaps one of the Knights of the King? Or perhaps they were a special guard. But to have a King’s Seal they would surely have to be quite trusted and important.

And the masked bug, were they actually faceless or was that just a disguise? Was she secretly a maggot? She was a touch too thin for that, but the clerk didn’t know of any other bug type that would be so soft but still have legs.

 She had come across as nervous, perhaps this was the first rendezvous? Or maybe whatever was about to happen in that private room was something to be wary of. Maybe he should go ahead and warn the mender bugs that room number three will need special attention tonight.

The whole thing smelled of a scandal. It might end up being the story of the year to find out who those two were.

Chapter Text

The room was quiet. The gentle sound of the water splashing into the shallow pool mixed with the faint tones of the singing that managed to fade through the door. Mary’s own breathing was the loudest sound in the room.

Mary was sitting on the bottom of the pool. Her clothing and mask were hanging off of a hook on the wall. It made her anxious to be uncovered in a place that wasn’t her locked room in the palace. But the door had a hook lock on it and the Hollow Knight was right here. All it would take is a shouted order to keep the door shut and he would give her enough time to get to her cloak and mask.

But even with her paranoia, she knew that there wouldn’t be a reason for anyone to burst through the door. The clerk hadn’t recognized either her nor the Hollow Knight, she was just an anonymous customer. Who cared what species she was when the  Hollow Knight’s money was good and they were being model customers?

No one, that’s who!

Mary forced her shoulders to relax as she stretched her arms over her head before letting them drop back into the water. Mary had rubbed at herself with a corner of one of the towels, turning her skin red with the effort.

She didn’t have any soap, and all of the bottles of oil beside the pool were for washing a bug’s shell. She had already tried similar things back in the palace, and all it did was make her even oilier. She didn’t know when she would have another chance to have a hot bath, and so the first few minutes of being in the water had been dedicated to scraping off a layer of skin, but now she was just letting the heat soak into her bones.

She looked at her blurry body through the water, sticking one leg out to stare at it. It was a normal leg, but it was so hairy. She hadn’t shaved for months and now her legs, arm pits and crotch were furry. It was weird to leave it alone. Like she was breaking a rule or something just by having it. But it’s not like she could do anything about it, not like she was going to tweeze her entire body! It’s not like she was showing it off to anyone, or that if a bug did see her that they would know that it was . . . impolite? To even have it.

She had never realized how much upkeep her body had been accustomed to until she couldn’t do it anymore. It was freeing in a way, but it also made her feel even more like she should hide it away in fear of causing disgust.

Mary dipped deeper under the hot water with a sigh, the liquid climbing farther up her chest until only her neck was above the water. Mary nearly had to lay flat on her back to have the shallow water cover her entire body. 

Mary’s hair was unbraided and floated around her in a dark ring. Some of it clinging to her skin. Mary scooped her hair up and let if fall over her shoulder, covering her chest.

The sound of her splashing about seemed loud in the room, even more so with how hard she was trying to ignore the other occupant.

The Hollow Knight was sitting perfectly straight, his hands in his lap. He once more looked like a statue and didn’t even breath to let you know he was alive.

He also had a towel draped between his horn and over his face.

Look, she had tried to just tell him to wait outside the door, but he wouldn’t move and it’s not like she could force him.

When direct orders hadn’t worked, and with time counting down, she had let him stay in the room. But then there hadn’t been a way to make him close his eyes! He literally couldn’t do it!

It was . . . bad to have him face the wall. Reminiscent of a horror movie even. Which is how he ended up sitting on the bench and with a towel over his face.

He looked stupid, and he directly faced her as she bathed, but it was what ended up working and Mary was going to leave it be.

The faint trilling of a bell cut through the silence and after the sixth ring it went silent.

Mary had to get out of the warm water and start getting ready to leave. There was less than an hour before they were expected to return to the royal residence and then Mary and the Hollow Knight had to get ready for the party later. Maybe she would be able to shove a nap in there somewhere before she had to make an appearance. But it was likely that Tinsy would want to go over etiquette once more.

Mary lifted herself to her feet, the water only coming up to her knees, and climbed out of the shallow pool. Time to face the cold outside world once more.

The Storyteller had gone quite. The only sounds the Hollow Knight could hear in the room were the movement of water and her breathing.

The Storyteller breathed louder than any bug the Hollow Knight had ever come into contact with. Not even the laboring bugs had the same volume that she did. It was less like breathing and more like air moving through a black smith’s bellows. Loud and rhythmic.

Very few bugs can swim, most downing instantly as their sides touched water, the tubes in their abdomens sucking the water into their bodies without the ability to stop.

The Hollow Knight had watched her body closely in the moment that it had drawn her from the canal that she should have died in. It’s hand wrapped around her small soft arm, the hard core beneath the giving warmth the only part of her that felt as though it could withstand the Hollow Knight’s hold.

As her body had dangled above the canal, the water soaked cloak hadn’t fluttered at all along her sides even as her oddly shaped thorax expanded and shrunk with the sound of her breathing.

The Storyteller did not breath in the way of bugs. She did not draw air through holes in her sides, the cloak would have given that away. But despite the impossibility of it. Breath she did.

When the Hollow Knight had seen the Storyteller go over the side of the bridge, it’s lunge for her disrupted by the sword swung at it by the Soul Warrior that had attempted to stab the Storyteller, it knew it had failed. The splash of her body entering the water had been a hellish noise. The knowledge that she was sinking to the bottom of the canal where they could not dive to get her, void always floating on the water, had been torturous. 

The Soul guard had teleported away once the Hollow knight had frozen in the horror of failing the Storyteller, of failing their orders to keep her safe, of failing all of Hallownest. They had fallen to their knees, eyes locked on the place she had fallen, the void beginning to melt from their body to tantrum. Swinging wildly and tarnishing the very metal they knelt on.

But her clear voice had broken the monotonous sound of falling water. The void had condensed down into their solid body instantly, with only a few streaks of black being left behind to show they had ever lost control.

To see the Storyteller floating, face up and with her cloak fluttering out below her had been like seeing a god. The white of her mask, and the thin cuts signaling her eyes gazing up at the Hollow Knight sadly even as her voice was unconcerned. Defying death and comfortable in it’s wet embrace.

The Hollow knight refocused their attention as the splashing in the pool was joined by a sigh.

The always cloaked Storyteller was bare just a few feet in front of the Hollow Knight. But the view of her was blocked by the towel that she had delicately threaded through it’s horns, laying it gently on it’s always open eyes.

It would have been safer if the Hollow Knight could see. But in this locked room, if another Soul Warrior attempts to attack the Storyteller, the sound of the teleport would alert the Hollow Knight even before their eyes could.

The Hollow Knight listened to the Storyteller leave the bath, and begin to get redress herself. Muttering about fabric sticking to their ‘skin’, and their ‘hair’ having to be braided wet. Complaints mixed in with her deep breathing, as if to muffle the sound. A bug would hear nothing but the vague sound of her voice, but a vessel can hear every word.

The Hollow Knight does not know what the Storyteller looks like. But as her voice gets just the slightest bit muffled behind her mask and the towel is dragged from it’s head, the Hollow Knight knows that it doesn’t matter.

Not when she is so godly.

“Come on Hollow Knight, let’s go back.”

The trip back to the royal residence was uneventful. The Hollow Knight bought an overpriced umbrella from the pleasure house and walked beside her the entire time, one arm held out to their side to keep her dry. Mary had attempted to stop him from doing this, orders being useless, but when she walked so close to them that she was half inside his cloak, they raised the umbrella high enough to at least half cover themselves as well.

“What will the King think! I’m going to return you as wet as I was in the canal! I’m still in my wet clothes Hollow! I can’t very well get drier here! Not with my cloak dragging through water! Honestly, shouldn’t you be following my orders? Did the King tell you to do something that I don’t remember? You did your best to keep me dry, it was my own fault that I fell into the canal! Well, the other bug has a pinch of the blame, I will admit.”

Mary gripped and complained the whole walk back to the royal residence. The wonderous city that had enchanted her becoming just another hassle to deal with now that she was wet and having to deal with the uncomfortable feeling of wearing gross wet cloth on formerly clean skin.

When the pair of them finally entered a side door of the royal residence, they were ambushed by bugs waiting with towels.

Mary was forced to take a number of towels. She threw one over her shoulders even as she wished she could put it on her bare skin. But even though she stepped toward one of the retainers to have them lead her to her room, the Hollow Knight stopped her.

His arm had shot out in front of her, the action so sudden that she was stunned to a halt.

“Hollow? We’ve returned to the royal residence. You should go get dry and return to the King. Go.”

The Hollow Knight stared down at Mary, his body straight and mask tilted down at her. A few drops of water slowly ran down his mask to drip to the floor.

Mary tilted her head to the side. What did he want? Why wasn’t he returning to the king?

The Hollow Knight stood for a few moments more, before slowly turning his head to look at the door. He began to walk all at once, like there had been no pause. One of the retainers following behind, awkwardly holding a towel and trying to remove the Knight’s still dripping cloak. All of the bugs left in the room watched them leave, confusion thick in the air.

The Pale Light was working in his office.

Hallownest was a kingdom with a million moving parts that need to be looked after and anticipated. The bugs that worshiped him were somewhere between incredibly intelligent and needing to be led by the antenna. The ones farthest from his influence seemed the most able to think for themselves, while those closest to him needed his input on all things.

His White Lady told him that this was because he did not force them to make their own decisions, that he let them come to him for everything. They had grown dependent on his foresight and feared to make their own decisions and accept their own consequences.

But the Pale Light couldn’t refuse them when they came for his help. Even now, generations after he had shed his large body, he was still enchanted by the fact that these bugs would even approach him. That they did not hide from his presence and pray that he would ignore them.

The fact that their prayers for ignorance had been what caused him to ascend to godhood continued to amuse wife.

His White Lady still can’t quite understand why he loves being asked for help so much, why he tries to please his people so much. She is a creature that simply is. She had been brought to godhood and sentience through the worship of bugs who had continuously thanked the uncaring roots that fed them.

She enjoys company, she enjoys being involved in the world. But if the world were to simply abandon her, she would dig in her roots and wait for another season to come, uncaring of the world moving on around her.

She had been the first creature that he had met whose mind had moved at a pace similar to his own that was not another Wyrm.

The Pale Light’s pace slowed as he began to be lose hemself in the memory of meeting his wife for the first time. Of sensing the hum of thought and rushing toward it ready to fight to the death for the other creatures mere crime of being near him.

He still looked back on his foolish actions with a cringe. He had been so stupid. Crawling over and around his wife’s roots, attempting to find the other Wyrm that must be nearby. It was only when he had tired himself out after days of ceaseless circling, enraged by the amused mind right on top of him, that he had stopped long enough for his wife to reach out and ask him what he was doing.

It was while he was recovering on her roots from his thoughtless actions that he had been forcibly taught patience by his own exhausted body. Root had taught him how to turn his animalistic thoughts into words. How to slow down from his hurried pace to actually experience the world around him.

She was the one to inform him that there was more to the world than the feed and the fight. That there were other creatures who experienced the world as vividly as he did.

He had been amazed at the fact that nearly every single creature that crawled the world had a mind. He had been horrified to learn, that just like him, they did not know others experienced the world like they did. For once he had known companionship, it would have been a torture to go without it once more.

He had gathered all of the soul in his great body, and forced a spell out into the world. A spell of understanding. A spell to let every mind connect to another and be known.

It had been what killed his original body, but cemented his status as a god of light and knowledge. For in the moment that his spell was cast, he had touched all of the minds of the creatures around him and they had sought him out.

The Pale Light was broken from his reminiscing by the door to his office opening.

It was his Hollow Knight.

The Pale Light expected the vessel to take its usual post behind him, but to his shock the vessel instead knelt before his desk.

The Hollow Knight’s head was tucked down and it’s arm crossed it’s chest. The wet cloak dragging heavily on it’s bent shoulders. The vessel waited in this position, the position that it had been taught to take whenever a task given to it had been failed.

The Pale Light rushed from behind his desk, his many legs skittering on the floor as he laid his hands upon Hollow Knight. Soul flowed into the vessel expanding through it’s body to check for damage. But beyond a slightly lower soul reserve than it had set out with, there was nothing to be healed. There was damage to it’s body.

The Pale Light kept his hands on the vessel’s body as he quickly ran through all of the standing orders that the Hollow Knight had.

“Um, My King? Is something wrong?”

The Pale Light jerked his head to stare at the retainer who was standing just inside the room holding a towel. They must have followed the vessel in.

“Retainer, is there any news? Has anything odd happened?”

The Retainer immediately snapped to attention, the steel in the King’s voice letting them know that this was a question with weight, not a simple request.

“The Hollow Knight was acting oddly. It did not respond quickly to the Storyteller’s orders.”

The Storyteller. The Pale Light had told the vessel to keep her safe.

“Is the Storyteller injured?”

The Pale Light’s voice was tense and sharp. The retainer straighten up even more, recognizing the order in the question.

“I do not believe so. She was walking without a limp or struggle with the Hollow Knight. She was speaking and relaxed the entire time I saw her and appeared to be in no hurry at all.”

The Pale Light returned his eyes to the vessel who continued to kneel before him.

The vessel had failed in something.

But what?

Mary frowned as she looked at her reflection.

She was wearing a white cloak. It was a different design than usual, with lots of sharp triangular cuts on the bottom to drag on the floor as she walked.

The white of the cloak was nearly indistinguishable from her mask, making it seem to blend into the fabric. The only things that weren’t white were the shadowed slits of her mask and the silver pin that held the cape that dragged behind her on her shoulders.

She looked like a ghost, all white with only the barest hint of a form under the draping fabric. She was wearing more layers than usual both to combat the cold damp air but also so that the color of her skin could not be seen through the sheer white fabric.

Mary would prefer nearly any other color than white. It was too hard to keep clean. But it was time to go to the party, and there was nothing else for her to wear.

It had taken forever for her hair to be dry enough to braid and tuck away without getting chilled. Then she had to wrestle herself into her new cloak. And the whole time Tinsy had been lecturing her through the door about all of the different ways that one had to mind their manners when interacting with the noble bugs.

Mary finally decided that she wasn’t going to get better than this. She headed toward the door but paused as she passed her little bag. The unfinished dreamcatcher was poking out the top.

If Mary knew one thing about parties, it was that she was going to get incredibly bored at some point. Maybe she would have time to finish up the dreamcatcher during a slow moment?

Mary tucked the little hoop into the carefully pinned in fold of her cape at her shoulder and finally unlocked the door to meet the still nagging Tinsy.

The fluffy antennae having bug went quiet, blinking her large eyes at her mistress.

The mysterious bug walked past Tinsy, the Storyteller’s quiet footsteps lost in the whispering sound of her cloak dragging on the floor. Her barest movement caused her cape to flutter behind her like it was a pair of wings resettling. The thin fabric shuddered with even the barest movement, never settling or stilling. Her polished mask looked  to have even deeper black eyes, the mournful tilt of the slits seeming to trail down like tears.

The Storyteller looked every inch of the mystical and magical bug that she was.

“Do I look good enough for Hallownest nobles?”

The Storyteller’s clear voice knocked some sense back into Tinsy’s head. No matter how fantastical and mythical the Storyteller was, she was still the most ditzy bug Tinsy had ever served.  She rushed forward to lead her mistress to where the others were surely waiting.

“We are late! Even the White Lady will have beaten us to the meeting place! Hurry! But don’t run, we can’t be so unmannered as to run.”

The Storyteller laughed as she quickened her pace to keep up with Tinsy, the breathy sound making Tinsy’s antenna buzz as it always does. Her mistress had the strongest voice that she had ever heard, cutting through any other sound and vibrating the air easily.

Whether this was something she was born with or something she worked to have, to was the perfect voice for a bug titled Storyteller.

The rushing pair finally exited the hall of the City of Tears royal residence and entered into the little parlor where the rest of the group was waiting.

The Hollow Knight stood at the back of the room, his mere height drawing Mary’s eyes first. He was wearing a large white cloak that was kept attached by a heavy looking chain that stretched the width of his shoulders. He was wearing a chest plate made of a pale material, with symmetrical designs.

The King looked mostly the same, his finery barely changed from what he wore day to day, but the Queen! She was wrapped in the long thin fabric as always, but instead of the usual plain silvery ribbons these were dyed with white symbols and designs that crawled all over her body in carefully layered designs to make it look as if she was covered in ever moving tendrils of light.

“Queen! You look wonderful! Your clothes only accentuate your beauty.”

The Queen huffed at Mary’s words, giving her a look for her smooth words, even while the King gave a single nod in agreement.

“Storyteller, you also look wonderful. It is an outfit fitting of your title.”

Mary felt giddy and nervous. She wasn’t sure what to expect from a fancy party, even if Tinsy had made sure that she would be able to get through without insulting anyone. But what was she supposed to do? Talk to a lot of people? Just be seen?

She wasn’t sure, but the King and Queen were already heading toward the door that would open up to the ballroom that the party was taking place in, and she wasn’t about to stop them to ask.

As Mary stood behind the royal couple, next to the silent Hollow Knight, she took a deep breath that set her cloak to shaking. As she let it out in a loud sigh she sent a glance up at the Knight.

“Let’s hope I don’t make a fool of myself.”

And with that she puffed out her chest and held her head high as she marched into the room after the couple, the Hollow Knight keeping pace with her.

“Oh your cloak is gorgeous, where did you get that? I didn’t know you had the funds to get such colors.”

“Have you seen Lord Varit’s newest fling? She’s pretty but not terribly bright.”

“Didn’t Lady Goroa wear that pin at her last public appearance? That makes it the third time in a row! Maybe she’s finally accepted someone’s courtship gift. Or perhaps she can’t afford anything else.”

“Have you heard about the Vida family’s recent tragedy? Their daughter ran away with a miner!”

This was hell.

These bugs were just as vapid as PTA mothers and just as obvious about their own personal vendettas against each other hidden in their small talk. The only saving grace so far was the fact that Mary didn’t have to mind her facial expressions and was free to frown and roll her eyes at every back handed complement delivered to her.

Mary had been split from the King and Queen early on. The King being pulled into some conversation about a tram and the Queen being surrounded by what appeared to be the older crowd of noble bugs. From what little Mary caught of that conversation, they were talking about the population growth in the City of Tears.

But Mary had been gently waved toward the crowd of younger bugs in dazzling cloaks and shining pins by the Queen and she hadn’t had the chance to get out of it.

Already Mary had been asked point blank what type of bug she was and where she was from. She had managed to wave off the questions by giving answers like, “You wouldn’t recognize the name of what I am/ where I’m from.”

 Playing off of the assumption that she was so exotic as to not even have been heard of by these educated upper crust bugs was a boon and a burden. Because while none of them could call her out on her lies, they still tried to butter her up in an attempt to be the one who won the Storyteller’s attention.

So while they had stopped asking her questions, now they were all telling Mary about the gossip of the city. She just hummed an interested noise when they paused for her and continued to stand there, a delicate cup of something that she couldn’t even drink in her hand.

Mary cast her eyes about for something, anything, that would get her away from these dapper dimwits. Her eyes caught on something in the corner of the large room. A bug that was wearing a mask like her.

They were sitting at a table in the far corner of the room with only one other bug near them. They were just a covered as Mary was and their mask had just a single hole in it, implying that whatever face was below it only had a single eye.

That must be the Watcher. The bug who was basically the mayor of the City of Tears.

“Excuse me, there is something I must do.”

With that very sudden statement Mary turned and began to delicately walk toward the masked bug. She walked on her tip toes to make it look like she was gliding, taking short steps to keep from having her legs kick up the bottom of her cloak. When she moved like this, it apparently looked like she was floating or moving with the assist of magic.

And hey, whatever helped her mystic persona.

When she finally made it to the table that the Watcher was sitting at, Mary suddenly remembered that she had no clue about anything about this bug. But it was too late to go back, the Watcher’s mask was tilted toward her, and she didn’t want to anyway. Surely this single bug’s company couldn’t be worse than the group behind her.

“Greetings, I am the one titled Storyteller. May I join you at your table?”

The sitting masked bug nodded it’s masked head at her and replied in a surprisingly high pitched, though still masculine voice, “It is pleasant to make your acquaintance, I am Lurien the Watcher.”

Mary took a seat that put her back to the rest of the party and had her sitting directly in front of the masked bug.

And then they both just.

Sat there.

Staring at each other.

The well-dressed bug at the Watcher’s side heaved a sigh, and tilted his head toward the ceiling. At the noise that the little servant made, the Watcher seemed to jolt a little before immediately saying, “It’s interesting to see the Storyteller out of the palace isn’t it?”

 . . .

What?

There was the sound of chitin hitting chitin, the servant next to the watcher having slapped themselves in the face in exasperation. The Watcher themselves seemed to have frozen, their body still as if there wasn’t a body inside the cloak at all. Just a statue.

Mary realized what had happened a moment later. The Watcher must have been coached on what to say to begin conversations like she had been. And this entire party was just to let herself be seen.

Mary snickered, coughing to try and contain her amusement at the other’s mistake.

But as the reality of the other bug’s blunder began to really sink in, she couldn’t help but laugh harder and harder, her entire body shaking as she wheezed for breath.

“Y-yes! It really- pffft! It really is something!”

Mary finally managed to catch her breath, taking another look at the bug in front of her. The bug seemed to be hunched in on themselves, embarrassment obvious in their body language. The servant at their side was now gently patting at their side, seeming to try and comfort him.
Mary immediately felt guilt at laughing at them, but she had been so tense that she hadn’t been able to resist giving into the laughing fit.

Mary cast about, trying to think of something to talk about. Something light and easy.

“Have you heard Marissa the Songstress sing? I heard her just earlier today! I’ve never heard anything like her.”

The Watcher seemed to perk up, and he took her offering of a conversation readily.

“Yes, I have heard her before. She is often invited to many restaurants and other businesses to entertain the guests. Where did you hear her?”

Mary settled into her chair more comfortably, laying her arms on the table.

“I had gotten too wet while exploring your city and had needed to warm up. My species is particularly sensitive to cooler temperatures. We had been too far from the royal residence so we stopped at the pleasure house. I heard her singing while we were waiting for a private room.”

Mary had decided that she liked the Watcher, and reached into the carefully pined folds of her cape to remove her unfinished dreamcatcher. She began to carefully finished up the pattern, taking her time to make sure that her sleeves didn’t get caught in the pattern. She continued to chatter about how pretty the butterfly had been and how the singing was like nothing she had heard before.

Lurien wasn’t sure what to do. He had already made a mistake in speaking with the Storyteller, letting her know that he had been discussing things about her. But she had only laughed and not gotten angry. She had visibly relaxed after her laughing fit and had offered up another conversation topic.

But then she had easily admitted to visiting the pleasure house with another bug, and using a private room with them.

Even Lurien, as awkward as he was, knew what it meant when a pair of bugs entered a private room together at the pleasure house. As the Storyteller began to fiddle with an object on the table, her mask pointed down, he jerked his head to give Victor a panicked look.

Victor gave him a just as panicked look.

A quick conversation followed, communication done entirety in shoulder hunches, head tilts and antenna wiggles.

What do I respond to that with!?

I don’t know! Ignore it?

How!?!

Just, say something!

“So Storyteller, if Marissa’s singing is so odd to you, what are you used to then?”

Victor gave Lurien a nod of encouragement even as the Storyteller responded.

“Oh, lyrics mostly. Music from where I’m from is usually a single singer with an instrumental element. Singing for us is more than just enchanting sounds, but also a, heh, well, a story.”

Lurien began to relax. Yes, this was a much safer topic.

“Ah, yes. We also have many songs that feature rhythmic spoken words. Marissa is popular because she is able to sing without them. Most bugs are unable to match the sounds that she can make.”

The Storyteller gave an interested hum.

“That makes sense, I am unable to sing at the best of times, but my body is certainly not shaped in such a way that would allow me to sing like that. Perhaps it is an advantage of her species. Are there many butterflies in Hallownest? She was the first I had seen.”

“No, I believe that Marissa may be the only one currently. Not many flying species enjoy being so deep underground. From what little I have heard, she traveled in from the south . . .”

And so Lurien began to speak about the bugs that lived in his city, the ways that they had influenced the renovations and designs of the buildings. Every now and then he would get concerned that he was speaking too much about things that the Storyteller didn’t care about, but then she would ask a question and send him off down a different conversational path.

It was the most enjoyment he had had at one of these gathers without Monomon the Teacher being present.

The Watcher had a pleasant voice and answered Mary’s questions. Even better was that he didn’t seem to realize how odd some of her questions were!

Mary now finally knew why no one had questioned her sudden appearance in Hallownest. A single leading question about how they kept track of the populace had sent the bug down a path to explain to her that since there were so many entrances and exits in the kingdom that they only counted someone as being a resident of Hallownest if they had a permanent residence. Everyone else was just considered to be a visitor until they had a home for at least one year.

The Watcher was a wealth of information and Mary was finally learning things about how Hallownest worked without throwing up any red flags or inviting return questions about herself!

But, all things must come to an end.

In the middle of explaining how the Stag ways worked, the Watcher went quiet. Mary barely had time to look up from her dreamcatcher before a voice spoke from behind her.

“If it isn’t the reclusive Storyteller.”

Mary managed to turn enough in her chair to look at the bug that had come up behind her. It was a very large fat bug with large bulbous eyes. He was wearing a long black and red cloak with a shiny pearl like broach holding it clasped to his neck.

The sight of this bug tickled a memory of Mary’s. She remembered seeing him before, but she doesn’t think that she had ever been introduced. But something about his tone of voice, or how he was holding himself just made Mary wary of him. He did not seem to be a nice bug.

“Hello, I am the one titled Storyteller. And you are?”

The bug seemed to get even smugger and puffed his chest out even more, seeming to inflate like a balloon. “I am Drak. Master of the Soul Sanctum.”

The Watcher broke in with a deadpan voice that Mary hadn’t heard him use in the entire time she was listening to him. “Drak is the owner of an establishment that collects and experiments with different uses of soul.”

Drak seemed to flick a glance at the Watcher before refocusing on Mary.

“It is as the Watcher says. I am someone who studies Soul, and I must ask you Storyteller,” The bug sudden stepped forward causing Mary to instinctively lean back into the table. The bug’s eyes were glued to the unfinished dreamcatcher in her cloaked hands, she half expected him to snatch it from her. “How are you creating the dreamcatchers? How do they work? How can any bug make them and have them work just as effectively as one made by you? What is the secret?”

Mary was uncomfortable. It had been spread by the retainers who had been at the trial, and even ordered by the king that bugs were not to ask her about how the dreamcatchers. They simply did and that was all they needed to know. But this bug, who was too close and had a mad gleam in his eye was asking her the questions that could make the dreamcatchers ineffective.

Before Mary could get herself together to refuse the bug, the Watcher cut in once more.

“Those are questions that we have been ordered not to ask Drak. Are you going against the orders of the Pale King?”

The large bug slowly stepped back, his wild eyes never leaving Mary’s mask, but Mary stayed pressed into the table. She didn’t like this. This bug gave her a bad feeling. She was thankful that the Watcher was here with her or else she wouldn’t have been sure what to do to fend him off.

“No no, of course not. The Pale Light has never led us wrong and his orders are fair. I just am a bug of soul. I cannot help but be curious about this new application of it. Surely if I knew the trick behind the dreamcatchers I would be able to use their protective qualities in ways beyond just protecting the sleep of bugs.”

The bug began to gesture as he spoke, becoming more and more animated as he was lost in the possibilities of this new form of soul use.

“Can they catch soul? Could they be used as shields? I dearly wish to study them, but no matter what dreamcatcher I create or pick apart I can find no sigils, no soul use, not even any herbs that the snail shamans use! And yet they work. How?”

The Soul Master had attracted a bit of a crowd with his volume and dramatic movement. Other bugs had obviously wandered close in an attempt to see where this questioning was going to go. If the Storyteller would answer

Mary was uncomfortable. She wanted nothing more than to run. But that wasn’t an option.

And that was ok! Mary had her mask, her cloak, her dreamcatcher, and the mystery of being the Storyteller.

Now, what would a mystical Storyteller do?

A Storyteller would . . . kindly look down at this reaching child and gently admonish them?

Mary stood from her chair, using he hands to lift herself fluidly and slowly. She turned to gaze at the bulging eyes of the Soul Master.

“Oh, you know not of what you ask. Dreamcatchers are simple bits of magic, but it is because they are so simple that makes them so powerful. They catch dreams, they snare nightmares, and they guard the sleeping. To complicate the dreamcatcher is to weaken it.”

The bug seemed to deflate for a moment at her gentle refusal, his eye flicking once more to her hands.

“So the dreamcatcher you hold can only guard the sleeping? Despite how it is obviously different from the rest of the ones that can be seen?”

Other bugs around them murmured in quiet agreement, the dreamcatcher in the Storyteller’s hands did indeed seem to be of a significant grade better than the others. Surely the Storyteller wouldn’t make something so time consuming and intricate if it was only as strong as a simple dreamcatcher made in minutes.

Mary glanced down. The dreamcatcher was nearly finished, it’s swirling pattern only needing to be tied off and the strings tucked into the hoop or attached to a bead.

Ok, ok ok! So Mary was now the center of attention, with a pushy bug trying to wiggle her secrets from her and possibly putting all of the bugs of Hallownest at risk.

Fuck! Um, uh!

“You’re right. This is a special dreamcatcher. These . . . spiral dreamcatchers are more time consuming. They can take a lot out of me. But like all other dreamcatchers, it will simply capture a dream, snare a nightmare, and guard the sleeping. The only difference is . . . the amount of force in the actions.”

Mary lifted the dreamcatcher up, letting the hoop of metal catch the light as the last thread continued to dangle nearly to the floor. Letting all of the bugs see the twirling design, letting them come to their own conclusions about what she meant.

She was a mysterious masked and cloaked bug. The more that she tried to explain, the less that her dodging questions and vague answers would be allowed. It’s better to put on an act and pretend as if there was a secret that she was letting them take a peek at then to continue to tell them that it really was just a regular dream catcher and wasn’t special.

Now to just leave them with a mystery and then to run back to the Queen for safety.

Mary tugged on the dangling thread, pulling it taught to underline her words.

“It’s nearly finished. It just needs, one. Last. piece.”

Mary curled the string as well as she could in her hand, covering the dreamcatcher back up in her sleeves as she glided away from the dazzled crowd. They began to buzz with conversation once more when she had them behind her.

Mary continued toward the Queen, her gaze being focused on her and the safety she would bring. No one would bother her if she was with the Queen.

She almost made it.

If she hadn’t cut through the center of the ballroom, then she might have actually managed to get to her.

But as Mary walked underneath of the large multi-bulb lumafly chandelier at the center of the room, there was the gentlest use of soul. One of the larger bulbs of the lantern glowed brighter for just a moment, before dropping from the chandelier and shattering next to Mary.

All of the surrounding bugs screamed.

Mary herself threw herself backwards with a shrill squeak, away from the wide eyed Queen just a few yards from her, and stared at where the bulb had shattered.

Something was getting up from the broken glass.

It . . . it still looked like a bug.

It was splattered in an orange liquid that dribbled from the wounds that the fall and the glass made in their shell. But it still wore the armor of the city guard. It gazed around with its glowing orange eyes for just a moment before it’s gaze landed on Mary.

It’s eyes seemed to sharpen. A pair of wings flung from its back and it took to buzzing flight, yelling out a battle cry as it lunged for her with a spear.

Mary was frozen, her mind overloaded by the shock of what was happening. A million little instincts telling her to do different things.

There’s glass on the floor, don’t move.

Something is coming for your head, duck!

RUN!

None of these things happened. Mary just continued to stand still, like a deer in the head lights as the spear got closer, closer, closer-

Something yanked Mary to the side. Her arms flying out, her numb fingers losing their grip on the dreamcatcher.  Her feet left the floor, as something coiled around her waist and reeled her toward a rapidly approaching black mass.

Right before she slammed into the black mass, it solidified into the Hollow Knight. Mary was clutched to their armored chest by one arm, while the other brandished their sword at the infected bug. Mary clutched at the Hollow Knight’s chest in a panicked reflex, latching on hard but keeping her eyes focused on the orange dripping threat.

The Hollow Knight was at a severe disadvantage. They were in an enclosed space with numerous noncombative by standers. They were fighting a much more versatile enemy with a height advantage. They could not use soul projections as a weapon, because if it did not hit the target they would surely hit one of the bystanders. They could not use their magic, the area of effect was too wide and could hit a bystander. All they had was their sword.

They needed to get the Storyteller to safety, but they could not leave the infected bug in the room with the bystanders. They should not move from their position, they should not turn their back on the enemy.

They decided to fight with the Storyteller in their hold. One arm will be enough.

The Hollow Knight dipped lower to the floor, arm tightening around the Storyteller’s soft warm body as they prepared to keep her safe from the infected bug.

The infected bug turned from its lunge, it’s feet skittering on the floor as its wings buzzed in anger. It’s feet were cut by the glass but it didn’t seem to notice as it stepped forward, eyes focused on the masked human within the Hollow Knight’s arms. It ignored the easier targets around it as it settled its feet for another lung forward.

One of its bloody feet stepped directly into the net of the fallen dreamcatcher, the mixture of blood and the lack of friction from the tightly woven material caused the infected bug to slip.

The dreamcatcher’s threads had gotten hooked on the bugs special feet that allowed them to cling to surfaces, so it did not fall off even as the bug fell to one knee.

That is what happened.

But what the surrounding bugs saw was an infected bug touch a dreamcatcher and then immediately fall as the dreamcatcher stayed attached to the bug.

They saw a bug infected with a dream get caught.

What was next? To snare?

The loose thread of the dreamcatcher began to glow as it began to wind up the leg of the infected bug, becoming longer and long as it picked up speed. Soon the infected bugs legs were both snared in thread and it was climbing up it’s torso. The bug didn’t notice, eyes still focused on the Storyteller. They tried to fly, but as the string became tangled in their wings, they dropped their spear and began to drag their body forward through the glass of the shattered bulb.

A wild and crazed need engulfing them, a need to reach the Storyteller, to let their rage loose upon her.

An orange trail of infected blood was left behind the bug as they dragged their body forward screaming in thwarted rage.  But as the thread reached higher and higher, they lost one arm and then the other, leaving their wiggling body on the floor as the thread snaring them grew brighter and brighter.

The surrounding bugs watched in awe as the infect bug was captured. The dreamcatcher had caught them, snared them, and now . . . how would it guard?

The bug on the floor was thoroughly snared, unable to move, and quite suddenly they went still. For a moment it seemed as though they had died, but as their chest gently moved it became clear that they had fallen asleep.

The orange glow of infection did not leave, but it dimmed. The infected bug was not cured, but to all it was obvious that it was contained.

The dreamcatcher, still stuck to the bug’s foot, continued to glow with a steady bright light, like a seal being tested. A testament that it had a magic that was being used.

A single voice rang out in the now quiet room. Lurien the Watcher, who had stood from his table and had tucked his servant behind himself spoke out in a voice that rang through the room, “The last piece.”

Oh, of course.

These special dreamcatchers were only complete when an infected bug was snared within. These time consuming dreamcatchers were supposed to be used to contain the infected population of Hallownest without being forced to kill them.

Truly the Storyteller was a blessing, to give them such a tool.

The room burst into noise, bugs talking about what just happened. The King’s voice rang out, giving orders to the servants and guests alike, taking control of the situation as best as he could.

But most of the bugs could only pay attention to the Storyteller, who appeared relaxed in the Pure Vessel’s hold. Her mask just as sad as always, gazing with pity on the creature who had just tried to kill her.

She must had known that such a dreamcatcher was going to be needed tonight, why else would she have brought it?

She was so wise! So calm! She must be a very powerful bug!

Only the Hollow Knight who held her soft shivering body could hear her gasping raggedly in panic. Could feel her hands twist in the fabric on it’s shoulders. Could hear the pounding of her heart below the noise of the crowd.

Their hold on her tightened.

Chapter Text

The Storyteller was still in the Hollow Knight’s arms. It had taken her from the room after poking at the infected bug a few times with it’s sword, but upon not achieving a response it had immediately gone to the Queen and used it’s remaining free arm to roll her from the slowly panicking room.

The Queen had allowed the Pure Vessel to do this, it being a standard practice whenever an infected bug managed to come near her. The King had the mobility and soul power to protect himself, but the Queen did not have a combative inclination, all of her magic could be used to make protective ruins if given enough time, but a combat area was no place to do so.

The Queen ordered the Hollow Knight to take the Storyteller and herself to the King’s study. It was the nearest room with the most protections woven into it. Upon entering the room the Queen had attempted to speak to the Storyteller, but she did not respond.

The Queen reached out with her tendrils, but the Storyteller simply buried herself deeper into the Hollow Knight’s embrace to escape the approaching appendages.

The Queen stopped approaching the Storyteller at her retreat and instead directed her attention to the Hollow Knight holding her.

The Queen ordered it to sit on the low couch in the King’s study, and to situate her so that the Storyteller would be more comfortable

The Hollow Knight followed her orders, it’s own mind having trouble being aware of the surroundings.

It kept seeing the blub smash to the floor next to the story teller. It kept replaying the scene of the Storyteller standing still and unmoving in front of the lunging bug. Of how close the lance got to the pale white of her mask.

They almost hadn’t reached her in time.

Mary thinks that she might be in shock.

This is how it’s supposed to feel right? Like everything didn’t matter and that you were cold? Oh god, did she need a shock blanket? Did her cloak count? Mary huddled a little more into herself, prompting the Hollow Knight to shift to keep their grip around her.

The Queen was nearby, her voice buzzing in Mary’s ears but her words didn’t reach Mary in her current state.

Mary was jolted a bit by a touch on her back. It was the Hollow Knight’s hand. It nearly spanned half of her back. It paused on her spine for a moment before slowly rubbing up her back and then back down.

The surprise of having her back rubbed brought her back just enough to begin understanding what the Queen was saying.

“ . . . gently. Do not apply a large amount of pressure, just enough for her to feel the touch. And be careful not to catch on anything. Watch for wings, spikes or bumps. We do not want to injure her. Yes, like that. A gentle touch, like comforting Hornet when she is sad.”

At those words the rubbing changed, now more than just a palm sliding up and down Mary’s back, but a pressure being put into the finger tips on the drag down, causing Mary’s skin to ripple into pleasant goosebumps.

It wasn’t the skin contact she craved, but even though the layers of her cloak, the touch of another was a blessing.

And as the rubbing continued Mary became more and more aware of her surroundings, realizing that she was no longer in the ballroom but in a small office sitting on the Hollow Knight’s lap with her masked face buried into him as she clutched his cloak.

Oh. Well. That’s embarrassing.

Mary took her head from the Hollow Knight’s shoulder, but did not let go of them all the way. She managed to turn her head toward where the Queen’s voice was coming from.

The Queen was sitting in her chair, but her tendrils were hovering around the pair on the sofa. She looked like she dearly wished to offer her own touch as comfort but she knew that the Storyteller would not respond well. Someone who went so far as to not come into even glancing contact with another bug would not welcome her touch. The only reason that the Storyteller was allowing the touch of the Hollow Knight is surely because they were only a puppet.

“Storyteller? Have you come back to us?”

The Storyteller made an odd noise, like the growl of a distressed mawlek, but she responded to the White Lady’s question in a soft scratchy voice.

“Yes.”

The White Lady had a moment of relief. The Storyteller was finally responding to her questions. The bug had been completely unresponsive to her speaking, but had clung to the Hollow Knight like a frightened child.

It was the first time that the White Lady truly realized how much the mask and cloaks that the Storyteller wore hid. The White Lady hadn’t realized something was wrong with the Storyteller until her questions had gone unanswered. It was only in the silence of the White Lady waiting for a response that she had heard the odd gasping sound coming from the Storyteller. After a few more attempts to get the attention of the girl, the White Lady realized that she had gone panic numb.

It is a state that some bugs reach when they are exposed to violence or other frightening accidents. A common affliction of those who survive cave ins or attacks by predators. But unlike the other bugs, the Storyteller did not put out the pheromones that let others know there was something to fear. Even the most stoic bug would have smelled frightened no matter how tightly controlled their bodies were.

 The White Lady knew that the Storyteller wasn’t like other bugs, her habits and needs too exotic for her to be a regular cave dweller or even a breed from the Greenpath.

If it weren’t for the fact that she had such easy of movement and tall form, the white lady would think that the storyteller was a slug or snail with how much water she consumed. But her legs made her not a slug and her small head made her not a snail. She spoke little of her peoples ways, and what hints one can gleam from her diet and requests have only informed the White Lady that the Storyteller was a creature that was omnivorous and needed water like the

White Lady needed rich soil.

“Storyteller. What happened in there?”

“Yes, Storyteller. Tell us what you think happened.”

The door behind them pushed open suddenly, allowing her husband to enter with Lurien the Watcher trailing close behind.

The King barely paused at the odd picture of the Storyteller wrapped in the arms of the Hollow Knight, her body perched on it’s lap. He knew how often she played with Hornet and had surely picked up some habits from his child. It was rare that the Pure Vessel wasn’t seen carrying Hornet when she was in the castle, his vessel becoming quite adapt at doing so. He would not begrudge the Storyteller’s need for comfort, even if she was using his Vessel to acquire it.

Lurien on the other hand boggled behind his mask, thoughts of the attack being disrupted by the sight of the Hollow Knight cradling the Storyteller like a lover in need of comfort. It’s hand rubbed up and down her  back, and it’s head was tilted to the side in order to allow her so close without bumping her mask. Lurien knew how difficult it was to cuddle while wearing a mask, how easy it was to knock it off center with slightest tap.

Unless the Hollow Knight had been ordered to be careful, surely it would have accidentally knocked into her as she twisted her head this way and that to keep them in her sight? The Hollow Knight was supposed to be hollow, mindless, voiceless and without a will. But it seemed so able to adjust itself to every movement of the Storyteller.

Perhaps it was instinct? The only thing left to move the shell once everything else was barred from growing.

But it seemed too aware. It was not responding to the Storyteller’s movements but anticipating them.

Either the Storyteller was often in the Hollow Knight’s hold, or there might be something inside of the Pure Vessel.

Mary clutched a bit tighter to the Hollow Knight before gathering her courage and beginning to  vaguely explain what she believed to have happened out in the ballroom.  Hopefully without letting the other bugs in the room know that she was making it up entirely.

“The, the dreamcatcher was just taken to its furthest extreme. The extra time and care put into its design added more power to the ‘gift’. I told the crowd that they can only be used to catch, snare, and guard. But if someone was already infected, then it’s purpose twists a little. I believe that bug will stay in that sleeping state until either the dreamcatcher is destroyed or the infection is.”

There, because she said it, then it will become true. Right? That’s how it works. She tells them lies, and they believe her, and it comes true because they don’t know better. Or well the King does, but the Queen and the Watcher don’t.

Should I feel bad about lying to them?  

Mary wondered if she was a bad person for being so uncaring about how many lies she has told, but seeing as how at the moment she didn’t feel much of anything beyond exhaustion and panic she figured it should be a thought she examined later.

The Pale Light went to sit behind his desk, and Lurien sat on the coach in front of the Storyteller. This change in a dreamcatcher’s use was a boon. Not a cure by any means, but a way to contain the infected that wouldn’t hurt the bodies of those dreaming and wouldn’t use excessive amounts of magic? A gift.

The Pale Light knew that his people were still falling to the infection, though at a much slower rate. Certain bugs going home one day, only for their family to tell everyone that they were not going to take anymore visitors. Thick curtains on the outsides of window and locks on the wrong side of the door.

Yes, the new dreamcatchers would be useful.

But how they were discovered is a new weight on the Pale Light’s shoulders.

Whether or not it turned out that the infected solider was so focused on the Storyteller was a coincidence. The fact that the glass blub was nearly dropped on top of her was no luck of the draw.

It was slight, but the Pale Light was a god of soul. He felt the wisp of soul that had deactivated the runes that at hidden the bulbs contents from view and had allowed it to drop.

This had been a planned attack. Many bugs had walked across the floor, but once the Storyteller made the journey the trap was activated by a bug in the room. Someone was targeting the Storyteller.

“Storyteller. The Hollow Knight informed me that it had failed a task earlier. But the only order it had, was to keep you safe. Would you please tell me what happened during your trip out earlier?”

Mary frowned behind her mask, turning her head to look up at the bug that still held her in its arms. “The Hollow Knight told you . . . ?”

The King understood her confusion. “The Hollow Knight has standing orders to assume a specific position whenever it fails in a task set for it. I was planning to ask you earlier but I could not find the time before the party, and now I regret that decision. It is likely some event from your trip is connected with this attack. Tell us, did you talk to any odd bugs? See anything strange?”

Mary ran her trip in the city through her mind. Nothing had seemed odd or any bugs malicious. And the only bug she had really spoken to was the clerk at the pleasure house.

She told them so.

The King acquired an odd look on his face.

“You went where? Why?”

Mary shimmied in embarrassment,  the Hollow Knight  shifting in order to keep a hold on her. Mary stopped moving, she didn’t really want to draw attention to the fact that she was still sitting in the lap of the Hollow Knight. She didn’t want to be told to get off of them.

“I uh, got startled by someone when they tripped next to me, and accidentally fell in to the canal. I needed to warm up in the hot springs.”

Mary avoided the bug’s gazes, embarrassment doing a lot to warm her body back up from it’s shock. She didn’t see the horrified stares of the King and Queen’s. Even the Watcher had thrown his body back in surprise.

The Hollow Knight continued to stroke her back.

“You. Fell in the canal. And you are fine?”

Mary turned to look at the Watcher behind her. She finally forced the Hollow Knights hands off of her and climbed off their lap as she answered. Mourning their loss, but she needed to talk to the important bugs in the room, and she can’t really do that while sitting in the Knight’s lap like a child.

“Yes. It wasn’t a big deal, but the wet and cold could get me sick. That’s why I got a private room at the pleasure house. I needed to warm myself up, and the Hollow Knight wouldn’t leave me alone. They were with me the entire time, so I don’t know what they could have failed.”

This time Mary actually looked at the surrounding bugs after she said her piece so she was able to see that they were staring at her with shock.

“ . . . what?”

This time it was the Queen who spoke out.

“Storyteller, are you an aquatic type of bug?”

Mary was befuddled.  “What? No. What gave you that idea?”

More confused silence.

The King had begun to run his hands over his head, fingers tucking between the spears of his horns. The slump of his body over his desk signaling his exhaustion to the room. “Storyteller, for most of the bugs in Hallownest that were not blessed by Unn it would be an immediate death sentence to be submerged in water. It is likely that the Hollow Knight considered it a failure that it even allowed you to be in the canal, whether or not you died. It is likely that the bug that was near you did it on purpose. Do you remember anything about them?”

Mary was in shock. Someone had tried to kill her? By making her fall in the canal?

“I, no. I didn’t see much. Just that they were in a cloak, and had something shiny in their hands.”

The Watcher chimed in. “Yes, that sounds like an assassination attempt. It’s common to find bodies washed up in the sewers or the junk pit with a stab wound or having died by drowning. It is a common assassination tactic to in the open paths of the raining city. The water covers the noise of the cries, and after you in capitate them it is simple enough to roll the evidence in a nearby canal. It is likely that falling into the canal saved your life, the assailant must have thought the job done once you fell in.”

Mary was beginning to regret climbing out of the Hollow Knight’s lap. She could go for more physical comfort. She tried to subtly lean into his side.

“Someone tried to kill me?”

The Watcher tilted his head toward her. “Yes, it seems as though someone tried to do so twice. Once in the city, and again in the ballroom.”

“Oh.” Mary squeaked.

Just when Mary seemed ready to go and have another panic attack, the Queen suddenly leaned forward with a furrowed brow.

“Storyteller, when did you get paint on yourself?”

Mary looked down to where the Queen was staring at the hem of her cloak, seeing the bright red that splattered the edges of it. Her eyes widened as her body was suddenly forcibly reminded that she had been near quite a lot of broken glass. Her foot throbbed, chiming in to let her know that she had been nicked by a piece.

“Oh god, I’m bleeding.”

It had gotten a bit busy after that. The bugs in the room panicking about the odd color, thinking that it was a type of infection or poison before Mary had managed to tell them that it was normal for her species.

Then her refusing to let them see the injury, and being unable to check it herself with them in the room. The King had tried to heal her with his soul, but then they had all learned that apparently she could not absorb soul at all.

The white misty liquid dripping off of her and falling to the floor wasted. It had felt like room temperature oil being dribbled onto her before sliding off and leaving a faint residue. But I had neither muffled the pain or stopped the bleeding.

Eventually Mary had been allowed to be alone in the room, ignoring the Hollow Knight who had moved to stand behind her, and had managed to check the foot that hurt.

There was a cut on the top of her foot, probably from where there glass had bounced under the hem of her cloak. It was shallow and didn’t need stitches and for that Mary was thankful. She ended up using her breast sling to wrap her foot up, turning her foot into an unwieldy club with the excess of fabric, but it was all she had.

There had been some more talk, generally some discussion of them shoring up the seals in the residential area, and putting an extra one on the door of Mary’s room. Eventually it was decided that Mary would still sleep in her assigned room.

But with a guard.

This is what led the Hollow Knight to standing in the middle of Mary’s room.

She didn’t know what to do with him. The king hadn’t told her if they slept or if she could just put them in the corner or if they needed a chair or what!

The King’s only order to the Hollow Knight had been that he was supposed to guard Mary and not leave her presence!

Not only that but Mary’s skin was still buzzing from where the Hollow Knight had rubbed her back. She couldn’t help but crave the touch of another, but this time on her own skin. And Mary wasn’t good at refusing herself things she wanted, even at the best of times. There was a reason every diet she had every gone on had failed, a reason that her bank account had always been a little low for comfort.

Mary was a weak willed person that loved creature comforts and suddenly the thing that she craved so much was offered to her on a silver platter.

She could have touch. All night long.

She could feel another living creature against her skin without the repercussions of having to explain what she was. Without disgust or anger, or a negative reaction.

She could hug someone to her chest and listen to their heart beat and their breathing.

She could have that.

If she just  . . . ordered the Hollow Knight to do it.

Mary wrung her hands from where she stood next to the bed. She was still in her cloak and mask, still not comfortable to be seen by the Hollow Knight even if she was contemplating getting in a bed with him. It felt wrong. It felt wrong to take advantage of them like this. To order them to touch her.

It felt morally repugnant, but Mary couldn’t tell if that was her own growing disgust with her body or if it was the idea that she was possibly misusing her power over another.

She wasn’t going to do anything bad! She wasn’t going to make them touch her in a scandalous place, or to touch them in a private place. She just wanted cuddles!

But.

They couldn’t say no.

But it wasn’t really a person either.

Mary’s mind spun in circles, but . . .  

She was a weak willed creature. And this was like waving bacon under a starving person’s nose.

She wasn’t strong enough refuse the chance.

Mary approached the one light source in the room. She dimmed the luma fly lantern as much as she could, but it still cast enough of a glow to see the room with ease. She turned back to the statue like Hollow Knight and gave her first order.

“Take off your armor Hollow Knight.”

At the order, the bug began to strip itself of not only it’s metal paladins on it’s shoulders but, also the large cloak that hid it’s body from view. Soon it’s armor was all in a pile on the floor, with a belt on top that had been holding the Hollow Knight’s sword to their hips. They kept the sword in hand.

Mary stared at them for a moment. They looked so odd. Like a piece of the world removed and nothing put in it’s place, but not all of them. Some of their body had platting on it, primarily on their shoulders, legs, and some on their hips. Mostly any place that had major joints had some shine to them. Something peeking out of the void that the rest of their body was.

Mary’s eyes couldn’t help but trial between their legs, but even on regular bugs she couldn’t see anything, and on the Hollow Knight she literally couldn’t see any detail at all.

“ . . . go lay on the bed. On your back. Please.”

The Hollow Knight did as ordered, crossing the room without hesitation and placing themselves in the bed. They didn’t really fit, their horns tapping the wall, and their feet sticking over the side. But their torso and head were properly on the bed and that was what was most important.

Mary stood next to their head, once more looking into their blank empty gaze. A length of fabric was in her hand, her last clean breast sling. She carefully tucked a length of it below the Hollow Knight’s head and after wrapping it over the Hollow Knight’s eyes, she tied it at the side of their head.

They couldn’t see now.

But it would be fine as long as they could hear right?

“Don’t move.”

Mary undressed, casting nervous glances at the unmoving body on the bed.

This felt so wrong. But Mary wasn’t going to do anything bad. She just . . . . wanted touch.

Mary was now only wearing her shoddy panties, her nipples hardening at the chill in the room. The air was still a little humid, the constant rain making it impossible to not have humid air, even inside of the buildings.

Mary crawled onto the bed at the opposite side of the Hollow Knight. The Knight had propped their sword onto the side of the bed, their hand still holding the hilt.

But they would have one hand free, right?

So Mary took a deep breath, and let it out as she took the plunge and straddled the Hollow Knight. She had taken her spare cloak with her to serve as a blanket, and as she climbed atop the knight, she made sure to cover herself with the dark material.

When Mary finally laid on top of the knight, she made sure to cover her own head with the hem of her cloak. To keep the warmth in, the light out, and because she just felt so exposed with her head uncovered in this strange place.  She tucked her arms below the arch of the Hollow Knight’s neck, and pressed her face and chest into the velvet covered carapace of their body.

Her thighs were folded below her, and framed the Hollow Knight’s thin waist easily. Her entire body from face to core was pressed into the lukewarm body of the Hollow Knight.

Mary’s body shuddered with a low moan.

It was good. It was so good. With her head pressed to his chest she could hear a gentle swoosh noise that must have been the bug version of a heartbeat. She couldn’t hear him breathing, but there was a gentle movement along her stomach that must have been his body taking in and releasing air.

Mary guiltily whispered into his carapace.

“Rub my back like before.”

The Hollow Knight raised his free hand and began to stroke Mary’s bare skin, his arm being under the cloak. Mary shuddered again at the feel, all of her nerve endings coming alive as she was touched! Touched by another.

Mary began to cry, overwhelmed by the feeling of her skin finally being touched. Of finally hearing proof of another life with her, of just finally having contact. Her chest shook with her gasps as her tears leaked from her eyes, pooling into the cervices that made up the Hollow Knight’s chest.

Mary couldn’t help but speak a little, through her sobbing. Trying to explain, even as she broke down. Even if she was explaining to something that wasn’t truly alive.

“I- I’m sorry. It’s just. My kind isn’t supposed to be alone. We do so badly alone. A day or two isn’t bad, but if we go too long without an interaction with another we begin to . . . it’s called being touch starved. I just. I need this. I need this so much, I’ve not touched anyone since I came to Hallownest and I can’t! If I do then they’ll know. They’ll know I’m not like them. I don’t want them to hate me, I don’t want them to be disgusted. I just want to be safe. I want to be happy. I want to be comfortable!”

Mary continued to blubber into the Hollow Knight’s chest as she squeezed his body to her own. But eventually she calmed down. She stopped crying and just began to breath.

The Hollow Knight continued to rub her back.

Mary just laid there, concentrating on the feeling, her heart beat slowing down as her body finally got the comfort it so desperately craved.

She was asleep without even realizing she was falling.

The Hollow Knight’s entire world was focused on the creature sleeping on their chest. The gentle swelling and deflating on her thorax. The air that ghosted from her mouth in such great gusts over their neck. The slow steady beat coming from her body that the Hollow Knight could feel where ever her soft body was pressed to their own. The heat that had seeped out of her and was caught in the fabric she had dragged over her body.

It was almost like being back in the private room of the pleasure house. The warmth and the sound of the Storyteller’s breathing. But everything was so much more intense. The sounds she made, her heat, the way her body felt pressed to their own.

This had already lapped the record for how long the Hollow Knight had touched another bug, much less without the barrier of their cloak.

The Storyteller had fallen asleep hours ago and had slid off of the Hollow Knight’s chest, but had instead ended up pinning their arm with her body and wrapping her legs around their hips.  

Her oddly shaped face was buried in the Hollow Knight’s shoulder joint, her breath tickling them. The Hollow knight focused on every single place that the Storyteller’s body touched their own, memorizing the feeling of her soft body and the differing textures.

There were odd thread-like strands that are were attached to the Storyteller’s head like antenna. But hundreds of them. The Hollow Knight finally understood what the storyteller had meant when she had complained about having to braid her hair. Apparently the braid had come undone and her hair was laying gently on the Hollow Knight’s carapace.

The Storyteller’s hands twitched in her sleep, the hard thin tips scratching at the tender flesh of the Hollow Knight’s neck. They knew that she had five fingers, and that she had more joints in her hands than the average bug. They also knew that despite the hard tips her hands were as soft as the rest of her.

It was the same all the way down her entire body, a soft covering of easily giving flesh that molded to whatever touched her, but with a core of something hard underneath.

The Hollow Knight doubted that there would be another bug like her in the entirety of the caverns. One that had their shell on the inside.

The Storyteller shifted in her sleep again, drawing the entirety of the Hollow Knight’s attention as she gave a deep sigh and a hum of comfort.

The Storyteller hid so much of herself behind her mask. She hid her fear, her panic. Her starvation. The short explanation of why she was doing this causing the Hollow Knight to feel as though they had failed her again.

It was good that she was relaxed. That she was comfortable.

That she wasn’t crying anymore.

She had sobbed into the Hollow Knight’s chest, and found her comfort in their presence. Had ordered them to touch her in a way to relief her pain.

Her tears had collected on their carapace, and the Hollow Knight hadn’t even tried to stop their void from taking them.

Her tears tasted like salt.

Chapter Text

It was dark.

That was the first thing that Mary noticed once she walked into the room with the King.

In a place like the white palace, where everything was so open and well lit, it was odd to have a room with even shadows.

But this room, hidden deep in the ground with only a long spiral staircase to reach it, was as dark as the King’s workshop.

The only light came from the King’s body, and Mary had to keep a hand on the wall to make sure that she didn’t trip.

In the far corner of the room, with the gentle clink of a chain, a pair of glowing orange eyes opened. Mary could only just barely see the vague shape of the bug with the combination of the King’s light and the glow from the orange of the bug’s eyes. It was shaped like any other bug in Hallownest, round and stout.

The King stayed back toward the door, knowing that his presence would throw the infected bug into a frenzy, but he waved Mary forward.

“Go on Storyteller. You will be safe, they are well restrained. I just want to make sure.”

Mary clutched her dreamcatcher to her chest in distress. This was the last test. Just to make sure that they had all of their bases covered. The last in a long line, and done in secret to keep the results from being questioned

After everyone had returned to the castle from the trip to the City of Tears, Mary had been hard at work making the new dreamcatchers. Her hours had been eaten up by the delicate work. She had to work closed up in her room, needing her hands to make the fine knots. She had quickly acquired a small supply of delicate dreamcatchers. Her workers had also created a sizable stack once that had been given on to study.

Then there had been the testing. The palace guards had brought in infected bugs and creatures. The newly dubbed ‘Spiral Dreamcatchers’ had been pressed to their bodies in hopes of them being contained like the infected bug that had been brought back to the palace had been.

But sadly, the story of what happened in the ballroom had morphed and spread. Too many bugs had been telling to story to quite them all or to make another version of the events be known.

 The bugs of Hallownest were convinced that it was only the dreamcatchers made and wielded by the Storyteller herself that would contain an infected bug.

And the testing had proven that true. No matter if the bug held a dreamcatcher they had made or one created by Mary, they could not bind an infected bug. Only if Mary was wielding her own creation would it bind them.

It had increased Mary’s work load expediently and would force her to travel around Hallownest to where people would admit to having contained and not killed their infected.

Already letters had arrived requesting her to visit.

This final test was just to see if a dreamcatcher would work if no one was there to see it done. To see if Mary could protect herself if she was ever alone.

Mary stepped away from the doorway and got a little closer to the glowing eyes.  She could barely see in the dark, and she stumbled a bit when she misjudged a step. She did not like this, not at all.

Mary stopped a distance from the eyes, and unwilling to get closer, gave the dreamcatcher a little underhanded toss toward the bug.

Tink!

The dreamcatcher bounced off of the bug and rolled away on the floor. There was no magical glow and no moving threads. The bug themselves made a noise like a snarl and the sound of the chains holding them to the walls began to fill the room as they started to struggle. The orange of their eyes seemed to be focused on the Mary’s mask.

Mary reeled the dreamcatcher back by the loose thread and hurriedly returned to the King.

“There was no reaction.”

The King sighed before nodded, turning back to the staircase and beginning to skitter back up.

“I had hoped that whatever remained of the infected bug’s mind would act as a ‘believer’ but it seems as though you will always need an audience for your sealing. I will be sending guards with you of course, but now it is imperative that they will also witness your sealings. We cannot always rely on the ones who captured the infected bugs wanting to see their loved ones snared in a dreamcatcher.”

Mary was huffing and puffing up the staircase, one hand held out to catcher her if she falls and the other holding the front of her cloak up so she wouldn’t trip. The King moved so quickly that she had to really go fast to keep up. She didn’t have the breath to add to the conversation.

“I have a number of guards available for you to choose from, but I believe that it will be better for your trip out if they are very well known. I believe that it would be safer for us to focus on quality over quantity so that you can move quickly through the tunnels. It would be best to do fast and sudden visits instead of a long winding trip. I cannot allow whoever it is aiming for you to have time to set a trap. “

The King opened the door at the top of the stairs and went through without looking back, starting down the hall. He went a few feet down the hall before stopping and turning back to where the Mary was bent over and making a noise like a bellows.

The Pale Light grimaced in regret. He was familiar by now with the Storyteller’s lack of mobility. She was not good at fast paced activities, unable to climb walls with ease, nor particularly strong. He would think her having no particular ability if it wasn’t for her endurance. 

When the Pale Light had sought her out originally, the gossip he had acquired from the villagers informed him that she was able to carry water down a length of tunnel that most bugs had to stop and rest in the middle of. She might not be terribly fast, but she can walk extreme distances without stopping.

The Pale light stopped before the heavily breathing Storyteller and waited for her to stand up straight again. He took this moment to look at the silhouette that her bent body created.

The Storyteller was a bug with an odd shape. She did not have the rounded shape of the majority of the inhabitants of Hallownest, nor did she have the thick shape of a bug from the Greenpath. The closest she came to a recognizable shape was a bee. But she did not have their characteristic buzzing accent, nor the wings.

She had a large rounded thorax and a slightly indented abdomen before her hips broadened out her shape again. He had not come across a species quite like her.

The storyteller finally caught her breath, and stood back to her full height, cloak once more hiding the curves of her body from view but for the odd lump on her front that caused the front of her cloak to fall straight to the floor and not be kicked up by her walking.

The Pale light turned from her once more, and began to walk, but at a slower pace for the taller but slower bug, “We will go to the training grounds. I have ordered the Knights to gather and showcase their skills. Some of them have prior arrangements to attend to, postings that cannot be changed on such short notice, but most will be available for escorting you around the kingdom. You do not have to choose today, but we need to prepare soon.”

Mary was sort of excited, she had gone through the training ground before, but never while it was actually in use! It was a large square of ground with an open ceiling but with the hanging vines that are common near the Queen’s private rooms. 

Mary followed the King until they finally went through the arch that would allow them to watch the training grounds from an elevated area.

The sound of striking metal and the grunts of bugs soon filled her ears. There were bugs all around the yard either sparing each other or the strange void guards that were truly statues that moved. It was always so unsettling to see them suddenly move from where they had been standing completely unmoving. And it was even stranger to see them dissolve when they were damaged enough to lose their form, the armor that had been containing them clattering to the ground.

There was more variety in the fighting bugs than what Mary had been expecting. Unlike with the retainers many different species seemed to be here. The sheer difference in the sizes of the bugs alone was enough to make Mary stare in awe.

Not to mention the weapons. Bugs of all kinds were brandishing everything from maces to swords. Some were even using some kind of natural growths like vines to act as whips and bolas, causing others to fall in clattering heaps. A few seemed to even be spitting out acid. One was even digging the very ground up and using it as a projectile! It was a mad house of activity and noise.

So, it was a little odd that with all of these amazing and strange things to look at, Mary’s eyes latched onto the Hollow Knight so quickly. Though it wasn’t that surprising, considering that Mary had gone out of her way to avoid being near the Hollow Knight, memories of the night when she took advantage of them haunting her, nearly as much as the memory of how dumb the morning had gone.

But nothing was worse than the realization that something about sleeping with another living creature had done something to her. Before, she had considered the bugs to be interesting to look at, like a living science experiment, but now . . .

Something about having her physical needs met, just woke up different ones.

Mary kept catching herself staring at the hands of her workers wondering how they would feel on her skin. At how soft Tinsy’s antenna would be on her neck. At how her teeth would click on the particularly shiny carapace of a guard.

If any of the bugs had compatible genitalia.

Getting her fill of skin ship had just woken up her sex drive, and now Mary was hungry for a different kind of touch entirely.

Mary’s attention was forced back to the present by the sound of a bug screaming and the clatter of metal on metal. Mary had just managed to catch the sight of two bugs untangling themselves before a bug flew through the air with another scream and landed on them. It seemed as though the Hollow Knight’s strength was enough to send the smaller insects airborne.

The Hollow Knight was without their cloak, but had a few pieces of armor on their chest and legs. They held their sword aloft and were fending off a trio of different Knights.

The Hollow Knight would disappear from existence and reappear behind the fighters. Deflecting every strike and doing a lunging slash. Their sword would glow with light at every strike, making the bug who was hit stumble and curse, but seeming to be unhurt. As Mary realized that magic was protecting the bugs from the weapons her eyes were drawn to the places where there were more flashes of light. There were a few areas where the brightest lights were coming from, areas where the bugs who were fighting were doing impressively well.

The fighting was very haphazard with different opponents accidentally being pushing into different fighting rings. A free for all with many different Knights being struck a number of times before a strike let out a different sound and the bug shuffled grumpily out of the chaos. It took a while, but eventually there were only six bugs left in the yard.

A huge bug wearing full body armor swinging a mace on a stick at anyone who came near him. A loud and joyous bug who was throwing projectiles and burrowing underground at a moment’s notice. A bug who appeared to be nothing but a whirl of fabric and a sword as long as they were. A bug who seemed to be fencing, having decided on standing in a single place and was deflecting every single strike or projectile that came toward them, and last but not least a bug who appeared to be wearing leaves and spitting some sort of green liquid at others that when not contacting the bug, was sizzling the dirt.

And of course, the Hollow Knight who was crouched in the middle, prepared to take them all on.

There was a sound like a bell and the bugs all stopped moving for a moment before they relaxed out of their combative stances and headed toward the side where there was a very long bench. The various bugs all sat down and began to talk to one another while peeling off pieces of armor.

“Let’s go and join them, you must meet them before you can choose.” The King led Mary toward another damn staircase, but even with her burning legs, she followed docilly behind.

The mood had gone from tense and battle ready, to a locker room chat. The five bugs who had been left with Hollow Knight all grouped up on one side and were loudly discussing who “won” the match.

The King led her over to them first, the loud argument covering up the sounds of their approach.

“-obviously me! I got the most hits!”

“Ahh! But you also were the one who was closest to being outed yourself! Another few good smacks and you would have been sitting on the bench!”

“Ze’mer thinks that Hegemol is the winner. He was the one to miss the least.”

“. . . “

“He also swings the least! I think it should go to Ogrim.”

“You always say that Ogrim should win! What about yourself, you didn’t get struck a single time.”

“Yes, Isma, you are the winner! It is decided!”

“Not so fast love bugs, there is more to take into account!”

“Oh, Dryya if we take everything into account then Hollow just wins again!”

The argument continued as the King and Mary got closer, not stopping even when they were directly behind the bickering group. The king finally drew their attention by buzzing his wings for a second to draw attention to the pair.

“Oh!”

“Ahh!”

“I say!”

“!”

“Zeeee!”

The group fell all over themselves to stand at attention and bow to their King, and Mary was once more thankful that no one could see her face. She had a hand to her face, but she doubted that they knew what that meant even as her shoulders shook. She was reminded of teenagers goofing off at their job and scrambling to attention whenever the boss got close.

The King gave them a look that none of them seemed willing to face head on, and then waved a hand at Mary.

“Greetings my five Knights, may I introduce to you, the Storyteller.”

Mary gave them a little bow.

The Knights didn’t move from their bowing posture, and Mary turned toward the King in confusion.

Was she supposed to do something else or?

But the King had wandered over to one of the Knights, the one who was wearing as much fabric as Mary was and seemingly without thought, he began to tug her layers of fabric around until they settled around her body instead of twisted around her limbs. And once he was done with her he moved on to the next Knight immediately.

Mary watched in amusement as the king fussed over his Knights, them leaning easily to his gentle pushes and tugs as he set them to rights. Smudges were rubbed off, scuffs were buffed and dirt was dusted off. Soon the group that had just gotten done fighting looked as put together as if they had just put their armor on.

“Umm, King?”

The King seemed to jolt a bit, as if coming out of a trance, “Ah, yes. The Storyteller will soon be traveling around the kingdom. She will need an escort. It will inevitably be a public ordeal. I know that both Dryya and Hegemol’s time are spoken for, but do the three of you think that you will be willing to escort her?”

The Knights finally came out of their bow as the king spoke to them. They all looked at Mary in interest as they came a bit closer.

The one who was the closest to Mary’s height came forward first. It was the one that had been spitting acid and seemed to be decorated in leaves.

“Greetings Storyteller, I am Isma! I am very proficient in projectile offences. I would be happy to escort you through the kingdom.”

The second to approach was the big round bug with large clawed hands who had been burrowing during the fight. “Hello! I am Ogrim, I specialize in battling from below! If you desired my company in your travels I would be glad to give it.”

The last was the tall bug with fluttering fabric around her. “Ze’mer is proficient with the sword. I will travel with the storyteller as far as Ze’mer is needed.”

Mary was a little overwhelmed, these bugs were obviously powerful and regal and important! And they seemed to all be quite comfortable with each other. Mary felt a bit outnumbered and awkward. She couldn’t help but walk around the bench and try to get closer to where the king ended up.

“It is, Nice to meet you? Yes, it is nice to meet you! I do hope that we can get along. Especially if we end up traveling together. Um, we should probably speak about who would be the, most useful to visit Greenpath- “

The ground gave out underneath of her feet.

Mary had stepped into the fighting ring in her effort to keep her distance from the group and immediately had fallen into one of the tunnels that Ogrim had created. There was a moment of silence and then immediate panic as many bugs all shouted and rushed forward at once.

Mary was too stunned to realize what had just happened. All she knew that was her body was being pressed on at all sides and that she felt dirt on the bare skin of her legs and sides. She sucked in a breath, and immediately began to cough on the dirt that came with it.

There was a single moment of blinding panic, at dying from being crushed in the ground, at the dark that surrounded her, before there was a painful grip clamping on her shoulder and dragging her out of the ground. Mary had a moment where she struggled against the grip, but once she managed to catch a glimpse of who had her she stopped struggling immediately.

The Hollow Knight had her in their grip and had dragged her out of the ground by shoving their hand directly through the dirt. Mary couldn’t stop coughing, and braced herself on the ground as she tried to clear the dirt from her lungs. The Hollow Knight kneeled at her side, and hovered over her, using their size to keep the other bugs at bay.

Ogrim was apologizing in a loud voice while the King was buzzing in front of her. His hands raised uselessly.

 Mary finally had to raise a sleeve to cover her face as she tilted her mask to the side. She coughed and spat the dirt out of her mouth as she finally cleared her air ways. She resettled her mask as she sat down on the ground. The adrenaline in her veins making her feel shaky.

“Storyteller, are you alright?”

Mary raised her head toward the King, even as she felt someone touch her on the back. She flinched away before she recognized the feeling of the Hollow Knight rubbing her back. She relaxed back into their touch as she refocused on the king.

“I- I am ok. I think I will return to my rooms though. We- we will have to discuss a guard another time. Please.”

Mary began to stand up, but the adrenaline and coughing had made her weak kneed. She had barely raised herself before she collapsed back on the ground.

Mary spoke in a quiet, embarrassed voice.

“I, ah, may need some help.”

The Hollow Knight darted forward. They tucked their hand into the bend of her knees and laid another across her back. They easily lifted her from the ground and began to carry her away.

The Pale Light watched them leave, amongst his still panicking Knights, a distraught Ogrim being comforted by Isma and the rest of the Knights trying to fill the hole back in so no one else would fall in.

He watched the pair leave and came to a conclusion that he had been hoping to avoid.

The Storyteller would refuse touch from any bug, and in a situation where her safety was on the line she might not get a choice in the matter.

The Hollow Knight was the only one suitable to protect the storyteller.

Mary felt like she was dying of embarrassment as she was carried through the halls of the palace, retainers slowing down as they passed to stare at the odd sight that they made. Mary covered in dirt and the Hollow Knight getting smudged as they walked through the palace with a purposeful stride.

Surely the story of how Mary fell through the dirt would be spread quickly. It was hardly the sort of image that she needed as a mysterious storyteller bug. Now she would be known as clumsy and heavy enough to cave in a tunnel that everyone else simply walked over.

The Hollow Knight’s fast pace brought her to her rooms quickly, but now she had the ordeal of opening her door. She knew that she would regret making it so heavy one day.

Mary wiggled, preparing to be set down, but was surprised when the Hollow Knight crouched low. They sat her on their bent leg, but kept and arm around her back. With their newly freed hand they gripped the handle and pushed the door open.

Mary was suddenly aware of how the leg under her butt, and the arm behind her back didn’t even flex. That she had just been carried through the palace with absolutely no effort.

Mary swallowed the saliva that had pooled in her mouth.

“Oh. You’re very strong, aren’t you?”

The Hollow Knight did not respond, they just finished opening the door and ducked into the room. They placed Mary on the couch in the middle of her room and then seemed to run out if steam.

“I can take it from here. You can- ahem, you can go back to the King. Ah, thank you Hollow Knight.”

The large bug stared at her for a moment before turning and leaving through the still open door. They closed it behind them with a quiet click.

Mary dropped her masked face into her hands.

“God fucking damnit. I’m going to need a cold shower.”

“ . . . needs approximately a half pound of protein every six hours and three bundles of vegetation . . .”

Mary was in awe. She should have expected this honestly, but she hadn’t and it was blindsiding her.

“ . . . have it stand in a twenty by twenty space to do it’s daily training . . .”

She knew he was fussy. She had known this. Someone who micromanages a kingdom like he does had to be.

“ . . . check it’s joints every night to ensure there is nothing caught . . .”

Is this who the Princess was going to turn into? No, surely the Deepnest Queen would have some negating effect.

“ . . . this is the bottle of polish for it’s head. The larger bottle is used for it’s body . . .”

Jesus Christ, it’s a good thing that he was letting the Deepnest Queen primarily raise the Princess. Mary knew that if he had tried this with his daughter, she would have been rebelling the moment she could walk.

“ . . . very sturdy body, but the Hollow Knight should be topped full of soul every morning . . .”

If the Pale King ever was in charge of a child, they would be smothered in his fussy parenting.

Mary watched as the King bustled about the Hollow Knight, fixing their cloak and having them lean down so that the King could reach their face to smudge nonexistent dirt off. It was honestly kind of cute, seeing his little scuttling body circle the huge Hollow Knight.

Mary had been stuck in his office, being lectured for the past few hours. She had been loaded up with all of the things that the king insisted were needed for the Hollow Knight’s up keep. 

“My lover, I do believe that the Storyteller understands all that she will need to do to keep the Hollow Knight in health. We need to let her go and prepare for the trip.”

The Queen was the only one who had been able to break the king away from his fussing. He let out a long sigh before stepping away from the Hollow Knight and allowing Mary to flee from his office, the Hollow Knight keeping a few steps behind her. It was rude to leave without saying a farewell but every time she tried the king would remember another important thing for her to know about the Hollow Knight and it would all begin again.

Running was the only option.

Mary rushed down the hallways, dodging the retainers as the steady click of the Hollow Knight’s steps came from behind her.

Mary wasn’t sure how to feel about being in charge of the Hollow Knight. Ever since that night she had slept wrapped around the thin bug, she had endeavored to not be alone with them. She had woken up in heaven, so relaxed and comfortable, snuggling her face into the velvety material in front of her face. But as she had slowly risen to awareness she realized what it was she was wrapped around.

Who it was.

Mary had immediately tossed herself back, nearly falling off the bed scrambling to keep the cloak over her head as she blindly struggled into it.

That entire morning had been a slap stick comedy of near misses and prat falls. But no matter how many times she had nearly tripped on her cloak with her head tangled in the fabric, the Hollow Knight had saved her with a gently hand either on her back or her chest. Eventually Mary had just turned the Hollow Knight around so that his back was to her and had removed the cloak entirely to see what she was doing.

The moment that Mary had put herself to rights and the Hollow Knight had managed to put his armor back on, they had opened the door and immediately been whisked away to the carriages, Mary riding with the king and queen as a safety measure.

It was an awkward ride.

But now Mary was on an extended expedition with the Knight. And she would not take advantage of that. She would not!

 . . .  she would.

Ok. Ok. So, she can’t promise even herself that she won’t get touch starved again and take advantage of the low hanging fruit of cuddling with the Hollow Knight.  And with her newly awoken sex drive it would make her even more uncomfortable in the aftermath. She wouldn’t do anything. She wouldn’t do that.

But she can’t swear that she won’t think about it.

But she can make rules. She was never good at telling herself no, but she was good at making an “only if”. She will only cuddle with the Hollow Knight if she almost gets killed.

That is the only acceptable time.

No other.

“Hollow!”

A blur of red slammed into the Hollow Knights knees and Mary paused a moment.

The Princess. The princes touched the Hollow Knight all of the time. Maybe be Mary could . . . get some advice?

“Princess? Hollow needs to come with me while I get packed, but would you like to join us?”

The little girl stopped where she had been climbing up the side of the Hollow Knight and gave Mary a look that made the human flash back to every single time she had been stared down by an annoyed cat.

“Yes. I have things to talk to you about.”

“-they like sweets but aren’t allowed to have too much or you get sick, Mama says so.”

The little red cloaked figure darted around Mary’s room as she continued to lecture the human on the proper way to take care of the Hollow Knight.

She was absolutely the King’s daughter. The moment that Mary had pried open her heavy door, the Hollow Knight lending a hand, she had rushed inside and had begun to poke at everything.

“-have to play games with them or they’ll get sad-’

Mary listened with half an ear as she went through her supply of underwear and cloaks. She wasn’t given a limit on space, but it was supposed to be a short trip, just to test out the traveling plan. But it was also supposed to be hot, and Mary knew that she would sweat like a pig. She had been warned that there would a bit of a walk because there weren’t any roads for carriages.

Should she bring enough for a week? Just in case?

The sound of a door opening and a little voice going, ‘whoa!’ drew Mary’s attention to her bedroom.

Hornet had opened the storyteller’s bedroom door and was staring inside with wonder. It looked like a spider’s nest, but instead of being made of silk it was a riot of color. The bed had sheets of uncut squares of fabric ruffled on it and there were more sheets hanging from the walls. It was warm, dark and cozy.

A perfect place to nap.

Hornet rushed in and dove into the bed. Immediate she was surrounded in softness and the odd smell of the storyteller. Hornet buried herself into the covers and giggled at the weight of them covering her.

Hornet heard the quiet sound of the Hollow Knight’s footsteps approaching the room. They paused at the door before coming inside. Hornet could hear the thoughts rattling inside their head. She bet that Hollow was just as amazed at the Storyteller’s bedroom as she was. It was so pretty.

Hornet poked her head out to see her sibling, and saw them standing in the doorway oddly focused on the ceiling. Hornet looked up in confusion.

Nothing was there.

Nothing was there?

“Storyteller! Where’s your dreamcatcher!?”

There was a clattering sound, and the Storyteller’s mask popped into the space beside Hollow’s waist.

“My what?”

Hornet wiggled all the way out of the blankets and stood up, pointing toward the empty ceiling.

“Your dreamcatcher! Where is it? Did someone take it? Do you need one?”

The storyteller’s mask glanced up before going back down to look at hornet. “I don’t have one. I don’t need it.”

Even Hollow turned to look at the storyteller when she said that.

Hornet was beside herself in anger. The storyteller made dreamcatchers! She knew how important they were!

“Yes, you do! You need a dreamcatcher or you’ll go to sleep and not wake up or you’ll wake up bad! It’s the rule! You’re not allowed to go to bed until there’s a dreamcatcher over your head! Mama, Mother and Father say so!  You’ll get infected and I won’t be able to play with you anymore and neither will Hollow! You’ll make them sad!”

“But he can’t get sad?”

Hornet stamped her foot, and nearly fell over as the bed bounced.

“No! no no no! Hollow will get sad if you get infected! They will! They will!”

The storyteller had walked into the room at this point. She lowered herself to the floor so that hornet looked down at her instead of up.

The storyteller did that a lot with her, lowering herself to the floor so that Hornet didn’t have to crane her neck to look at her. When hornet finally got a big as Hollow was, she would have to remember to not make people crane their necks when they spoke to her.

“Princess, it’s ok. It’s very very important that you sleep with a dreamcatcher, and it’s very very good that you are calling me out on not sleeping with one. But if I was in danger of catching the infection then I would absolutely sleep with one. But I can’t get the infection. I promise. I won’t get infected and I won’t make you or Hollow sad.”

Hornet glared down at the sad mask that the storyteller wore, but she was an adult, and adults were supposed to know what they were doing . . .

“You promise?”

The storyteller laid a hand across her chest, the cloak fluttering as she moved, “I promise.”

Hornet decided that her word would have to do. She turned to go and climb Hollow again but the storyteller made an odd sound.

“Um, Princess? Would it be ok if I asked you some questions about Hollow? I am going to be in charge of them for a little while, and since I can’t ask Hollow themselves, I thought that asking you would be ok?”

Hornet looked back at the storyteller. She was fiddling with her sleeves in that way that she did when she was nervous, like when she had to talk to a retainer that she didn’t know.

“That’s ok. I know that Hollow can be hard to understand a lot. What did you want to know?”

The storyteller seemed to expand for a moment before she began to ask a lot of questions.

“Do you think it would be a bad thing if I touched the Hollow Knight?”

Hornet was confused.

“But . . . you don’t touch anyone? Ever!”

“I- I can touch the Hollow Knight. Because he- it’s just that! He won’t be  . . . He won’t tell anyone? What I feel like? Because it’s not a great feeling. To touch me. But it’s important for him to touch me sometimes, because I need help to do things sometimes. Or I need to be moved out of danger. So, the Hollow Knight is allowed to touch me. But. I don’t know if I would touch him. Because if he tried to tell me to not touch him. I- wouldn’t understand it. So, I shouldn’t touch him. Ever.”

The storyteller seemed to be nodding, as if she was agreeing with her own words. But Hornet knew better.

“No, Hollow likes to be touched.”

That paused the storyteller’s nodding.

“Uh, how do you figure?”

Hornet crossed her arms, trying to think of how to explain such a simple fact to someone as complicated and odd as the storyteller. IT was obvious that Hollow liked to be touched. They were always so happy whenever Father straightened up their cloak, or when Mother would touch their head. They always hummed with pleasure whenever Hornet climbed on them. She was sure that they would like to be touched by the storyteller as well no matter how weird they said they felt.

It’s not like her and Hollow felt things the same as other bugs.

Oh! Maybe that would explain it!

“Storyteller. You don’t have to worry about you feeling gross. When I was a littler, I was more like how Hollow is. I couldn’t make any noise and I didn’t have a name, and my body was weird. But I really liked to be held by my Mama! I liked to get wrapped in the silk, and be curled around by Mid-wife. I felt things a whole lot, and unless it hurt then everything was ok. I didn’t mind being wet or sticky with honey or anything. Hollow is still like that. AS long as it doesn’t hurt then it’s ok!”

Storyteller was silent for a little bit before she asked another question.

“Your body was weird?”

Hornet nodded her head and grabbed the bottom of her favorite red cloak holding it up so that the storyteller could see her body.

“Yeah! Before I molted for the first time I could taste everything I touched, and I was hard to see! I wasn’t shaped like other bugs at all. When I got my molt, I hardened up a lot and got shiny! But I’m still not shaped like other bugs, I don’t have any ‘secondary characteristics’ like Father or Mama! So, I got to choose if I was going to be a girl or a boy. I wanted to be a girl because Mama is a girl and so is Queen Vespa! I wanted to be a queen like them! Hollow hasn’t chosen either, so they’re still ‘gender-less’ like I was. I don’t think they wanna be anything though.”

The Storyteller was quiet for a long time after that. Long enough that hornet got bored and went back to playing with Hollow.

Hollow hummed in happiness as Hornet dragged them into the Storyteller’s bedroom and tried to bury them in the sheets.

Chapter Text

Greenpath was beautiful. There were lush plants everywhere, the sounds of the bubbling waters and the rustling of leaves coming from all directions. Sunlight even peeked through the holes in the cave ceiling and lit the surroundings up brighter than Mary had seen since she had awoken in Hallownest.

It was a place that reminded her of jungles and untamed wilderness.

Mary was also dying.

The sun that managed to leak through the dirt, combined with whatever was going on with the water turned Greenpath into a sauna. Her cloak had become plastered to her skin with sweat within the hour of exiting the stag way station.

Her thighs were being rubbed raw from the horrible wet friction, and she was completely unable to get any relief from the shadows in the area. Even the ground was warm! For the first time since she arrived in Hallownest, Mary longed for the cool air of the cross roads.

But she continued forward.  There were bugs expecting her and she needed to get to where the binding would be taking place.

Apparently, there was some family of bugs who supplied the Hallownest citizens with herbs and leaves. They spent most of their time in the City of Tears but had a home in the Greenpath that they retreated to occasionally. It was where they had stowed their infected son.

From what little she had been told, the son had been working at his desk, and even though he had not gone to sleep, apparently, he had dozed off enough to get a glow in his eyes. When the family had noticed his symptoms, they had rushed him off before he had turned violent. The family had been one of the first to reach out for a binding.

“Are you alright Storyteller?”

Mary glanced to the side where Isma was walking. The bug had volunteered for the trip once she had heard where they were going. She was apparently a native of Greenpath. Her parents being a romantic pairing between a city bug and a Greenpath native.

“I-I’ll be fine. It’s just that, *gasp!* I’m not used to the heat yet.”

Isma frowned at her.

“Are you quite certain? You seem to be . . . melting?”

Mary barked out a laugh. That was certainly one way to put it! She supposed that to a bug that didn’t sweat it would look like she was suddenly losing her form. The fact that all of the bugs present finally had a clear look at her oddly shaped body through her cloak wasn’t helping either.

“I’m not quite melting. My body is attempting to cool itself down by forcing the water that I’ve retained through my flesh. As long as I am able to rest and drink more water later I will be fine.”

Isma didn’t look quite like she believed Mary but she let the conversation drop.

Mary refocused her attention ahead and just barely managed not to trip over a vine. The road was partially overgrown and very uneven. She would need to focus on her feet in order to not accidentally trip either over a root or her own cloak.

Mary hadn’t seen another native around, but she supposed that with the odd picture that the group they were in cut, it wasn’t impossible that they were being avoided on purpose. They were a group of five, two regular guards, one knight from the five, the Hollow Knight and a mysterious cloaked and masked bug.

 The others formed a triangle around Mary who walked in the middle and decided the speed for everyone. She could tell that she was slowing them down, but she had a much harder time walking than they did! With their little feet they could step anywhere but Mary had to find a place big enough for her feet, not to mention avoiding stick and stones that might hurt her.

The group came up to a sudden wall. The road ending abruptly and a hole about a dozen feet over their heads showing where to go.

Mary moaned and sagged down.

The subtle presence of the Hollow Knight came up behind her and she didn’t struggle as they gently took her into their arms and jumped to the ledge above.

The first time it had happened had been early on in the trip and Mary hadn’t been too embarrassed. The guards and Isma had been informed that she was not terribly mobile. The second time it happened had been fine as well, but as more and more time passed and she got sweatier and sweatier, all that Mary could think about every single time the Hollow Knight took her into their arms was the Princess’s high-pitched little voice informing her that Hollow could probably taste everything they touched. That they were by default tasting her sweat.

The concept was horrifying. It was so bad that Mary had even attempted to climb a wall when the sweat had first stuck her cloak to her skin. She had not gotten far.

Now she submitted to the Hollow Knight’s handling without fuss. They needed to make progress and watching her struggle up the side of a wall only to slide back down wouldn’t get them anywhere.

The Hollow Knight gently placed Mary on the ground while they waited for the other bugs to finish scaling the side of the wall themselves. Apparently, Mary had gotten lucky with where she had lived before the palace. The crossroads had been all gentle inclines and flat distances, but the moment you leave the crossroads everything become an obstacle course of high walls and long drops.

And, Mary thought as the sound of buzzing grew close, the creatures that haunted the tunnels were an ordeal all of their own.

The Hollow Knight immediately pulled Mary behind them as they unsheathed their blade. Soon the creatures that were flying toward them could be seen. The squits weren’t even infected! And yet the group had been bombarded by the troublesome creatures in increasing frequency since they had entered the Greenpath.

Isma had said when the first one had attacked that it was odd for them to be so aggressive. Usually they would only go after solitary targets, and even then, would prefer to wait for others so that they could attack in a large group. But every single time they had even seen a squit even distantly it would eventually zero in on their group and head toward Mary without fail.

The first time it had happened they had paid little attention to the bug, assuming that it wouldn’t be willing to attack such a large group, but when Mary had only just missed being stabbed in the back by the Hollow Knight’s fast reflexes, they had become warier.

But after a solid hour of continuous foolhardy attacks, they had created a system. The Hollow Knight would stand between Mary and the squit just in case, and then either Isma would take the shot to bring it down, or the Hollow Knight would let it impale itself on their sword.

Mary was sure that the little bastards could smell her and were all coming for dinner, but as long as they only came one at a time they would be fine.

The most recent squit was dealt with quickly, the bastard child of a sword and a mosquito being left on the ground for the Mosscreeps and the little party continued on their way.

They had barely gone ten minutes before the sound of buzzing wings once more broke the silence.

Mary couldn’t help but let out a breathy shriek of frustration. Today was terrible, she was hot, it was so damn humid, she had sweated through her cloak, the Hollow Knight kept having to pick her up and she could only think of them as having tongues for hands and now they had to stop every fucking hundred feet to kill an insect that wanted to eat her. Today sucked in so many different ways.

Mary just stood there in useless rage as the buzzing got louder, waiting for the Hollow Knight to make their move and take care of it.

But the buzzing just kept getting louder. And louder.

Mary felt a prickle of unease. Was there a different flying bug? They had seen oobles but the gently floating insects hadn’t paid a lick of attention to them. Were there more squibs than usual?

Mary turned to look just as the squibs came into view past the plants.

There had to be a dozen of them. They were all flying close together and there were a few flashes of orange in the crowd showing that a few of their number were infected. They were all heading straight toward the group.

Mary was suddenly no longer on her feet. She was moving quite quickly forward, the wind pulling at her cloak and cooling her down. She was once more in the Hollow Knights arms. She felt like she was on a motorcycle, her mask doing a pretty good impression of a helmet.

“We can’t out run them! We need a plan.”

Mary stared at Isma, the bug easily keeping pace with the Hollow Knight as they pelted down the path. A quick glance to the other side showed the other guards also keeping up. Mary really had been slowing them down! She knew it!

Wait, was Isma asking her for a plan? She didn’t know how to plan!

Before Mary could say anything, the Hollow Knight jumped to the side, dodging the squibs that had managed to get ahead. The weird thunk noise as they collided with the ground was much more fear inducing now that it happened in quick succession.

Mary was nearly insensible with confused panic. The world was moving too fast and she was in danger! She was a civilian! What was she supposed to do about outrageously aggressive wildlife?

Mary felt the Hollow Knight pause in their running before they clutched her tighter to their chest and jump over a large acid filled gap in the path. There was once more the sound of the rapid thunks, but this time there was also the sound of a splash and sizzle. Mary had a moment of blinding panic that one of the guards had fallen into the water, but as she looked over the Hollow Knight’s shoulder she saw everyone make it safely to the other side.

The squits don’t care where they land. Whether it be on a sword or in acid.

The squits were all completely focused on Mary’s smell.

Mary’s cloak was soaked in her sweat.

Mary had a plan. She didn’t like it, she didn’t want to do it, but it would be safer than running from a pack of flying knives out for her blood.

“Isma! Take your men and get ahead of the Hollow Knight and I! I have a plan to get rid of the squibs, but you must be in front of us, and you must not look back. Not until I say so! Do you understand?”

Isma managed to throw Mary a disgruntled look, but she put on my speed and rushed ahead with the other two guards. They didn’t go far, no more than a few yards ahead, but more than enough space for what Mary was dreading to do.

She looked up at the bottom of the Hollow Knight’s head, and said with as much authority ad she could. “Do not look down, and do not drop me.”

And with that, Mary began to wiggle. She bent over enough to grab the bottom of her cloak from where it was dangling over the side of the large bug’s arms and began to pull it up her legs. She tried to work quickly even as she attempted to stay as still as possible.

She had to take off her mask, the white disk held in a death grip, but Mary managed to drag the soaked and smelly cloak off of her body. In the moments that she was naked in the Hollow Knight’s arms, the wind rushing past her and touching her skin in ways that she hadn’t felt in what seemed like years, Mary felt more naked than she had when she first woke in this place. It wasn’t a good feeling.

Mary immediately latched her mask to her head, taking an ounce of comfort in its presence before reaching with her free hand and grabbing the Hollow Knight’s cloak. It had been flapping behind them as they ran, but Mary pulled it until she could cover her body once more. Once she was tucked in enough to cover herself from the other’s limited view, she gave another order.

“Isma! Get closer!”

The green and white bug slowed down, but keeping to her original orders, did not turn her head to look back. Mary thrust out her arm holding the cloak and had it slap wetly into the knight’s surprised hands.

“I want you to take my cloak and dangle it over the edge of the acid! The Squits should follow it’s smell into their own deaths.”

Isma immediately veered off from the group toward the edge of a pool of acid.  She took the cloak in both hands and spread it while leaning over the bubbling fluid.

It was like all of Greenpath held its breath for just a moment, everyone stopping to see if Mary’s mad plan worked.

It did.

The squits all veered from their course to follow the smelly cloak, and dove for what they thought was a still target. Mary watched as Isma yanked herself back just in time to dodge the attacks, and the squits all splashed into the acid.

For just a moment, the lack of buzzing was a deafening noise.

Before, of course, there was some buzzing from the opposite direction.

“God fucking DAMN IT!” Mary shrieked, twisting her fists into the Hollow Knight’s cloak. Their arm’s tightened around her for a moment before situating her more firmly in one arm on their hip. They were careful to keep her tucked into their cloak. ‘

They weren’t able to reach their sword, Mary’s acquisition of their cloak blocking the way, but they would still be able to dodge.

The squit did as expected and flung itself head first toward the Hollow Knight, landing instead into a cluster of leaves.

Suddenly a crisp icy smell filled the air. The squit seemed to make a noise of repulsion and immediately fled away from the terrible plant and its horrible smell. One of the guards gagged and took a step back while the other grimaced. Isma, who had rushed over, made a noise like she had been pinched.

Mary sat up enough to poke her masked face out from the Hollow Knight’s cloak.

“Is that mint?

Mary stood underneath lukewarm falling water. She was scrubbing at her skin with a tattered piece of fabric and a lump of soap that the bugs of the noble’s manor insisted she use to get the smell off of herself.

Mary knew that they must have been quite a sight when they arrived at the manor’s door. Mary had redonned her disgusting cloak and had proceeded to rub the mint leaves all over the fabric, the juice of the plant staining it green. The pungent smell of mint had followed her like a cloud disgusting her traveling partners, but they had no longer been plagued by the squits every few moments. The mint had even helped cool Mary down!

But now the guards and Isma stood as far from Mary as they could get gagging in disgust whenever she got a little too close. The Hollow Knight seemed to be the only one unaffected but Mary had made sure to tell them that if the smell was unpleasant or causing physical reactions to their body then they could stay away as well. But they stayed nearly glued to her back for the rest of the trip, probably because the others put some much space between them and her.

Mary tilted her head up into the pouring water feeling the soap getting washed away. She would have demanded a shower anyway, but it’s a bit funny that she had nearly be prodded into the water with sticks in order to get the smell off of her.

She was currently in a slightly unruly garden. A little alcove in the cave walls that was enshrined in vines and guarded from the outside by bulky leaves that acted as a screen, hiding her from sight. Apparently, it had fallen into disrepair when the infected noble bug had been locked in the manor. But the main water features still flowed clear, and they wouldn’t let her into the manor until she no longer smelled like the cursed plant.

Mary couldn’t help but smile, remembering the look of disgust on the one guard’s face when she had stuffed a leaf under her mask to chew on. They had been horrified at the idea of someone eating the plant, and had visibly flinched back when she had begun to rub the leaf on her cloak. She would have to learn the bug’s name, theirs’s and their partner’s, who had managed to keep a straight face after their first reaction. 

Guards that are entertaining would be good to have, and ones who can deal with her would be best instead of an ever-changing pair.

Mary finally deemed herself clean enough, the smell having finally been washed away. She contemplated getting out of the fountain, but . . . this was a chance she might not get again for the rest of the trip.

She had running water and soap, something she would certainly bring back with her and request be delivered to the palace. She had privacy, seeing as how the other bugs had run away from her minty fresh smell the moment they could. And she had time, the ceremony was going to be done hours from now, the room it will be held in being prepared to her orders.

And she was so damn horny! The exercise of the day combined with the way the Hollow Knight had held her and how Isma’s legs looked below her swishy skirt and how close the other two knights had gotten when they had stopped to rest been haunting her thoughts. She needed to relive her tension! She had been to busy lately to take the time to touch herself in her own room.  And Maybe once she finally soothed her body she would stop being so damn trigger happy with what would set her off!

Mary settled herself on the edge of the fountain, casting a look back towards the entrance. She could see the shadow of the Hollow Knight starkly against the leaf that blocked the path. They were standing straight and tall, their horns looking impressive as it cut a dark shadow in front of the leaf.

The Hollow Knight would keep everyone away, they wouldn’t look, and they were far enough that they couldn’t hear any sounds that she would make from such a distance.

Mary’s hand slid down her stomach on its way to the place between her legs.

She would try and be quick.

The Hollow Knight stood at attention facing down the path toward the Declue’s Manor. It’s back was to the Garden that the Storyteller was currently bathing in. The Storyteller had ordered it to stand guard outside the garden in order to keep any passerby’s away. Already a few servants had peaked down the path. They were surely hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious Storyteller without their covering cloak. But the Hollow Knight had turned its gaze upon them and the servants had rushed away, frightened by its blank eyes.

It would protect the Storyteller’s privacy.

The Storyteller was quiet while bathing. The only sounds coming from the garden were the constant splashing of the fountain and the rustle of the leaves from the wind that gently blew in from the hole in the ceiling. THE Hollow Knight had already made sure that nothing could come from the hole, only light from the outside making its way to the garden. The Storyteller would be safe inside, but the Hollow Knight would not stray far from her. She needed to be protected, she was too weak to take care of herself a dangerous place, and Greenpath had too many creatures that wanted to take a bite of her.

When the Storyteller’s cloak had first begun to stick to her, the Hollow Knight had noticed the strengthening of her smell. There was no message in the smell, nothing that attracted the Hollow Knight’s attention like it had been taught. Nothing in her stronger smell that warned of danger or fear, but it had attracted the attention of the two escorts and of the knight Isma.

When Isma had questioned the Storyteller about the liquid she was secreting, she had simply stated that it was a response to the heat, her body attempting to cool itself, but had not spoken of the smell. Isma hadn’t questioned her again, but had continued to cast glances at her.

The Hollow Knight had realized that it must have been the first time that the other bugs could smell the Storyteller. Her cloaks usually muffled her smell quite a lot, and the Hollow Knight had been taught that it had stronger senses than the average bug. They didn’t understand that she was not doing this on purpose.

Then the squits had come, drawn by the Storyteller’s stronger smell. The Hollow Knight had been forced to carry her. It had seemed that perhaps the Hollow Knight would be forced to run all the way to the manor and leave the others behind. But the Storyteller had quickly made a plan. She had stripped herself of her only protection and hidden in the Hollow Knight’s own cloak.

She had used her smell as bait, luring the squits to their acid drenched death. She had known that they had wanted to eat her enough to put their lives at such foolhardy risk. The Hollow Knight had not anticipated that she would so readily know what would lure the predators away. But as the Hollow Knight held the squirming naked Storyteller in its arms, as close to giving safety as it could the being of void had an empathy. The Storyteller knew she smelled delicious, that she smelled like food.

The Hollow Knight had understood then. The Storyteller with her soft body, slow pace, and insistence to always be covered, to always be hidden. Her dislike of meat and her fear. The Storyteller was a prey species. A prey species that surely was out of her natural habitat and unable to rely on her usual methods for safety.

The Hollow Knight had accepted this new information. It had held her closer. They would protect her.

The next idea that the Storyteller had, to cover herself with the smell of cold that the other escorts found repulsive, and been a true resort of a creature that had been forced to take habits and tastes to protect themselves. The Storyteller’s joy at finding the plant even as the other escorts had been disgusted showed that. The Hollow Knight had a moment where it might have been thankful to be created in such a way to have neither a preference nor dislike for the sensations supplied to it. It would be unbecoming for the pure vessel to be unable to be near the Storyteller when she smelled so strongly of cold.

Small favors.

A small noise attracted the Hollow Knight’s attention. The sound of flowing water had changed. The Storyteller must be finished bathing. The Hollow Knight waited for her to get out of the fountain and begin redressing.

“ . . . ah.”

?

“ . . .mmm.”

Was the Storyteller saying something? No, the Hollow Knight would easily hear whatever she would have said. But as the Hollow Knight focused more and more if it’s attention behind itself into the garden it began to pick up more and more small sounds. The breathing of the Storyteller was growing both faster and shallower.

The Hollow Knight strained harder to sense what exactly was happening behind themselves, and when they notice that their form had release a tendril of the void, they did not draw it back.

The tendril slithered backwards, going below the leaf and feeling the stone path to get closer to where the Storyteller was bathing. The tendril went as far as it could, before it could not stretch farther from the Hollow Knight. The Hollow Knight used the tendrils rudimentary body to listen for distress and taste the air. Even if the Hollow Knight knew that the Storyteller did not use her smell like other bugs, it was so firmly ingrained in the vessel to reach for the sense.

From the closer distance the Hollow Knight was able to hear more details. It sounded as if the Storyteller was no longer bathing, the sound of falling water uninterrupted. But there was still a sound of water dripping to the ground.

The Storyteller must be sitting on the edge of the fountain. Her hair retained water easily, she must be simple letting some of the weight shed.

“Ah! Mmm.”

But. The noises?

 . . . and the smell?

The scent of the Storyteller had been unshackled by the overwhelming odor of cold. It seemed stronger in the warm open air, unmuffled by her cloak. But, there was a difference in it. Something that was familiar?

The Hollow Knight compared the scent to the many ways that bugs could signal distress, then fear, then pain. Nothing matched up and the Hollow Knight stretched its mind farther and farther back, to when they were small and its Mother had helped teach it.

Mother had brought them small sealed pots to examine and learn from. Scents had been in the pots, and Mother had patiently explained what each scent meant.

The Hollow Knight’s head turned a single degree to the side, their shock making their composure acquiring a hair line fracture. The scent was arousal.

The Storyteller was aroused and ready to mate.

But she was alone.

The Hollow Knight strained their senses once more, and forced themselves to listen and taste as precisely as they could. But despite hearing the odd heartbeat of the Storyteller and the very leaves that fell from the plants around them, despite being able to taste the salt from the Storyteller’s skin and the water in the air. They could not perceive another bug in the garden.

“Ah, ah, ah! Ple-!”

There was no one there.

“Just a little more!”

The Storyteller was whispering to no one.

“Just- “

The only hands on her were her own.

“*gasp!*”

Could she be mating herself?

*moan~*

There was a sudden splash and startled laughter. It seemed as though the Storyteller had lost her seat on the side of the fountain and had fallen in. The smell that the Hollow Knight had been tasting so studiously began to dissipate quickly. The sound of splashing filled the garden once more.

The Hollow Knight was suddenly aware that they had turned around and were not staring at the thin green leaf that had been at their back. They had turned their back to the path in order to listen more attentively to the Storyteller.

They corrected their mistake and reeled in their tendril. There were no other bugs in the garden. The Storyteller was safe.

The sound of steps drew their attention once more behind them. THE Storyteller was approaching them. She stopped a foot or so from the leaf and spoke in a loud clear voice.

“Hollow Knight. I will be laying in the sunlight in order to dry myself. I may fall asleep, so after thirty clicks I would like you to make some noise until I respond to you. Do not come in, I will not be properly attired. Thank you.”

The footsteps faded a bit as the Storyteller went to a slightly farther part of the garden, assumedly to nap in the sunlight.

The Hollow Knight took stock of its body. It felt tight. As if it had not been given the chance to practice it’s training for days. Its chest felt like there was too much air inside of them. There was a throbbing in their hands and abdomen. The Hollow Knight purposely relaxed its hands from where they had been curled tightly at its side.

The Storyteller had been mating herself in the garden behind the Hollow Knight.

The thought sent another throb through the Hollow Knight’s body. The very void they were made of tasting the air as if to chase the heady scent that had already faded away.

The Hollow Knight stood guard for the relaxing Storyteller.

The Hollow Knight would keep her safe.

The room was dark. That was the only real stipulation for the ritual bindings that Mary would be doing. If it was too bright, then the participants could see too clearly and it would be harder to slip a stutter or a mistake past them. She had other requests of course, a single flickering light source, fire preferred but a few luma flies as need be. She also wanted the infected bugs to be bound. It had come apparent with the many experiments that any infected sentient bug that saw would always come towards her. Probably to attack, but no one had allowed one of the infected the chance so far.

But as long as these two needs were met, then she would go through with the binding.

The room that the infected bug had been held captive in was quite opulent. With a high ceiling and frescos of slugs on the walls. The reason it had taken so long to prepare was because there had been a wall of windows that had been needed to be covered. Leaves and fabric alike were layered and pressed to them, in order to block out the sunlight. Mary had thought about asking why not just wait for night to fall, but figured that she would let the frantic bugs do what they needed to prepare.

There was a couch in the room that had been obviously moved in just for the ritual, and sitting upon it was an elderly bug with a monocle. He was the infected bug’s uncle who had moved into the manor to watch after their nephew. With the sudden arrival of Mary and her guards, he was the only one who could be here for the binding. Well, him and the three servants who stood against the back wall, watching eagerly.

The infected bug had been bound to a bed, the chains rattling as they fought to lift themselves up. The bug’s head was turned toward Mary and their sickly glowing eyes unnerved her. There hadn’t been any noise before Mary had entered the room.

Mary was wearing a cloak that remined her of a nun’s uniform. It had a solid black cover, but with a flowing white layer underneath that peaked out with her every move. Tinsy had said that it looked like flashes of magic in the low light, and so Mary had brought it along to help with the theater of the ordeal.

Mary had decided to match her rituals to the crowd. Small crowds would have more simple and intimate rituals, while large crowds would get more flash. With only six bugs in the room, ignoring her and the Hollow Knight, this would be a small and simple ritual.

But she still had to put some theater into the presentation, she needed these bugs to believe that she had the ability to do magic. To bind the infection.

And so, Mary thought, the show begins.

Mary rose to her tip toes so that she would be able to glide across the floor, the specially made dream catcher in her hands. She stopped at the foot of the bed, looking down at the bug that had begun to make a sound like a hiss.

The Hollow Knight stayed close to her back, looming over her with their gleaming white mask and cloak.

Mary began to speak in her best approximation of a mystical chant. She held the dreamcatcher over the bug’s body, her arm straight out and holding it by its loose thread. She allowed it to slowly spin in her grip, drawing the eyes of all the bugs in the room.

“You’re dreaming dreams, you’ve dreamed too deep.

You’ve fallen too, too far asleep.

Your mind’s been lost, it has slipped your grasp

But now I will, catch it fast.

A net I have twisted, a net I have made

Save it will, you from your grave.

You’re dreaming dreams, you’ve dreamed too deep

But I will not let you, be lost to sleep.”

As she spoke the dreamcatcher lit up, a sure sign that the watchers believed that she was doing magic and with that little rhyme done she dropped the whole thing on the hissing bug below.

It immediately began to tangle the insect, many different threads spreading from the dreamcatcher and glowing with light. They traveled over the now shrieking bug’s body, but once they reached all of its bound limbs and head they flashed brightly once before settling into a low-level glow. The bug themselves seemed to have dropped into an exhausted sleep, eyes sliding close and breaths no longer coming fast and hard.

The elderly bug nearly fell from the couch to get to his nephew’s side. He reached out with a shacky hand to touch the bound bug, and when his nephew didn’t respond to the contact, he fell upon his sleeping body and wept.

 Between sobs he managed to gasp out,

“Thank you, thank you Storyteller. He, he is finally resting. I can finally hold him. Thank you, you have given him peace.”

Mary was uncomfortable. She had just said some pretty words and waved a trinket around. She hadn’t actually done anything! She was just lying to them, why was he thanking her! She hadn’t even improved the situation any, just made him stop moving.

“You are most welcome.”

Mary began to back out of the room, bumping into the Hollow Knight who had remained behind her. She quickly spun around and walked quickly from the room.

She didn’t deserve the praise.

The Hollow Knight followed her, never allowing her to remain out of their reach.

She felt safer with them at her back

The trip through Greenpath took about a week and was easier now that they knew the trick to it. Hollow would be sent out to acquire mint leaves, and then Mary rubbed them on a spare piece of cloth. This way they could just wave the cloth around on a stick instead of rubbing the mint directly on Mary.

Greenpath was apparently a popular place to hide away bugs that needed to be contained. Mary was guided into every kind of abode to bind the bugs who had been locked away for the safety of themselves and everyone else. She had accidentally cultivated a misconception that the binding took a lot out of her, because every time she had finished with her little rhyme and the infected bug was all bundled up and quiet, she would leave as quickly as possible in order to escape the thanks.

Mary eventually got comfortable with the routine, enjoying the time she could steal to lay in the sun. Her body adjusting to the heat and not making her sweat as much. Munching on the spare mint leaves.

But eventually she seemed to have bound every infected bug whose family had sent a letter to the King, and the group returned to the castle. The whole group met with the king for a debrief, telling him about the squits and the danger they would pose to Mary.

Once the meeting was concluded, Isma raced off, probably to greet her lover. The two guards, named Tweddle and Grot, both wandered out as well. The Hollow Knight took their usual position behind the King, and Mary retreated to her rooms. As she stripped herself naked, some patches of skin twanged in a way that warned of an incoming sunburn. But Mary didn’t care, she had been in and out of strange rooms for the week and walked miles through a jungle.

She threw herself into her bed and got comfortable in her covers.

It was good to be back home.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere was comfortable, there was the gentle chatter of relaxed conversation and the tink of tea cups being set on tables. Bugs were seated randomly through the courtyard, enjoying the tranquility of the Queen’s Garden and nibbling on fruits and crystalized honey while enjoying the aroma of the ever blossoming flowers.

The bugs were all wearing brightly colored silks and shined metal, showing off their wealth and status. A few dimly dressed servants fluttered through the crowd baring their burdens of tea pots and platters stacked high with sweets.

It would be a relaxing event if it were not for the fact that Mary was supposed to be here to bind an infected bug, not have a damn tea party!

The King had warned her about this particular bug, that they had strange ideas about what was acceptable and what was not. He had told her to try and do the job quickly, but if she must be swayed at the pace of the other, than to use the tools at her disposable as needed. And the moment that Mary had left the King’s office, Tinsy had pulled her aside and lectured her on her etiquette again.

Tinsy told Mary over and over again that she must not allow others to walk all over her. To let them think that she was beneath them, or let her guard down. Which was funny coming from a bug who was currently scolding  her after having yanked her aside by the sleeves, but whatever.

In fact multiple retainers that Mary was familiar with all managed to wedge a word in about being careful and standing up for herself. It had been very strange. Mary hadn’t really understood what they had been going on about until she had arrived at the estate of Duke Amor.

Apparently the bug with the infected relative was a bit of a social climber, and was shamelessly doing so. He had been warned that the Storyteller was coming to his residence to bind his infected brother and had turned his home into a party venue.

This is what led Mary to where she was. Seated on a plush couch, eating sweets that the Hollow Knight dropped on her plate and sipping nectar from a straw, and facing the social climber himself.

Duke Amor was seated across from her with a tea cup, comfortable in the knowledge that she had no choice but to stick around for the hours it would take for the light to fade from the courtyard. So that she could bind the infected bug chained up in the gazebo situated in the center of the party in the darkness she herself demanded.

“So tell me Storyteller, where exactly did you come from? Surely you can spare a single detail?” The Duke leaned forward and wiggled his antenna at Mary, just far enough away for it to not be an insult, but defiantly riding the line.

Mary, who was already pressed herself into the back of her seat in an attempt to keep her space, just gave a nervous smile behind her mask. She knew they couldn’t see it, but damn it old habits just won’t die. She took a sip from the drink that the Hollow Knight had supplied to her, a tall glass of overly sweet nectar with a long straw that would fit under her mask.

“There won’t be much to say. I came from a distance away, and sadly I was not involved in the planning of the trip.”

That’s a good way of saying, that I was unaware for all of it right?  

“Well, what about your family! Surely a refined bug like you came from a noble family.”

Mary couldn’t contain her snort. Nobles? Her family? Just imagining her siblings and parents in these bug’s fancy outfits filled her with humor. She couldn’t help giggling.

“Oh, no! My family is nothing that one could have thought of as noble! But it hardly mattered, there are no nobles where I am from. We have no kings, and leaders are chosen by the people.”

Mary took another sip of her drink, looking away from the intently listening Duke. “My family was large for us, but possibly small in comparison to one from Hallownest. My species can on average only  . . . hatch a single child at a time, but once the child has . . . molted . . . another is usually had, making it so that there is a group of children in different ages. My family only had three children, of which I was the youngest, but we were close to my mother’s and father’s siblings who had also had also around three children each. I was the youngest amongst them as well. But once were all older I ended up being the one who would most often watch the children of my cousins and siblings.”

Mary looked down at her drink, watching the liquid swirl around the straw. She missed her little cousins, her nephews and nieces. Some had been just entering middle school while others had been in their senior year of high school. She had been the one to watch them as they were growing up. The only person who didn’t have a real job or didn’t have their own kids to watch.

Mary had been the designated baby sitter for the family since she had turned 14 and had been considered mature enough to watch the kids for an afternoon or two, and as more and more of her family had used her as a sitter, she had eventually had the entire hoard of them all in her care. It had been chaotic and messy, and tears had been shed and voices had been raised, but she had loved them all dearly.

“ I- I miss them.”

Mary felt her eyes prick, and took a long swig of her drink in an attempt to calm herself. She’d been maudlin recently, her emotions all over the place. When she wasn’t lusting after a pretty bug’s legs, she was being a pitiful mess in a corner. Mary figured that it was just the stress of her new situation getting to her. She had even had a stomach ache this morning! But she would adjust eventually, she didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

“Can you not return to your home? Not to chase you from the kingdom of course, we would love to keep you, but you speak as if you cannot return.”

Mary retuned her eyes to the Duke, he had once more situated himself to give off the appearance of being deeply invested in the conversation. Mary might even have believed he was being honest in his intentions, if it wasn’t for the fact that he struck a different “attentive” pose every time he spoke to her. This bug needed to just quit being a noble and switch to being an actor, because he sure as hell was putting on a show.

“I do not believe that I can return home. I was brought here by . . . someone and I will most likely need their help to get back. But sadly enough, the one who brought me here also abandoned me here. Unless they return for me, I do not think that I will be able to leave.”

The Duke clasped his hands together and tucked them under his face.

“Oh, how sad! But since you will be staying, are you planning to settle down and start a family?”

“ . . . what?”

“Oh yes a family! There will surely be a number of bugs that would love to court you! Just imagine! It would be the talk of the entire kingdom, the Storyteller looking for a bug to settle down with! Any bug would be lucky to get your attention.”

Mary was befuddled. What the hell was this topic change?

“I ah, haven’t thought about it? I’ve just been concentrating on helping the kingdom. There hasn’t been time for me to think about settling down.”

“Oh come now darling.” The Duke finally leaned all the way over onto the low table separating the couches. He stood up a bit from his seat, and put his weight onto the hands braced on the table to get closer to her, his antenna reaching out and just barely brushing Mary’s cloaked shoulders. “Surely there must have been some bugs that caught your attention here? I would be honored to introduce them to you.”

What? WHAT!

She was being set up for a date?!? What the hell? What the FUCK did this bug think he was doing?

Mary was too shocked by the Duke’s words and actions to move. Her body freezing as she tried to get a new handle on this situation. But as if sensing weakness, the Duke began to lean somehow closer, his hand reaching out as if to take her own.

So far no one knew what exactly the Storyteller looked like, or how her body was shaped. Duke Amor had collected every single bit of information that he could. It was known by now that the Storyteller did not have a hard carapace. She had a soft body like a caterpillar, maggot or slug. And yet she stood taller than the average bug height and could move quickly over most flat surfaces, not to mention that she could stand tall with heavy water on her shoulders.

Duke Amor had been informed of the odd tracks that she left in the ground at greenpath, the prints she left behind being long with five dots at each tip. The way her body would wet itself in heat and smell like salt seasoned meal. How in every bed that she slept thin threads could be found. They were not a leaving of her craft, for they were a dark color and shined in the light. No dreamcatcher was made with such thin wire like material.

Duke Amor had been shown one of the threads when he had traveled out to Greenpath to speak with one of his associates who’s family had been bound. They had treated it like an heirloom or a blessing. He wouldn’t be surprised if they placed it beside their King Idol and prayed to it.

All of these little details were valuable in their own right, but if the Duke manage to touch her himself than he would be able to confirm or deny certain ideas. It would place him in a position of power in the ever revolving wheel of noble social standing.

A moment of rudeness would surely pay dividends in the long game, after all, once the Pale King stopped the infection, her power would diminish significantly, better to get as much as he could out of her early on.

But before the Duke’s hand touched the Storyteller, there was movement from behind her and the Duke’s hand was caught in a firm grip.

The Hollow Knight, who had been standing silently behind the Storyteller had caught the Duke’s hand when it had gotten too close to her. It had curled forward over her, nearly bent in half in order to look down at the Duke who had been getting too close to it’s charge. The creature’s cloak had swayed forward as well, falling like a curtain around the Storyteller until she was firmly in the void creature’s shadow.

It was a very well-known fact throughout Hallownest that the Storyteller did not like to be touched. That no living creature had been given permission to touch her. That only the Hollow Knight was allowed.

It was granted this concession because it was the Storyteller’s main protector and because of it’s empty state. Bugs had seen the Storyteller in it’s arms in dangerous situations. From the first public binding when she had sat in it’s arms, to the rumors of glimpses of her being carried as it ran through the Greenpath. There were even stories about her entering a pleasure house with the being of void latched onto her arm. 

Duke Amor had paid a shiny geo for the information, even getting the scandalous secret that she had gotten a private bathing room and that the Hollow Knight had followed her inside.

Duke Amor froze. The feeling of the void being’s hand was like a steel cage. It’s fingers wrapped around his hand twice over and dug into his wrist for good measure. The eyes in it’s motionless mask stared into his own.

Duke Amor gazed directly into the void.

The void being was supposed to be an empty shell that moved. Nothingness given form. But Duke Amor would swear on his life, that the empty creature that curled so protectively over the Storyteller gazed back at him in fury.

Duke Amor was convinced that the creature in front of him was enraged that he would so callously try and place his hand on the Storyteller.

He jerked his hand back, expecting the furious creature to keep it’s grip. But instead his hand slid out of the grip with ease. Duke Amor to fell back into his own seat with a thud, shaking in the instinctual terror of escaping an angry predator.

The Storyteller and the creature stared at Duke Amor for a few moments, the Storyteller still frozen from the questions and actions of the Duke, and Duke Amor in shock from how he had just stared into the void, and it had snarled back.

“I- I apologize Storyteller. I feel as though I might need to catch my breath. I- I will rest for a small while.”

And with that hasty excuse the frightened bug strode away with purpose. A noble’s retreat from an insulted and dangerous enemy. He dearly wished his pride would let him run.

Mary slowly recovered while the Hollow Knight stayed bent over her, their cloak shielding her from the view of the other bugs. That had been a near miss. She hadn’t known what to do with the overly pushy bug, and had nearly gotten grabbed.

“Thank you.”

Mary reached up gently laid her hand on the Hollow Knight’s that was placed behind her shoulder on the backrest of the couch. The Hollow Knight was using it to stabilize their deep lean. Mary patted the hand twice in thanks before she nudged their chest with her knuckles.

 They needed to stand up. Surely they looked rather odd from the surrounding bug’s perspective in the low bend they had taken. The Hollow Knight obeyed her silent order and smoothly stood, their cloak dragging over the back of the couch until they were once more at rights.

The Hollow Knight had gotten better at protecting her as time went on, learning from trial and error what to do and how to respond to different threats.

This wasn’t the first time that a bug had tried to touch her, and it was good that the Hollow Knight had stopped drawing their sword every time. But it was the first time that a bug had attempted it so bluntly. Usually it was just someone going in for a dramatic hug after she did a binding, or a servant sneaking up on her.

Mary heaved a sigh and drained her drink.

This was most certainly going to be a tiring evening.

What was supposed to be a quick in an out had turned into an entire ordeal. Ze’mer had taken one look at the stuffed court yard and had about-faced directly back to the stag station, informing Mary that she was going to go ahead and do the errand that the King had wanted done after the binding now. Tweddle and Grot had been ‘politely’ requested to stay at the doors in order for their swords to not get in the way. Mary had attempted to abscond into the house but had been herded out by the servants with the words, “The Duke would like to speak to you about their infected family.”

Pulling the sad mourning relative card on her.

For shame.

“ . . . shameless really I suppose.”

“Ahh, met Duke Amor, have you?”

Mary nearly dropped her cup.

There was another bug who had approached her, and after getting over the shock of them being there, Mary was hit by the fact that they were handsome.

Or at least they were everything a bug from the City of Tears would consider handsome.

He was relatively short and with straight antennas. His carapace was shiny enough that Mary could see the reflection of his cloak on his body. His eyes were large and his hands were small and according to the average bug of Hallownest he was as gorgeous as could be.

Mary was suspicious immediately.

People like that didn’t talk to people like her. Not even now that she was an important person who was close to royalty. She was approached in groups, or by the older crowd who had a bit of the “seen it all” air to them.

A lone Casanova coming to her? “You seem to have finished your nectar. I took the liberty of bringing you another cup. My name is Klark, how have you enjoyed the party so far?”

And handing her a drink?

Mary did not reach out to take it. Very few bugs were trusted to hand her things. Or really, few bugs outside of the White Palace were trusted to hand her things. Everyone from her workshop had handed her items without a single care. Tinsy had perfected the way to hold items so that she could easily drop them into Mary’s covered hands. Even the retainers that she was most familiar with would hand her items without causing her hackles to raise.

But once she was no longer was in the White Palace, then she started to have an inflated personal space. Any bug that moved near her immediately had her attention. She was almost paranoid about others being anywhere near her. And bugs trying to give her things? That was the worst.

The first time that a servant from one of the noble’s retreat houses had tried to hand her a drink they had almost brushed her hand. She had ended up flinging the drink away and splattering it on the nearby wall. The Hollow Knight had responded to her momentary panic and had drawn their sword, which had made the other guards draw their swords, and eventually the servant had faced down not only a huge creature of void but also several naked blades. They had fallen down in a faint.

That had been an embarrassing incident and the worst part is that it had kept repeating itself. Bugs would try to give her things, she would panic out of instinct and the Hollow Knight would overreact to her panic. But eventually a solution had been found.

The handsome bug’s antenna’s flinched back even if his body didn’t move when the Hollow Knight reached toward him. The Hollow Knight’s finger tips gently gripped around the rim of the cup, their fingers so long that they didn’t even jostle the straw sticking out of the top, and took it from the bug’s hand. They brought it before Mary and gently lowered it into her waiting hand and exchanged it for the empty one, setting it on the table, out of the way.

The Hollow Knight had learned that it could simply run interference between her and all of the other bugs, and it had worked out surprisingly well. Mary had long since gotten used to their presence, no longer flinching at the shadowy figure moving around in the corners of her vision. The Hollow Knight could reach over her shoulder, and she would simply wait for them to drop whatever had been offered into her hands. It was sort of like having another pair of arms, ones that she didn’t control but simply brought things closer to her.

Mary took a sip from the drink, the straw sliding under her mask. She was just wasting time, trying to figure out what to do with this bug approaching her.

There was no way that he was here honestly. It was impossible.  Mary knew how the bugs without masks view the ones with. Bugs with masks were considered to be beasts that somehow were gifted a mind. It was a mix of classism and racism with some Xenophobia 

 mixed in.

A bug that must have been a sought after member of society meeting her in a party and not immediately asking her about the king or her dream catchers. Making idle conversation? Asking if she was enjoying herself.

Something was afoot.

“It’s a very enjoyable party, but I do not think that this is the correct response to a binding.”

“Is it not? You are helping this poor soul. You are bringing them peace and taking them away from the infection.” The bug took the Duke’s vacated seat, even plucking up the abandoned and untouched tea cup.

Mary tried to figure out what she needed to say. She could neither be too harsh on herself, and she didn’t want binding parties to be a thing. She considered a binding more of a family affair, not a reason to draw together a group of flighty bugs who were making light of the situation.

Mary couldn’t help but be reminded why it was that she was mostly called to the homes of the upper class and the nobles. A poor bug wouldn’t have the space or ability to keep an infected individual. The few that she had been called to were usually bugs who had already lived on their own, and had simply been barricaded into their own homes when they had been too infected to open their doors.

These noble bugs could make light of the situation, because they had a better chance of actually keeping their family alive long enough for the king to find a cure.

“What I do is not a cure. It is a . . . pause. The infected is not cured, I have simply sedated it. The ones I have bound cannot be awoken until the infection is purged from their bodies. You would not throw a party for a visit from a healer would you. I only deserve the same welcome as they would.”

“Ahh! But a cure is coming. The vessel behind you is a testimony to the Pale King working to contain the infection. What you are providing is a luxury. Now we no longer have to look upon our suffering family. Now they can be peaceful and docile for our care.” The bug gave a smug expression, seeming to think that this was an attractive look on them. They were right, but it didn’t make them look like less of an asshole though.

“But Storyteller, what are your plans for once the infection is contained? Surely you will no longer be needed to make dreamcatchers or be sent out to bind the infected? Have you made a plan for your future?”

Mary was befuddled. She truthfully hadn’t thought that far ahead, it seemed strange to consider that one day it will be all done with and she wouldn’t be needed. Perhaps she would move back to the village she started in? Or become one of the many retainers that scurried through the palace.

“ . . . I have not concerned myself with my unknown future. Plans do not often survive uncertain times.”

“That is all the more reason to plan, my Lady. If one does no know what the future will bring, then on must plan for everything! You must begin to amass your influence and fortune now while you have leverage!”

Mary frowned. That didn’t sound very good.

“My leverage?”

The bug ducked his head a little closer to the Storyteller, and put on a sorrowful look.

“Yes, once you’re no longer needed by the King, these noble bugs won’t give you the time of day! You won’t be invited to any parties, and you won’t have any favors to cash in. Not to mention that the King will certainly cut off your funding and you will surely have to down grade your current lifestyle. You need to start to make a name for yourself.”

Mary was confused. Did . . . did this bug think that she was in it for the money? She had only recently found out that she was getting paid at all! She still hadn’t gotten around to even figuring out what the context of the worth of Geo even was!

Mary swirled the cup in her hand, letting the straw spin around the rim. “And how exactly would you suggest I go about doing that?”

“Not to be heartless, but unlike the dreamcatchers, surely you could charge for the bindings you are doing? Perhaps only agree to come once someone has offered you enough to make the trip? Some of these high class crawlers can certainly afford to lower themselves to a masked bug for something they so desperately need.”

The bug leaned back and smiled at Mary, sipping the last of his tea from his cup. “You will of course need some assistance in recognizing which families can be pushed and which must be treated with care. It wouldn’t do to insult someone powerful or give too much leeway with those that do not deserve it. I of course would be happy to help.”

Mary was paralyzed with the dawning understand of what this bug was trying to convince her to do. He wanted her to make these bugs beg for their loved ones saftry. They thought she was willing to put money above a person’s life. To hold peace over their heads and make them jump for it.

The bug looked into his empty cup and then raised his eyes to the Hollow Knight behind her, he smirked at them and gestured to the tea pot on the table with a wave.

“Void creature, pour me tea.”

Mary was instantly angry. The paralizing shock of his assumptoipns about her character burned away by his belittlement of the Hollow Knight. It was one thing to refer to the Hollow Knight as a vessel, everyone but Hornet did, but it was another to call them a creature and order them around. They were not a servant, and who was this bug to demand things from them?

Mary stridently ignored all of the times when she herself had asked the Hollow Knight to pour her tea, hold something for her, retrieve something for her when she had been too tired to walk another ster, or had huddled under their cloak when she had been overwhelmed by the thankful bugs and had needed a hug right then.

Those times had been different! She had aksed! Polielty! And used their rname! And she knew them! Sorta! As much as you can know an bug that wasn’t really a person.

“The Hollow Knight is not a servant to be-“

Mary cut herself off as she was once more enshrouded by the Hollow Knight’s cloak.

They had bent over to reach the low table, coving her once more. Their long thin fingers tucked into the small handle of the teapot resting on the table and delicately lifted it. They raised it toward the bug, their body stretching farther and farther, over shooting the tea cup that the bug was holding out. They tilted the pot before either mary nor the bug understood what they were doing, and the gently steaming tea gracefully arched out of the spigit to douse the bug on the head.

There was a moment of shock, the Hollow Knight continuing to pour the tea over this bug before he made a hissing noise and launched himself off of the wet couch. “How dare you- what is the meaning of- I WILL HAVE YOU PUNISHED FOR YOUR INSULT!”

The screamign bug had attracted the large crowd by this point, many others turning to see who was making a fuss and why. And then they laid eyes on the handsome but tea soaked bug, and they were all riveted.

Mary was frozen, but thankfully hidden by the drape of the Hollow Knight’s cloak. The Hollow Knight had continued to pour the tea until it had all emptied out on the couch, but now they just hovered over Mary with the pot in their hand.

Mary had wasn’t sure what the hell was going on at all, but she would not let the bastardous bug do anything to the Hollow Knight.

How was she going to spin this? What could she say? What lie would she tell?

As Mary’s eyes fixed on the soaked bug, her mind jumped to the words he had used, and the stereotype of how bad technology is, how you have to be careful how you phrase things. How words held power.

How her words could hold power, if she just got everyone else to believe that she knew what she was doing.

Mary breathed in deep.

Time to be a dramatic petty bitch.

Mary leaned forward and very carefully placed her cup down on the table so that the click would be as loud as she could make it. She reached out and very carefully grasped the Hollow Knight’s arm with her fingertips. She was able to easily pull them back, guiding them gently into standing back up, and taking the tea pot from their hand.

“As I was attempting to tell you, as if you had the sense to listen, the Hollow Knight is not a servant. The Hollow Knight has been trained to fight and protect, not how to serve tea to any idiot bug that comes along to demand it.  The Hollow Knight is a special being made to save you all, they are a creature that should be treated with reverence. Not ordered about by a common loud fool who does not know how to wield them.”

The bug hissed at Mary, taking a step forward only to instantly falter when the Hollow Knight’s large horned head jerked in their direction, bowing low again to get their eyes on his level. But he regained his pride quickly, even if he did not move forward again.

“You must have ordered it to do that to me. I will not abide this insult, you will make reprimands for this slight!”

Mary did her best ‘oh you poor fool’ laugh.

“Me? You blame me? How could I have caused this? You were the one who ordered the Hollow Knight to ‘Pour me tea’. That is exactly what they did! They poured you an entire pot of tea. How kind of them.”

Mary reached up to where she thought that the Hollow Knight’s head would be suspended over her own. She was a bit off, but the large bug tilted it’s large white head easily toward her palm. Mary patted them.

“It’s your own fault for not specifying that you only desired a single cup. It is hardly their fault that the Pale King didn’t consider how to properly serve a bug tea an important part of their education. You should bring it up with him the next time you are invited to the palace.”

Mary began to lever herself to her feet. She needed away from here, to at least hide away in a room for a little while. The servants would not stop her this time. “I grow tired of this-”

Mary paused. She had made her way to her feet and had felt a tickle of something between her legs.

She shifted her stance and as that tickle began to run down her thigh, Mary was struck by horror.

Excessive arousal, crying jags, stomach aches? All symptoms that she should have been familiar with. She was menstruating.

Mary quickly ran through her supplies in her head. She didn’t have any. She had thread and hoops and not much else. This was supposed to be a quick trip, a simple in an out, no more than an hour or two, and certainly not any kind of overnight trip.

Her loin cloth wouldn’t absorb anything, she could already feel it letting more blood through. She was wearing a dark colored cloak, a purple one, but it wouldn’t take long for the blood to soak through the thin fabric. Mary couldn’t sit down again, and certainly couldn’t stay here.

It would be embarrassing to explain what was wrong to the guards, but it would be so much worse to stain a chair and have to explain that to the Duke Amor and the rest of these bugs.

Fuck darkness. Mary needed to do her job and leave a quickly as possible.

The crowd had gone silent when she had stood up, and she refused to look at the bugs, they might take that as an opening to try and speak. She did not have time for that.

Mary lifted her masked head, and kept her back straight and regal as she walked past the wet bug, not sparing him a look, knowing that the Hollow Knight wouldn’t let him touch her if he took offense to her ignoring him like the trash he was.

She immediately headed toward the gazebo where the chained bug was still chained up and snarling. She took her dreamcatcher out of her sleeve, and circled the bug to face the crowd. In her rush Mary bumped into the Hollow Knight multiple times as she  as she  Mary held her head high, dangled the dreamcatcher and let it spin as she did her chant.

The crowd of posh bugs were all quiet and staring as she did her bit of theatre. The dreamcatcher glowed and she dropped it on the bug, even while all of her attention was truly focused on the slight tickle of blood running down her leg. Her cloak fluttered a bit around her legs, and she was vividly aware of every time they touched her legs and dragged through the trail that the blood had surely left on her skin

It was over with little fanfare and Mary rushed from the area, heading directly toward the exit with no pause for her guards to catch up. Her skirt continued to tickle her legs, but she paid it no mind. She need to be away from the other bugs right now.

The moment that Mary left the direct line of sight of the bugs still in the court yard the Hollow Knight scooped her up.

Mary yelped but held on as they began to move far faster than she could. They must have picked up on her panic and need to flee, and were now lending a hand.

Mary settled back into their arms, making sure her butt wasn’t sitting on their forearms.

She didn’t want to get blood on them.

The courtyard that the Storyteller just vacated was silent. The air was chocked with fear pheromones, all of the bugs present adding to it. The young noble Klark that had surely been put up to bothering the Storyteller had fallen to the ground in a heap, his legs having given out moment after the Storyteller had left.

No one was entirely certain what had just happened. Things had gone from being a lovely party put on by the Duke Amor where the main event was going to be the binding of one of his older brothers, to a scandalous show of Klark was getting doused in tea.

It would come out later that the Duke and Klark were pulling a ‘good bug, bad bug’ trick where the Duke would ruffle the Storyteller’s fluff and then Klark would swoop in to smooth her down and wiggle his way into her good graces. At least that had been their plan.

Apparently both the Duke and Klark had failed to account for her guard.

The creature of void, the pure vessel, the Hollow Knight. A being with no voice, no will, and no emotions. For the bugs that often made their way to the Pale King’s court, it was as common a sight as the Pale King’s own shadow. But now it seemed as though it was the Storyteller’s shadow, following even closer to the masked bug than to the Pale King.

Though that only made sense. The Hollow Knight was only the Pale King’s guard in name, no bug would be so foolish as to actually attack a god. And if one were, the tales of the Pale King battling the Blackwym are not just tales, the remains of their battle ground being a place that was often visited. The wrath of a god is something to be feared.

The Hollow Knight was little more than a decoration in the palace.

But out in the tunnels with the Storyteller?

The Storyteller was a weak mortal bug who did need a guard, and it seemed as though the Hollow Knight was quite taken with the role. She was not seen in public without the large creature standing behind her. There were numerous rumors of the creature of void drawing its blade on any bug that got too close to the Storyteller. Though perhaps those were just rumors, seeing as how Duke Amor got away with both of his antenna still attached.

But for the bugs who had snuck looks at the Storyteller, it was impossible not to notice how devoted her guard was. The creature never let a servant get close, staring down any approaching bug and plucking away their burdens if they managed to get close enough. Keeping her well supplied with snacks, taking the trays directly from the servants and placing the choicest bites of vegetables, berries and crystalized honey on the small plate that the Storyteller was eating from. Her food laden pick disappearing underneath her mask before immediately reappearing, hinting at either strong mandibles or a very large inner mouth.

The Hollow Knight, the pure vessel crafted by the Pale King himself, seemed less like a dangerous weapon to be wielded against the infection and more like a fussy butler worried over the eating habits of a forgetful charge.  It was no wonder that Duke Amor got the courage to approach the lounging Storyteller even with the void creature standing guard behind her.

It had startled some of the bugs when the creature’s cloak had engulfed the Storyteller, her entire body being hidden from sight by the cloak as it took the drink from the young Klark.

But the Storyteller didn’t seem to mind. She didn’t shift from her position as the creature of void hovered over her.

Only the nearest bugs who were blankly watched saw the change in the creature’s body. As Klark continued to speak with the Storyteller the creature’s hand, which had been laid on the back of the couch just above the Storyteller’s shoulder, dug deeper and deeper into the fabric covered metal. It was obviously having some sort of reaction to whatever Klark was saying, but what would cause a creature of void to react like that?

If they didn’t know better, they would say it was angry.

Of course, then it poured tea on Klark’s head and there were more interesting things to look at. Klark, of course, responded in anger, only to be soundly rebutted by the Storyteller. Her clear voice letting everyone know in the new silence that not only had Klark been insulting her, but he had also been insulting the Pale King by assuming that he could foolishly give commands to the pure vessel, and had been burned in the attempt.

The surrounding bugs had all focused on the drama, expecting a show. Klark would most likely attempt to either force a concession out of the Storyteller, or perhaps even swallow his pride and apologize! Though both options would lower his standing no matter what, the choice would matter if he wanted a consolation prize for a failed flattery attempt or a faster recovery of his social standing.

That is what they expected to happen.

But the moment that the Storyteller proclaimed that she was tired and stood, the Hollow Knight . . . exploded.

Tendrils whipped the air from the back of its head and the depths of its cloak, and it doubled over to hover its head just above the Storyteller’s mask. Its hands, fingers spread as far as they could, bracketing the Storyteller’s sides.

The Storyteller stood unmoving for a few moments, seemingly unaware of the monster at her back, before walking straight for the infected bug that was tastelessly displayed in the middle of the courtyard. The Hollow Knight followed her, not allowing her to leave the lashing circle of its void tendrils and going straight over the couch in their effort to stay close to her.

As the Storyteller headed toward the infected bug, many of the party goers were treated to the sight of the creature’s eye’s leaking void and its tendrils whipping the area around the Storyteller’s cloak’s edges, many of the black tentacles seeming to slither underneath the hem of her cloak.

The Storyteller stood over the infected bug, the poor mindless bug seeming to be hissing in fear at the pair of them.

The Storyteller stood tall and proud, binding the infected without falter. Her voice clear and easily overpowering the panicked hissing of the bug below her as she did her duty, the glow of the dreamcatcher reflecting off of her mask. Truly the very image of a powerful bug, serving the kingdom to the best of her ability without asking for anything in return. Who did not want or need anything they could offer in return.

But behind her, hemming her in and lashing out with void at anyone who got too close or stared too long, loomed the Hollow Knight. The creature was dripping void from its eyes like tears, one hand on its sword and another curved around the front of the Storyteller’s waist, as if preparing to drag her back into the dark shadow of its cloak. To swallow her into itself.

But the Storyteller had no fear of the monster behind her. She walked forward, unbothered by the void tendrils that lashed at her feet and waved near her head. The Hollow Knight followed, curled over her body as if to shield her.

It was as the Storyteller left, walking straight through the crowd of bugs who backed out of her way, that more details became clear. As violently as the tendrils seemed to be moving, whenever they came into contact with the Storyteller, not only did they slow down, but them seemed to nearly stroke her. The void was treating her with reverence and care. The tendrils were batting away the small plates and shards of glass, that had once been some of the more delicate tea cups that had been dropped in fear, from her path.

The Storyteller walked fearlessly forward and the Hollow Knight showcased exactly why she could step where she wished without looking.

All of the bugs watching understood the message that was being sent here. The Storyteller was not a combatant. She was here to do a service to the bugs of Hallownest. She did not need to build connections, she did not need to suffer the attention of foolish bugs who thought themselves above her, she did not need to obey the rules of etiquette. She did not need to protect herself.

Not when the void itself would rise without order to do so for her. It provided for her, fought her battles for her, guarded her with a fury as cold as the depths it came from.

The Hollow Knight was obviously devoted to the Storyteller.

She was a bug so powerful, so influential, so glorious, that she had made the Void itself love her.

Blood, Blood, Blood.

The Hollow Knight held the Storyteller tightly to their chest as they ran through the stagways, their void tendrils wrapping around her body multiple times to ensure that they would not lose their grip as they went faster and faster, pouring everything that they had into getting to the castle as quickly as they could.

Father would be able to help

She’s bleeding. She’s hurt. She’s been attacked.

The Hollow Knight launched themselves out of the secret Stagway tunnel, clearing the raised platform and continued into the palace.

The Storyteller had been speaking on and off to them as they ran, but they had paid little mind to her words. She wasn’t afraid, she wasn’t concerned, she might not even know that she was bleeding.

At the party, the Hollow Knight had loosened their tightly bound control to use the hole left in the callous bug’s words. They had pretended to make a mistake that they hadn’t made since they were small and new and had pour hot tea on their Father’s lap. Father had shrieked and launched himself into the air with his wings which had caused the Hollow Knight to drop the tea pot, splashing tea on themselves. Mother, who had been present, had laughed at the both of them hard enough to make herself fall over into the tea puddle. After everyone had been cleaned up, Father had gone into detail on social etiquette and how to prepare simple meals and beverages afterward.

They had been proud of themselves, they had made the Storyteller laugh at the bug who had been insulting her, had been insinuating that she would be tossed aside once the infection was dealt with, that she must hurt others in order to obtain leverage before she became useless.

The Storyteller would never be useless. When Father no longer needs her to create dreamcatchers than she will surely stay in the palace and play with Hornet every day and tell stories to whoever wanted to listen. She would be kept safe, be fed and drink her water. She would not be tossed aside once she was all used up.

But then the Storyteller had stood and suddenly the Hollow Knight’s entire world had been centered on the fact that they smelled iron. That they smelled a scent that had been carved into their mind with panic and horror and the knowledge that they had allowed the Storyteller to be hurt.

They hadn’t seen it, hadn’t heard it, hadn’t sensed anything at all. But she was bleeding. The tendrils that had creeped up her cloak in their panic had tasted the blood dripping down her leg. She was hurt somewhere on her core body and the bleeding wasn’t stopping.

The Hollow Knight had been lost in their own spiraling panic, only just refraining from picking up the Storyteller and running away. And even then, only because she was heading to bind the infected bug, fulfilling her entire purpose for being here in the first place. And the Hollow Knight would not stop her from fulfilling her purpose.

But it was so hard! She was hurt and bleeding and still walking! At least the last time she had been hurt she had been in their arms and they had known what enemy to attack.

But now, now they didn’t know who or where the enemy was. The Hollow Knight had stretched their senses out, listening to every shuddered breath and dropped cup shattering on the ground, tasting the fear rise in the air. What did these bugs see that they didn’t? Where had the threat been? Why was the smell of fear getting denser!?

The moment that the binding was done, the Storyteller had immediately begun to walk away. All of the bugs had stared at her, watching as she walked out. Her back straight and her body regal. But the Hollow Knight knew, knew she was bleeding and knew that she couldn’t see the ground at that angle and that if she stepped on one of the broken cups than she would be bleeding from more than one place.

So, they had stayed glued to her back, clearing her way while she hurried out of the courtyard, and the moment that they knew that the bugs in the garden couldn’t see her anymore, they had scooped her up and ran.

The Hollow Knight finally came upon the Father’s office. A tendril opening the door, their arms were both firmly clenching the Storyteller to their body and the they refused to release her from their arms while she continued to struggle, surely upsetting her wound. The smell of blood had not gone away at all during the run.

“-Hornet please daughter be careful. My horns are very sharp! I do not want you getting hurt.”

“Stop moving Father! I’ll be fine, I ride Hollow all of the time!”

Hollow Knight did not stop at the sound of Hornet in the room. They continued forward and fell to their knees before their Father. They couldn’t take the position of failure while still holding the Storyteller, but they were not going to let go of her until someone could help her. They looked toward their Father and despite everything, paused.

The sight of Hornet standing on Father’s shoulder’s, her little hands gripping the horns at the top right below the points, managed to make the Hollow Knight’s panic stop for a moment. Their Father was carrying Hornet around like they did, and they now understood why Mother always giggled when she saw it.

The halt of their panic brought many things into focus. The heartbeat of the Storyteller in their arms, the inflating of her chest, the way her cloaked hands were gently patting at their face as she made an odd hissing noise.

“Shh, shhh! It’s ok! It’s ok! Everything is fine, stop crying it’s ok!”

Father made an odd noise, and there was the gentle thump of Hornet jumping to the ground and rushing to where the Hollow Knight knelt.

“Hollow?! Hollow! What’s wrong? Storyteller, did something happen?” Hornet’s little hands joined the Storyteller’s at patting Hollow on the face.

“I don’t know! They didn’t seem to have anything wrong with them until I left the Duke’s courtyard, and even then, I didn’t realize that they were crying until they wouldn’t put me down at the Stagway station! They ran through the tunnels! They haven’t been responding to me at all. King, can you check them?”

Father came forward, his hands dripping soul, about to try and see what was wrong with them, but they shoved the Storyteller at him. She was the one bleeding.

Father startled back as the cloaked bug was shoved at him. He paused and the Hollow Knight could see him taste the blood on the air.

Father’s eyes widened.

“Iron? . . .You’re bleeding. Storyteller, you’re hurt! Why didn’t you say anything!”

Now Father had his hands hovering over the Storyteller, soul dripping uselessly from his fingers as he panicked about what to do with a bleeding bug that he could not heal.

The Storyteller’s heartrate picked up as she once more began to wiggle in the Hollow Knight’s arms squawking. “What! How did you know!?”

So, she had known about her injury! AND SHE HAD DONE NOTHING?! They could feel the void coming from their eyes increase in speed.

“You’re HURT!?” Hornet shrieked, her own little hands joining Father’s as she joined him in flailing uselessly over the Storyteller’s body.  

The Storyteller was held in the arms of a silently crying bug as a father-daughter combo patted the air above her body and asked questions over the top of the other. The Storyteller took a deep breath amongst the panic surrounding her and let out a shriek.

“QUIET!”

Her angry yell made Father and Hornet freeze and go silent, the Storyteller used this moment of silence to begin speaking.

“I am not hurt, but I am bleeding. I am fine! Completely healthy even, which is why this is happening. My species has a thing that they do once they become a certain age. I am . . . shedding some of my insides.”

There was a long moment of confused silence, Hornet came to the rescue as the only one young enough, and as such excused, to ask invasive questions about another bug’s biology.

“Why?”

The Storyteller seemed to collapse in the Hollow Knight’s arms, as if surrendering to certain defeat that she had battled so hard against. She brought her hands up to her mask and covered the slits of her eyes.

“It’s a reproduction thing. My species have weird eggs. We don’t lay them, we keep them inside our bodies. But because we don’t lay them, our bodies are sort of the shell of the egg. But if the egg isn’t fertilized then it will rot inside of us. So, in order for us not to get sick the . . .  egg chamber . . . is shed.”

Hornet crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the still hiding Storyteller in the Hollow Knight’s arms.

“Can you not do it? The blood made Hollow panic.”

The Storyteller groaned, and uncovered one eye to look at Hornet. “I can’t not do it. If I’m healthy then my body will do it automatically until I’m too old to have kids. It’s not life endangering, just embarrassing and painful. I’ll need to make something to catch the blood and shouldn’t wear white for a while.”

The Hollow Knight tuned out there. Their Father asked some questions of the Storyteller, with Hornet butting in with her own opinion every now and them, but the panic from before was winding down.

The Storyteller was fine, healthier than before if what she said was correct. There hadn’t been an attack that the Hollow Knight had missed, no one had gotten around their guard.

They hadn’t failed.

“Now answer me this, how did you know I was bleeding?”

“Oh, much like the Hollow Knight, my own olfactory senses are significantly stronger than an average bug. I was able to smell your blood when I was close enough. The must have reacted quite badly to the scent of you bleeding without a known cause.”

“YOU CAN WHAT!”

The Pale Light sat behind his desk, waiting for his last meeting of the day.

It had been a rather hectic afternoon. His daughter coming for a visit and insisting on balancing atop his shoulders while he did his paper work. His Pure Vessel bursting in and collapsing to its knees with void dripping from its eyes and carrying a concerned Storyteller in its arms while tendrils of void whipped the area around them. Then the smell of the Storyteller’s iron blood had finally permeated the Pale Light’s sense’s and he had begun to look for a stab wound on the Storyteller’s body.

Then there was an entire lesson on the Storyteller’s exotic biology before his daughter and his pure vessel had both escorted her to her rooms to set herself to rights.

Hopefully this meeting will be quick and he could retire to his rooms and sleep in his wives embrace.

The door opened and instead of the gently floating pace that the Knight Ze’mer usually took, she was striding forward with an urgency that made the Pale Light straighten up. He doubted that he would be able to retire to his bed anytime soon

“My King! Ze’mer brings urgent news from the Mantis tribe. They refused to let Ze’mer into the village, but Ze’mer’s lover met her outside. Venta shared her concerns for her father. Venta says that her father’s eyes have gained an orange sheen."

Chapter Text

When Mary saw the menacing poles with bug exoskeletons speared on them from behind the Hollow Knight’s Cloak, she couldn’t help but feel like maybe she wasn’t ready for this.

Everything was different for this trip out. She was being sent out without being asked to come by the ones she was visiting. She had two of the Five Knights coming with her, Ze’mer and Dryya both. The Hollow Knight was decked out in full battle regalia, complete armor on their arms and legs instead of just a few bits and pieces.

And perhaps the most concerning of them all, Mary herself had been squeezed into an empty Kingsmold chest plate. It was the only piece of armor that would fit over her ribs and still leave room for her boobs .It was the first time that Mary had been instructed to wear armor, and judging by where it came from, no one had been planning to make her wear any before this emergency mission.

Her cloak bunched uncomfortably inside of the armor and the smell of decomposition and mushroom was overwhelming. She was wearing a scrap of cloth across her nose and mouth to filter out the mushroom spores that she could see hovering in the air, and not to mention her cramps weren’t making anything better about the situation.

Everything about this was uncomfortable, and she had not liked what Ze’mer and Dryya had managed to tell her about the Mantis Lords and the trials of the village.

They reminded her of Spartans. To have a place in the Mantis society, then you had to be a fighter. It was explained to her that Mantis all fought each other all of the time, but not without rules.

If you were a part of the Mantis village then you had a place in their hierarchy. Everyone could be raised or lowered in the hierarchy by fighting the person directly above their own station or losing to the person directly below themselves.  This kept the fights orderly, and kept everyone from wasting time from fighting those that were not worth their effort. The bottom going straight to the top and getting crushed off hand.

But that was for the bugs who were a part of the Mantis Village. If you were an outsider than you would be attacked by anyone who saw you. An outsider could be captured or beaten to death depending entirely on how well they fought. If they fought splendidly then they might be taken to the rulers of the tribe and given a trial of battle. If they were not particularly talented then they would be beaten off and left on the ground to either die or recover on their own. If the outsider was obviously not a fighter then they might get beaten a little bit before being taken into the village to be questioned or left at the edge of the fungal wastes near the city of tears.

Apparently her guards this time had a bit of a history with the Mantis tribe.

Ze’mer had been guarding the Pale King on a trip to discuss boundaries when she had seen the love of her life. A Mantis Lord’s child had enchanted her, and she had stayed behind to speak more in depth with her. . She had then begun to plague the Mantis village so often that only certain soldiers were allowed to fight her or else she would put most of them down as she visited her lady love.

Dryya had been forced to admit that she had fought her way through the mantis village when she had first arrived in the Fungal Wastes. She hadn’t understood the practices of the tribe and as such had accidentally given them too good of a fight. She had eventually been overwhelmed and brought to the old leader who had offered to let her stay and live with them.

Dryya had refused. The Mantis Lord had not been offended by her refusal and she had been taken to the edges of the wastes and released. She had even been invited back to fight again. Though, it has been years since then, and the title of Lord had changed hands many times since.

Currently it was held by a quartet of siblings who were unable to best each other in single combat, and as such had to share the title. Three sisters and a brother.

Ze’mer’s lover and child of the male sibling, was the one who had alerted the King to the possibility of infection in one of the Mantis Lords.

But while all bad signs, the worst thing Mary had been told is that the Mantis Village did not hang dreamcatchers over their beds. They considered it as submitting to a weakness.

And Mary was being forced into a battle hardened place to bind one of their leaders who was possibly, probably, infected.

Either they might take this as an insult, an attempt to weaken their authority or possibly even as a threat! And Mary not only didn’t have the ability to fight, but had been warned over and over again to not raise a weapon toward any of the mantis no matter what happened. Her status as a known noncombatant should protect her.

If she managed to get through the test to prove herself as such.

The mantis tribe were very hands on in their questioning. It was inevitable that she would get knocked around during the discussion. Mary had been drilled in what was going to happen to her, and the others were standing by with bandages and salves for if she got too damaged.

She had been assured that they would hold back their strength and use the blunt end of their weapons, but if she couldn’t even take a few whacks then she would not be allowed to even have a voice in the proceedings.

When Mary had first begun this trip in the Fungal wastes, she had stumbled, the uneven ground not helping with her shaky knee’s ability to keep her standing. But before she could even slightly loose altitude, the Hollow Knight’s hands had snatched her right off the ground and bundled her into the depths of their cloak. They hadn’t let her go no matter how much she had wiggled.

Mary wasn’t sure if this was because it was a dangerous situation or if it was simply because the Hollow Knight had become accustomed to picking her up at the slightest hint of her seeming to be weak.

Mary had no one to blame but herself, having voiced numerous complaints about her body’s biology in the silent company of the Hollow Knight. She had gripped and whined about all of it, even sharing the grossest details of her plight with the bug. But ever since her moody outburst that first night she had gotten her period, the bug went out of their way to cater to her bodies smallest discomforts. The Hollow Knight would carry her over every obstacle and uneven surface, get her a seat at any point that she was standing for more than a few minutes, and even somehow managed to acquire sweets if she even so much as hinted at wanting to eat.

It was like being followed around by nurse maid!

And now that they were at the meeting place, Mary had to physically struggle out of their grasp just so that she wouldn’t meet the Mantis Lord while being carried. She knew that she was supposed to be presented as physically weak to the Lord, but surely she needed to have at least a little pride?! How the hell was she supposed to be an authority on mystics and unknown magic if she was getting babied by her guard!

Mary managed to pry the Hollow Knight’s last finger off of her armor, and shimmed down the tall bug’s torso, just in time to touch the ground when the Mantis Lord and her party made their appearance. Mary couldn’t help but press back into the Hollow Knight’s legs as the large bugs dropped from an unseen ledge above.  

Mary peeked through the gap in the cloak, her time to leave the draping darkness lost.

She didn’t want to leave the safety of the Hollow Knight’s arms. But she would need to discuss with them. But . . .

They were terrifying. She was terrified! She was going to have to have a discussion with a species of bugs who seemed to be at best hostile to any bug entering their territory, and seemed to have a personal distain for the Pale King, for whom Mary was closely joined.

All of Mary’s power came from her connection to the Pale King and a bug’s own gratefulness at her supplying dreamcatchers and binding their infected, and those weren’t going to work here. Hell, she had and extra handicap because she was so connected to the Pale King, and now she had to convince them to listen to her and let her bind their one of their leaders?

She was fucked!

One of the Hollow Knight’s hands began to pat her back. The action making a gentle tap noise on her armor.

Mary grumbled a little but didn’t try and make them stop, she would take the comfort offered.

One of the tall horned mantis stepped forward from the small group and slammed her spear into the soft ground. Her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

“For what reason does the Pale Wyrm send his people into our midst?”

Dryya stepped forward, it had been agreed beforehand that she would be the speaker in the beginning to get their foot in the door.

“We come to your land out of concern. As our strongest neighbor you would be a most dangerous enemy if you were to fall to the infection. We come with offers of dreamcatchers and bindings for your afflicted.”

The mantis all seemed to crouch lower, holding their bladed arms back but it was the leader at the front who made the strike.

With sharp cry, the Mantis Lord struck out at Dryya who seemed to have anticipated the move, deflecting it on her sword.

But while Dryya was prepared for the Mantis’s response, Mary sure wasn’t. She flinched back and slammed into the unmoving legs of the Hollow Knight, who’s hand had curled from her back to being splayed over her chest, pressing her just a touch more into their legs.

Mary had no excuse for her surprise. She had been warned that the mantis tribe would certainly take offense to the implication that they needed help from the bugs of Hallownest. And even worse was the fact that the stipulation of the dreamcatcher was that they couldn’t even pay for them.

The King had told Mary that there had been a famine once. A population boom with no food readily available, and if it were not for the White Lady then many would have lost their lives to starvation. The Mantis tribe were in dire straits, them being primarily a carnivorous bug type, they simply couldn’t get enough meat for their people.

The Pale King had offered them food, but they had refused. A mixture of pride and a desire to stay out of debt to him had made them nearly die out. It was only when the White Lady had come and requested that they guard the entrance to the City of Tears in return for the food as payment did they agree.

Apparently the talks had taken place on open ground and the Queen herself had to fend off their spears and blades as they talked the details of the treaty.

The King was fairly certain that they would recognize her as a noncombatant, but if they didn’t, well. That’s what the Hollow Knight and armor were for.

But as Mary watched Dryya calmly clash blades with the quick Mantis Lord, she was rapidly losing her confidence in both herself and her armor. Even if the armor stood up to those heavy swings, it would surely send her sprawling.

Mary whimpered as the loud sound of metal meeting once more rang though the small cave area, retreating even farther into the darkness provided by the Hollow Knight’s cloak.

“ . . . gonna hurt . . .”

The fingers on her chest twitched.

The clashing of metal stopped, the Mantis Lord once more standing with her group, and Mary could finally hear the conversation once more.

“And just where is this mythical Storyteller?”

Mary knew that was her que. She took a deep breath, patted the Hollow Knight on the hand and opened their cloak like it was a curtain, spreading the opening as she spoke to the gathered bugs.

“Greetings Mantis Lord, I am the Storyteller.” A dozen heads all turned to look in her direction, and she felt like a fool, a child bashfully vacating their hiding place from behind their parent.

She stepping into the dim light of the cave and let the Hollow Knight’s cloak fall closed behind her, completely unaware of the fact that for all she felt a fool, all of the bugs watching just saw her step out of the black void of the space under the Hollow Knight’s form, looking all of the world like she had stepped out of the black nothing that the mantis all thought lived underneath the misleading white fabric.

Mary walked forward and closed her eyes very tightly. She was not going to see the strikes coming anyway, but maybe the fact that she couldn’t see at all would make it less terrible when it finally happened.

 “I come to you to offer my assistance and my craft.”

Mary could hear the swish that signified the Mantis Lord darting closer, and even as she braced for impact nothing came. But she didn’t dare open her eyes.

“And what exactly, do you think you can offer the mantis tribe?” The voice was strict, reminding Mary of every math teacher she had ever had, steel in the tone and razors in the sneer. This bug not only did not respect her, but considered her a leech. It was likely that the mantis tribe thought that this was a power play that she had devised to get more power.

In truth, Mary would love to be anywhere but here. But the King had stressed that if the mantis tribe attacked, the casualties to the City of Tears would be incredibly high. She needed to make sure that they kept their sanity.

Mary was a liar by trade. But some well-placed truth can get you pretty far.

“You terrify the bugs in the City of Tears. They hear your tribe’s name and they flinch and check behind their shoulders in fear that perhaps just a mention of you would have called you there. They know that the only thing that separates them and a messy death on your blades are simply your lack of interest in such a poor fight, and your honor to your own laws.”

Mary heard the mantis move around her, circling like a shark. Mary’s stomach clenched waiting for the strike, even as her prepared practiced speech flowed off her tongue.

“The infection steals the mind from a bug, and adds a numb strength to the body. The Pale King knows that you would not go back on your word while you were in your right minds and in control of your tribe. But if it were to happen that one of your own would fall to the infection?

A swishing noise again, this time from behind, and the sharp voice of the Mantis Lord next to her head.

“You think that we would go back on our word little weakling?”

“It would not matter what you had promised, it would not matter the treaties of the past. If you and your siblings are ousted from your thrones at the top of your tribe by a bug that succumbed to the infection . . . then your word would be nothing but air.”

Mary knew that the blow was coming but she still couldn’t contain the shriek she made when it struck her. The strange reverberation of her armor vibrating her skin as she laid befuddled on the ground. She was going to have an oddly shaped bruise from where the armor ‘s edges touched her skin.

“The bugs of Hallownest are right to fear our strength, but we are not so weak as too fall to the lulling of a dream.”

Mary bit back her immediate snarl and comforted herself with a low mutter.

“. . . fucking ouch . . .”

Mary got to her knees and then stood up, the pain of the bruises making her suck in air through her teeth. She needed to at least be standing while talking, to stay on the ground would hurt her own pride.

She was going to demand a hot springs trip after this.

Mary took a deep breath before continuing.

“Strength does not matter here. Not physical strength. Has the dream touched you? Have you seen it’s seductive light? Have you laid down for the night and not been able to rest for the infection creeping the corners of your mind? It does not matter if you beat it back, it does not matter if you have an army to guard the soft parts of yourself. It is not a battle of strength, it is a test of your endurance.”

Another strike, this time to the front. She would have matching bruises all around her chest it seems. At least this time she didn’t scream.

Mary kept her eyes closed even as she struggled to get off of her back. The armor she was wearing made it difficult to move and she felt like a turtle on its shell.

The bruises hurt now but it would be torture after the adrenaline was gone.

God she wished for ice.

“You think us so weak willed as to not refuse the false offers of the light every night?” The mantis was pissed now.

Mary finally managed to flip herself and stand once more, turning toward the Mantis Lord’s voice. She chanced a glance before shutting her eyes once more.

Yep, that was an angry bug twice her height with a spear and who was willing to use it.

“You are strong now. But you are the strongest. You are one of the four pillars of your tribe, but the infection will wear you down. Even the gentlest force will break down stone if it is unending. You will weaken, it might not make you weak enough to fall to something as soft as me, but it will weaken you enough to make you fall to a stronger bug. Your tired mind will tire your body as well. I cannot offer anyone help in this physical world. I cannot pick up a blade and fight, I cannot shield you from a powerful enemy with my weak body. But I can offer you protect for  your sleeping mind from the infection. It is all I can offer to you.”

A slam from the side this time, throwing Mary unto her arm and causing another bruise. But this time the Mantis Lord slammed her spear into the ground directly in front of Mary’s face. The mantis hovered over her and snarled down at her.

“You think that I will need your tricks and traps? As if I could not face my enemy head on? You think I am so weak as to need to tangle my enemies in thread first?!”

Mary didn’t bother getting up, didn’t bother keeping her tone even as she snarled right back, turning her head to the side and opening her eyes to stare into the bug’s face.

“Is your enemy fighting you straight forward? Can you stab the infection in your dreams? You cannot drag this enemy into an arena, you cannot make it bleed on your blades! So CHANGE TAKTICS.”

 The Mantis Lord sneered at Mary, leaning closer as if her next words were a secret.

“My people know not to give into the light. We have known for years before it touched the bugs of Hallownest how to evade her grasp and shut out her whispers. My people know that her promises are false and that her power comes with a price no one is willing to pay.”

What? Her? Did the mantis tribe personify the infection? Is that why it was easier for them to fight it off? They thought someone was causing it?

Mary shook off her curiosity. That was a question for later. Once she got through this trial, then she might be able to mine them for information.

 “So you remember who has fallen then? You remember the names of who was too weak? History repeats itself often, despite the efforts of any who live through tragedy. You refuse my help because you think you will not fall, but the mere fact that you know what the price is means that it has been paid by your people before. I bet you only glorify the victors of the fight, but it is just as important to know who has failed as well, if only so that you know what not to do. And I bet the most common mistake of the fallen is that they acted alone and without taking the help offered to them.”

Mary rolled back to her feet, crawling up and standing on her adrenaline shacking legs. She nearly fell and instinctively grasped the spear still imbedded into the ground, leaning on it even as it was held by the Mantis Lord.

“This isn’t a fair fight. You can’t win this with honorable actions. You need to protect yourself and your people.”

Mary knew that she cut a feeble sight, nothing about her speaking of strength, but she wasn’t supposed to be strong here.

“Take the protection I offer you, think of them as nothing more than a tool. A lock on the door to your mind. You can treat it like a medicine and only use it as needed, but it would be more shameful to fall to the infection when a tool to protect you was in your reach and freely given. Don’t let your pride be the reason you fall to poison.”

Mary let go of the spear and stood up in her own power again, tilting her head back to look at the Mantis Lord who seemed to be contemplating her words

“The infection cannot tempt you, if it can’t reach you at all.”

The Mantis Lord was still for a while, and Mary matched her, waiting for a decision to be made.

The Mantis Lord yanked her spear from the ground suddenly. And bowed to Mary.

“Your words are wise Storyteller. The mantis tribe will accept your offering of dreamcatchers and grant you passage and voice in the village.”

Mary sagged in relief and released a sigh.

Before the breath had even finished leaving her mouth Mary was swept up into the grasp of the Hollow Knight. She was instantly bundled away under their cloak, and they began to gently pat at her body, freezing when they made her hiss in pain and then frantically patting another spot on her to check for more injuries.  

Mary could see where they had leaked void in distress again. Surely watching her get smacked around hadn’t sat well with their other orders, but it was over and done with now. She had taken her whacks and was now considered a voiced noncombatant allowed into the tribe grounds.

Mary patted their porcelain face and shushed them a few times.

“It’s fine, I’m fine! I’ll be sore for a while but I’ll heal good as new. She was even so kind as to use the blunt end of her spear and aim for the armor!”

Mary couldn’t help but think that if the Hollow Knight could make a sound, they would be whining like a beat dog.

The Hollow Knight was not supposed to feel emotion. Which is a good thing because otherwise they would be incredibly unhappy in this moment.

The Storyteller was once more in their arms and they could tell that she had no fresh blood coming from her nor did she seem to have any problems other than a sensitivity in certain areas. Her soft body had not been pierced, nor had it been split by the force visited upon it.

But.

They had watched from the sidelines as she had been beaten by the Mantis Lord. And it had been more torturous to watch than if they had taken the strikes themselves.

Their orders had kept them from intervening. They were not allowed to protect her from the strikes of the Mantis Lord, to do so would make her voiceless in the tribe. And the Storyteller needed to speak and be listened to. It was where her power laid.

But their body had jolted forward with the first strike to the Storyteller’s borrowed armor, and they had drawn the attention of the Mantis Lord.

She had stared at them as the Storyteller got back up and had watched them intently when she had struck the Storyteller again.

The Hollow Knight knew that they had been dripping void from their eyes, and that they had not been able to stop their hands from reaching toward the fallen Storyteller. That they had surely sprouted tendrils at the sight of the Storyteller falling to the ground and not moving for a long moment.

Long ago, when Hollow Knight had first been shown to the Mantis tribe to try their blade against the spear of the reigning Mantis Lord, they had refused to fight it. The Lord had proclaimed that the Hollow Knight was nothing more than an empty shell and that they refused to treat something with no will as an opponent. If they clashed swords with the Hollow Knight, then they would not stop until they destroyed ‘the empty creature’s’ form.

To the mantis tribe, the Hollow Knight was useless. As powerful as they were, they were not valued because they did not have a will, a voice, and were meant to be a sacrifice.

The mantis tribe valued sacrifice, but only when one sacrificed themselves. To sacrifice someone else was looked upon with distaste.

One does not sacrifice a life they do not have, and the mantis tribe thought bugs only had the one life each.

That Father had been attempting to sacrifice a creature that not only could not make the choice themselves nor was truly alive had disgusted them. Every Mantis Lord since had ignored the Hollow Knight, denying its exitance unless they used it as a point to needle Father.

But now, as the Hollow Knight tried to assure themselves that the Storyteller was not secretly dying in their arms, one of the Mantis Lords stared at them as if they were a living bug. They kept a bit of awareness on her as they lamented the Storyteller’s inability to be healed by soul, they would have poured their reserves into her body if they had thought it would have any effect.

To catch the interest of a mantis, was to catch the eye of a hungry predator. She would surely strike out at them soon, but not while they carried the Storyteller.

The Storyteller had taken her blows, and not stuck back. It was a crime of the highest order for a Mantis Lord to strike out at one below them who did not instigate the fight, and a killing offense to attack an accepted non-combatant.  

The Hollow Knight was an untried creature, but as long as they carried the Storyteller they would not be attacked.

The Hollow Knight suspected that the Mantis Lord thought that they might have a will because of their body’s reactions to the conflicting orders.

They did not.

But all other attempts to try and convince themselves that they were the empty vessel their father wanted them to be was put to a halt when another mantis came rushing down the path from the village.

The knight Ze’mer made a noise like wind whistling through a dry reed and rushed toward the mantis who was staggering to a stop.

“Lover! What makes you rush so?!”

The mantis let herself collapse into the opened arms of Ze’mer before turning her gaze to the Mantis Lord who now stood over them, waiting for an explanation.

“Aunty Cut! My dad is, he’s . . .  he’s fighting Aunty Tear and Hack for their thrones! And he’s winning!”

The Mantis Lord’s hands tightened on the spear, but she did not move.

“That is his right.”

The mantis pushed the fretful hands of the Ze’mer away and staggered to her feet.

“Aunty Cut, Dad is infected! His eyes glow! Just admit that he accepted her deal! He’s already convinced others to accept as well! If he wins the single thrown we are done for! He will have us all submit!”

The Mantis Lord seemed to be caught in the middle of her rules. She couldn’t stop her brother from fighting, couldn’t join her sisters, she could only wait for her turn to battle him.

“Who is her?”

Mary’s question was ignored as the mantis continued to argue with each other. One pleading for action and the other leashed by her the laws she enforced.

“If he’s got help, that’s cheating, isn’t it?”

Both mantises jerked their heads to where Mary was enshrouded in the Hollow Knight’s arms, their own head pointed down to look at the resting Storyteller.

“I don’t know about you, but where I’m from, if someone is using something or someone in a one on one fight, it’s considered a violation of the rules. And is cheating. Do you have rules about what to do if someone is cheating in a fight? Or at the very least being suspected of cheating?”

The Mantis Lord stared at the soft little creature wrapped in the arms of the void husk and was once more remined why they allowed the non-combatants to have a voice in their tribe. Weak creatures have a way of twisting the world to suit their needs, and it is best to have the twisty creatures on your side.

She rushed away, trusting her soldiers to lead the others to the village.

She had a cheater to subdue.

Chapter Text

Mary was expecting havoc. You know, buildings aflame, screaming, people getting chased through the streets by laughing maniacs. The whole, ‘there’s an army at the gate’ sort of panic.

There was very little upset actually. Or at the very least, very little villagers. None really.

Despite the signs of life, they hadn’t come across a single bug. It was like they had all picked up and left.

The village was oddly shaped, seeming to be made in mind for either flying or maybe jumping insects. The walls were rough and full of dents and ledges to grip. There seemed to be many layers to the village, with doors dotted randomly on the walls.

Mary was held in one of the Hollow Knight’s arms as they scaled and slid down the walls with their spare. The Hollow Knight’s large hands always managed to find a place to grip.

It was slow going, Dryya and Ze’mer having left them in the dust to reach the arena, either to join the fight or to stop it.

The mantises that had been left behind stayed with Mary and the Hollow Knight despite casting many glances toward their destination. Their bladed arms twitching as they slid down the walls, leaving deep groves in the already streaked material. The mantis who was Ze’mer’s lover seemed either anxious to arrive faster, or wishing to delay even more, speeding up or lagging behind at a moment’s notice.

Noise had been traveling up the wide vertical paths, but as they all descended it became louder and louder. Not quite like a crowd cheering, more like the simple consequence of many people in a group.

As the group finally reached the chamber, Mary was amazed at what she saw. It was a very large room, but more tall than wide. And covering every surface was a mantis. From the ceiling, where the juveniles clung, to the walls that were wallpapered in the insects, the entire village was here to watch the fight.

And what a fight it had become. One of the Mantis Lords sat in a throne clutching a sluggishly bleeding arm, while in the small space on the floor of the room there was a flurry of movement.

Ze’mer’s wispy cloak flowed around her as she blocked strikes with her large sword. Dryya stood tall and strong, unmoving from her place as she stabbed at anything that came close. Two Mantis Lords clung to the walls, jumping from place to place as they threw their weapons or tried to attack from above.

And in the middle of the whirlwind of violence, there was a bloated mantis.

The brother, for his eyes could be seen glowing even from this distance, was three times the size of his sisters or any of the other mantis. He reminded Mary of the worst of the infected bugs. The ones who had swollen up with the strange orange pus that they all bled. The fact that he was fighting and using his surroundings to his advantage was concerning. He still had his mind even though he was like . . . that.

Mary had taken some of her dreamcatchers from the Hollow Knight when they had entered the village, and now she wondered if she should just  . . . throw them into the battle. She wasn’t going in there, and she seriously doubted if the other bugs would be able to restrain the infected individual.

Sadly, she didn’t get a chance to decide on a course of action. The choice was stolen from her by a mantis who had been watching the fight with blazing orange eyes. It had looked over at the new comers and had immediately recognized the Hollow Knight and Mary as being outsiders. They had struck out at the Hollow Knight and Mary without warning.

The Hollow Knight had been forced to dodge or take a blade through the arm holding Mary, and so the pair dropped to the fight below.

Mary, who had already been a bit nervous at being suspended above a giant hole, only being kept up by the Hollow Knight’s fingers in the wall, and the arm they had under her butt, screamed loud enough to silence the place. She had managed to wrap herself around the Hollow Knight’s neck during their decent and had closed her eyes in order to not see how they landed..

The pair landed with a heavy thunk to the ground, all of the fighters having separated from their battles to make room for their unstoppable fall and were surrounding the pair in the middle.

There was a moment when all eyes were on the crouched Hollow Knight. It’s cape fluttering to a halt around the bent form of the bug. The Hollow Knight had managed to detach the Storyteller from their neck in the fall, and managed to secret her away under their robes. Under their cloak they settled the Storyteller low on their body and held her to their hips to allow their cloak to fall unobstructed, trying desperately to pretend that there wasn’t a soft and delicate prey bug being hidden below their cloak.

They knew that it was unlikely that the Mantis Lords would think they had made the scream, but they had purposely learned as little about them as they could and this was not a good place for the Storyteller to be. They did not want her anywhere near this battle, and yet she must get close to use her dreamcatchers.

The Hollow Knight stood to their full height, but did not yet draw their sword. Their arms were too busy underneath their cloak resituating the Storyteller. They needed to protect her, not fight the infected Mantis Lord.

The swollen Mantis Lord hissed at the Hollow Knight before letting his booming voice echo through the now silent chamber.

“So dear sister, not only do you impede on my battle with our sibling but you bring the Pale Wyrm’s Knights to assist you. And if that were not enough to cast yourself in the shadow of your cowardice, you have even attained the lifeless creature that the wyrm has made to dash against my might.”

The Mantis Lord turn just slightly, only enough to direct his words at one of the Mantis Lords hanging from the wall, while also keeping his body toward the rest of the fighters.

Mary clutched harder at the Hollow Knight’s body. She couldn’t see through the darkness of the cloak surrounding her, but it was odd that the Mantis Lord could speak. No other bug could speak while infected, at least not while their eyes blazed like his did.

Were the mantis infected differently? Did what they personally believe change how they interacted with the infection? The mantis from before, Ze’mer’s lover and the Mantis Lord both implied that for them it was a choice . . . did they sleep different?

Would the dreamcatcher even work on them?

“How far you have fallen, how you lay traps and trick and twist your way to defeat me. Should I be faltered that you need so many hands to defeat me?” The Mantis Lord roared at his sister.

The Mantis Lord that met with the King’s party, snarled her reply while clinging to the wall next to her sister.

“You claim that I was the one to disgrace the rules of single combat? When it is you who dropped into this ring with orange eyes? You are being ridden by the Glowing Moth, she controls your strikes more than you do. You have enslaved yourself to her for the power she provides, and now your mind will never be solely your own. Even now she whispers into your mind, making you think that you are in the right even as you dig yourself deeper into your own shame. You cannot say that this was single combat when our sister had two opponents. You have stolen a throne using a trickery much worse than what crawls out of Deepnest. I declare your throne forfeit and your victories overturned. You are no longer welcome in the Village and are expelled from the tribe. We will not allow those without honor to roam our lands!”

The swollen Mantis Lord reared back and screamed at his sister, the air shaking with his rage. “No! I will not have my victories cast in doubt! I am not a cheater!”

His sister sneered and jumped down to the ground and brandished her spear.

“Your eyes confirm that you are.”

The swollen Mantis Lord roared once more and rushed forward, seeming completely willing to go through the Hollow Knight to get to the one who was insulting him. The Hollow Knight jumped away, but as they moved their cloak opened, allowing the swollen Mantis Lord to see the white mask of the Storyteller, seemingly glowing amidst the black of the Hollow Knight’s body.

The infected Mantis Lord seemed to pause, his strike halting with his bladed arm raised high, his head turning from his readied opponent to track the movement of the Hollow Knight, his eyes seeming to focus on where he last saw the Storyteller’s mask. Could still see a glimpse of the white from where the cloak had failed to fold back.

Making eye contact with the small and weak creature clutched to the void creature’s body.

“You . . . She will make me a god if I kill you!”

Mary would remember what happened next for a while, because she had never seen a bug truly subsume to the infection. She had always seen them afterwards, when they were nothing but husks. All empty glowing eyes and shambling movements.

After the swollen Mantis Lord saw her mask. She could see what was left of his mind get strangled. It wasn’t that his eyes widened, but that the glow, which had just been pinpricks of orange serving as pupils, exploded.

Where before he had simply been allowing the infection in his mind, now he drew on it with purpose, drowning himself in the light to get at the power that was offered.

Veins bulged from his eyes, cracking his exoskeleton and traveling the sides of his head, nearly splitting his exoskeleton in half with the suddenness of the swelling. Orange split down his sides and began to drip down to the ground from where his insides had ruptured under the sudden strain.

The Hollow Knight adjusted their grip on the Storyteller to allow for them to draw their nail. They held it out to their side, a silent warning that any attack would be met with equal might.

The Storyteller was their charge. They would keep her safe. Even if they needed to slay the Mantis Lord to do so.

The swollen Mantis Lord charged at the Hollow Knight and they raised their nail in order to block the attack, but they the swollen Lord did not manage to make contact.

Ze’mer with her longer reach and larger mass had darted into his path and had absorbed the strike, but she slid back a few feet with the force. Dryya took advantage of the swollen Lord’s extended stance to slid her needle into the newly split carapace to pierce into the orange guts.

While her stab was flawless and surely should have been a killing blow on a regular bug, the infected mantis seemed to not even feel the heavily bleeding wound.  He continued to strike out at the Hollow Knight again only to clash against the mysterious Ze’mer’s sword.

The swollen Mantis Lord fended the attacking bugs off and lowered his body. He let loose a noise that was somewhere between a wail of anguish and a battle cry that shook the entire cave. Before anyone could understand what he was doing, he began to slam his arms into the ground. A wall of soul energy rose from where he beat the ground and slammed into the walls of the arena with enough force to cause the cavernous shaft to tremble hard enough to make some of the mantises lose their grips on the walls and ceiling. Flailing bodies crashed to the ground making the fighters dodge the bodies and break their formation.

With each crash, the narrow arena got more and more crowded. The falling mantises getting up from their harsh landings only to brandish their bladed arms at anyone in the confusion of the fight.

The fighters had to dodge the mantises who fell from the walls, and deflect the attacks of the mantis who stood up again.  Some of them with glowing orange eyes, a few of them even began to swell like the Mantis Lord, but thankfully they did not seem to be as powerful as he was.

The Hollow Knight, having to dodge the least from his place in the center of the arena, kept their focus on the infected Mantis Lord. The way that his flood light eyes stayed locked on where they held the Storyteller beneath their cloak let the Hollow Knight know that this was going to come to blows. The swollen Mantis Lord might not even have enough of his mind left to have distaste for fighting the empty being that the Hollow Knight was.

The Hollow Knight knew that they would soon be buried underneath the bodies of enemies and innocents alike. The battle could not continue here, already the floor was treacherous to stand on, littered with the bodies of those who did not manage to land on their feet or were struck down.

The Hollow Knight needed to get away, to get the Storyteller somewhere safe, where she wouldn’t be struck down by an enemy or accidentally and then remove the dangers to her. They couldn’t get back up to the village, they wouldn’t be able to use their sword while climbing the walls, and would be open to attack.

That left the gate at the bottom of the arena. What lay beyond was Deepnest, but more room was needed, and they wouldn’t need to go deep into the tunnels beyond. Just far enough to remove the Storyteller from the chaotic mess that was the mantis area.

The bugs in the Hollow Knight’s way didn’t stand much of a resistance to the their blade, being batted away and sliced in equal measure, the color of their eyes being the only difference on whether or not they got their nail’s blunt or sharpened end.

The gate didn’t stand up to their strength either, falling apart with a few strikes of their nail, and with the crash of the metal falling, they tossed themselves into the darkened tunnels.

The safest thing for the Storyteller was to be removed from the fight. Some distance from the chaotic mass of bodies was surely the best decision for keeping the soft bug clutching their body safe.

Mary was in a nightmare. There were a hundreds of voices yelling and screaming over the top of each other. Some of the noises she heard were obviously from the throats of bugs, hissing and snarling. But others seemed all too human with their strangled shouts. The striking of metal on metal was as constant as hail on a tin roof.

It sounded like a battle and Mary was sure that she should not be in the middle of it.

From what little flashes of the chaos that she saw through the gap in the Hollow Knight’s cloak when they were forced to jump to the side, Mary saw the mantises fighting for their lives, and the mantises who had lost that fight.

It was an odd experience to Mary. Like digging in wet sand, her mind was trying to understand what she was looking at, but the meaning of it seemed to slip and slide out of her grasp.

She was seeing corpses. She was seeing dead bugs.

She had seen dead bugs before. She had killed bugs before, crushing them underfoot or with a rolled up paper. She had seen dead flies suffocated in glasses, and piles of poisoned cockroaches.

And now she saw the mangled smears of dead bugs that were being trampled in the hectic battle forced upon them by the infected Mantis Lord.

She was seeing flashes of the dead, the dying, and the bugs who were fighting with blood on their blades.

She was seeing lives being snuffed out in violence that didn’t need to happen. And yet all she was seeing was fighting bugs.

The discrepancy of knowing that there were people dying, but only seeing dead bugs  . . . hurt.

As Mary caught quick glimpses of the shining white blade of the Hollow Knight’s sword slice into another orange eyed mantis, she couldn’t help but be thankful that she had a hard time matching what she knew with what she was seeing.

It would help hold off the panic attack and anguish of what happened.

At least for a while.

Already Mary was trying to avoid the sight of the empty or orange dripping eyes of the mantis on the ground. She couldn’t . . . there wasn’t time to deal with that, not now.

The Hollow Knight, who had been holding her low with just a single arm, was moving with purpose now. They were no longer simply dodging bodies and strikes. Mary was still hidden below their cloak, so when the noise very suddenly dimmed, Mary was shocked.

Had something changed?

She chanced a peek out of the folds of the Hollow Knight’s cloak and was confused to see dark tunnel walls where before there had been nothing but the brightly lit bodies of the mantis tribe. The sounds of battle faded behind them as the Hollow Knight continued to run into the darkness leaving the light behind.

They don’t go far, the tunnel becoming filled with more bodies stabbed through with spears. Another layer of horror to stun Mary, as her hands were gently uncurled from their death grip on the Hollow Knight’s body.

She was taken from her haven of the Hollow Knight’s cloak and sat on the ground. Her legs were unable to hold her weight, but the Hollow Knight continued to lower her until she was sitting on the ground.

Mary was released by the Hollow Knight and watched as they turned their back to her and took their sword in both hands.  They began to make their way back toward the brightly lit door that spilled out the sounds of anguish and metal.

They were leaving her?!?

Mary threw a hand out toward the Hollow Knight, and managed to croak out a word through her dry throat.

“Wait!”

The Hollow Knight paused, throwing a glance at her from over their shoulder.

“Don’t leave me alone!” Mary begged.

She didn’t want to be alone! Not in these strange tunnels, not amongst these corpses, not while a battle was so close. She didn’t want to be alone! She was SCARED.

The Hollow Knight stared at her for a moment, watching as she struggled to move forward. They quickly turned their back on her again and moved even faster back toward the noise of battle.

Mary had just barely managed to get to her knees, dead set on crawling after the back of the quickly retreating bug when what little light was coming from the broken gate was blocked.

The swollen Mantis Lord was shoving his way through the gate, leaving orange streaked blood behind along with the shreds of his carapace that couldn’t make it through the hole.

He looked more dead than alive, his exoskeleton shattered and orange liquid flowing from his wounds, one of his legs were ripped clean off and made him stagger as he moved toward the two at the end of the tunnel.

The Hollow Knight brandished their sword at the Mantis Lord, placing their self in the direct path between the infected bug and Mary.

She could see a glow coming off of his sword, the magic that the Hollow Knight commands beginning to light up the tunnel. They were surely preparing to fire spikes at the infected bug, but the mantis was still out of their range.

The Hollow Knight was always meant to be a close range fighter.

But the Mantis Lord was able to do damage at quiet a distance. The moment that the infected bug’s eyes saw the shine of the pale light’s power the rage of the Radiance filled him. His body was barely free of the broken gate, but he managed to raise his arms to the air and pound the ground with such force that the walls of the tunnel couldn’t withstand the waves of soul battering them.

The Hollow Knight had just managed to twist around, cloak flinging out behind them as they sprinted back toward where they had left the Storyteller. But even with their body twisting into void tendrils that reached out toward her along with their long arm, fingers desperately grasping the air as if that could pull them close enough to shield her, they couldn’t outpace the ceiling falling.

As they were pinned to the ground by the loose chunks of rock and mushroom that fell from above. They saw the Storyteller on her hands and knees.

Fragile, weak, and in danger where they had abandoned her.

Mary got lucky.

When the cave-in started she was apparently sitting right below some giant mushrooms. And even as small as she was now, they weren’t particularly heavy or hard. Not to mention that the stem had come off and she was basically just pressed into a mushroom cap. She had felt things smack into the mushroom cap, bouncing off with great force. But despite how lucky she was to not have any broken bones, that she was sure of anyway, she was bruised all to hell. She could feel herself bleeding from some split on her head where she had been knocked to the ground, but overall it could have been a whole lot worse.

The shock of the cave in had made her . . . she didn’t faint. She was aware the entire time, but it was like she had fuzzed out. Her vision had turned to tv static and her body had stopped existing. She had been aware that things were happening around her, that she was getting hurt, but she hadn’t been able to move. She hadn’t even screamed.

But it had been quiet for a while now, the sound of the rocks settling having stopped a while ago and she needed to go and get help. Or at the very least she needed to make sure nothing worse would happen.

Mary managed to dislodge the mushroom cap that had been covering her upper, the smelly fungus coating her hands in a weird pungent liquid as it’s flesh gave under her fingers.

She struggled from the rocks, finally sliding her legs out, from under some stones and surely losing some skin in the process.

She managed to get to her feet, but she didn’t move yet. What little light had been coming from the mantis arena was now gone. The cave in had plunged the tunnel into darkness and now mary might as well have her eyes closed.

“H-Hollow Knight? Are you there?”

Mary wasn’t sure what to do. She couldn’t see. She didn’t know where to go. She can’t fight. She doesn’t know her way around Hallownest. She would get lost in the tunnels. She didn’t . . .

She couldn’t . . .

She needed HELP!

“HOLLOW KNIGHT!”

A shift of stone in front of her.

Mary rushed forward blindly, immediately falling on the  uneven ground and scraping up her hands and knees. But she just crawled forward, slapping the ground and forcing her way over the rocks and mushrooms as she went toward the noise, desperately hoping that the Hollow Knight was alive and ok.

She finally made it to where she heard the noise, the sound having repeated as she came toward it. She fearlessly shoved her hands toward the noise and made contact with the velvet of the Hollow Knight’s hand. They gripped her hard. It was proof that the Hollow Knight was alive. Relief flooded her.

It was the last straw for her nerves and Mary couldn’t stop the tears that clogged her throat and made her gasp for breath. It wasn’t the time or the place, and she was surely suffering from some shock but Mary was completely unable to stop herself from having a messy breakdown on the floor of the collapsed tunnel holding the Hollow Knight’s hand. She cried for herself, for her bleeding body, for the bugs she saw die, for the Hollow Knight who had to be in pain and pinned down.

Mary cried until she choked on her own tears and then coughed herself back to lucidity.

A few shacking hiccupping breaths passed, and then Mary rubbed her eyes, hand lifting her mask up to get at the salt encrusted things.

Ok, you’ve had your break down. Now continue on.

“S-sorry. I just, I needed to have a quick cry.”

The hand gripping her own squeezed just a touch tighter at her words.

“O-ok. Hollow Knight, squeeze me once for yes, twice for no, and three times for ‘I don’t know’. Are you able to move?”

The hand didn’t move for a moment before she was given two quick squeezes.

Mary bit her lip as she reached out with her free hand to feel at the rocks stacked on top of the Hollow Knight. They were heavy and seemed to be very large. She gave them a quick push but was unable to dislodge even the rock on the top.

 “Are you . . . damaged?”

A single squeeze.

Mary took a quick breath.

“Are you in danger of dying?”

A very quick two squeezes.

Mary released her breath, relief circulating her veins once more.

“Are you in pain?”

There was a pause this time, but soon there were three squeezes.

Mary frowned. Was the Hollow Knight . . . lying to her? Was it a void thing?

Mary, shook her head. It didn’t matter.

In the quiet of the tunnel, Mary could hear the faint sounds of battle from the mantis arnea, giving her a direction to head in to get help. She wasn’t strong enough to dislodge the rocks, so she would need to try and get attention through the rocks.

Through she would need to wait until the battle seemed to be over, it was best to get an idea on where to go.

“I need to find where the gate is-”

She didn’t even finish her sentence before the Hollow Knight was squeezing her had in quick pulses.

Squeeze-squeeze.

Pause.

Squeeze-squeeze.

Mary squeezed back, “I need to get help. I’m not strong enough to free you myself. I can’t even see! It’s so dark in here . . . But I’ll be back. I promise.”

With those words, Mary ignored the squeezing and managed to wiggle her hand from the Hollow Knight’s grip. Mary forced herself to her feet, legs numb from the adrenaline and how she had been sitting on them during her crying jag. She began to slowly move forward, her arms out in front of her and her feet tapping the ground to check it’s stability. She purposely went around where she thought the Hollow Knight’s body was buried under the rubble. She didn’t want to climb over them and hurt them.

She managed a few steps forward, and then a few more, stumbling her way in what she hoped was a straight line.

Once she found a wall, then she would have a fifty-fifty chance of making her way to the mantis arena, or at least where the collapsed gate would be. Surely she would be able to hear the sound of bugs fighting even if they were behind some rocks.

As Mary continued forward, she began to hear the faint sounds of bugs. She must be near the entrance! She began to move forward a bit faster, the ground shifting under her as she got caught up in the hope that she might be able to reach help.

The rocks under her feet unsettled,  and when she stumbled she saw a flash of orange below her.

Mary must have been standing on or near where the Mantis Lord was crushed by the cave in, and she couldn’t stop her bodies instinctive back pedal away from the bright glowing liquid. Like someone mixed a glow stick with motor oil.

It gave her an extra few feet from what happened next.

The pitch black tunnel just made it more obvious that something was moving, the sound of shifting stone thunderous in the quiet. Soon a single eye began to lopsidedly rise from the ground. Where the other should have been was just an oozing mess of bright orange that dripped to the ground.

Mary could see a messy outline of the swollen Mantis Lord as he pushed himself from the place that should have been his grave.

She was frozen in fear, hoping with everything in her that perhaps the infected bug could see just as little as Mary could in the darkness.

But as the orange splattered monster gave a single clumsy lunge toward her, she knew it at least could sense where she was. It was dragging itself with it’s two bladed arms, it’s legs either too broken to use, or judging by just how much orange that was trailing behind this nightmare dragging itself toward her, might not be there at all.

The monster didn’t move quickly, but it didn’t need to. There was only so many places to go to in the collapsed tunnel.

Mary had tried to run away, even managing to back track a bit, giving herself some distance from the shambling creature coming toward her, but her panic had caused her to shift some of rocks, making some of them pin her cloak.

The sudden yank on her body had caused her to fall to the rubble. She was blinded by the darkness and could not see where she was stuck, and the armor around her chest kept her from simply slipping from the fabric.

Mary yanked on the fabric, desperate for it to rip and let her run. But even as she panicked and struggled, the mantis dragged itself closer and closer.

Much too soon, it was upon her, balancing itself carefully as it drew back one bladed arm to skewer her right through her chest. Mary screamed in fear and rage, calling it every curse she could think of as she struggled for her life.

Mary, in her attempts to get free, had managed to get her cloak over her hips. In her desperation to live, she kicked out with one foot and hit the bladed arm keeping the Mantis Lord up. She managed to hit it hard enough to cause him fall upon her prone body.

Mary’s scream was cut off by the air getting crushed out of her by the bulk of the swollen Mantis Lord. Her body was smashed to the ground and her mouth was filled with the orange puss coming from his wounds.

Mary had a moment, a sharp moment of horror and fear. A fear of drowning in the infection, and a horror of having the filth of such in her mouth. Mary managed to turn her head to the side, spiting the orange from her mouth. Once she had a breath in her mouth again, she shouted with what was left of her strength and pushed the Mantis Lord hard enough to dislodge him from her just an inch.

“GET OFF OF ME YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

Mary struggled with the weight of the infected bug, throwing her fear away in favor of rage. She was going to die here but at the very least she was going to scream loud enough for everyone to know where the body was.

But as she pushed on the disgustingly leaking body of the Mantis Lord, it actually began to rise with her force. At first she thought that the Mantis Lord was getting up, and that she was going to need to be prepared to try and maneuver out from under them, but the cave was becoming lighter and lighter and Mary could see the mutilated corpse of the creature that continued to struggle toward her.

It was being strung up by glowing threads that were coming from the ceiling, the floor and the walls. Dragging the gurgling creature off of her body and yanking what limbs it could still move away from it’s body.

At the center of his chest, where it had been pressed into her body was a pair of matching bloody hand prints and a dreamcatcher. One of the ones that had been tucked away in her cloak. One of the ones that she had prepared just for this.

Mary stared in shock at the infected bug being dragged upward and splayed out in the air, the threads not binding it’s limbs down, but splaying them out. Less like a spiders’ meal to be eaten later and more like a crucifixion.

Everything about this, from the ways that the string only curled around the joints of the Mantis Lord’s limbs and forced his head back by his horns spoke more about it being a punishment than a saving. It looked violent and cruel and glowed brightly like fire.

Whoever was believing in this binding, was as angry as Mary was, but were three times as cruel.

Mary wanted to look for whoever was watching her. Wanted to know why they hadn’t helped her, hadn’t made any noise. But it was more important to make sure that whoever was watching this binding made it complete itself. It was already a weird binding, the thread interacting with the surrounding environment instead of just the bug. Mary needed to finish nailing down the assumption that this was not only on purpose, but that she could control whatever the hell was happening. A quick and messy speech should put a nail in it.

“Vile bug, Traitor Lord. You cast your people and yourself into the grasp of an infection that made no secret for what end it made of it’s tools. And you went willingly! All to just cheat your sisters out of their throne’s. If my words reach you, deep in the pit you have made of your mind, let it be known that you will be kept here as a monument of your betrayal. So that all who look upon you will know what becomes of the betrayers of your kind for not but an empty borrowed power.”

Mary threw her arms out, sleeves swinging even as she was still stuck on the ground, her fat  white legs out in the open and scraped up, and shouted.

“Be Bound!”

And whoever was watching went along with it, the light blazing brighter as the threads seemed to tighten on the bug before the Mantis Lord went still and the strings began to dim but not go out. Just down grading from flood light to just blazing.

Mary felt what little strength flee from her. She let her arms fall to the uneven ground, and if she had had the tears left, she would have surely begun to cry again. But no. There was no salt left in her to cry with, so she just breathed.

When she could finally feel her finger tips again, she began to look around the tunnel. It was a mess of course, a rubble filled area with unsteady footing and jagged edges cast in shadows from the magic bound bug hanging a few feet above the ground. But most importantly, it was blocked off.

Mary could see straight to the other side of the tunnel. There was nothing but a rubble wall on both sides of the tunnel, making this section closed off from the rest of the tunnels of Hallownest.

But most importantly, there were no other bugs in the small room that the rubble had made. There was no movement, no flashes of color, no sound other than her own breathing and the faint murmur of the mantises from the other side of the rubble.

“H-hello? Is someone here?”

Mary look around in a slow circle, eyes desperately flicking over the area to find the bug that must be in here with her.

But as she finally turned back toward the hanging Mantis Lord, Mary saw a flash of white.

Mary moved toward it, expecting to find a pinned bug below the rubble, but as she made her way over and got a clearer look at what was pinned below the rocks, she couldn’t help but stutter to a stop.

The Hollow Knight’s mask stared out at her from where they were coved in stone and mushroom.

Mary felt a jolt of pure shock. Had she back tracked over the Hollow Knight in her made panic to get away? Judging by the orange smeared on the rocks, the Mantis Lord must have dragged his body over the top of the bug, and dislodged enough of the rubble to uncover more of them.

Mary finally managed to rip her cloak from where it was penned below a rock and went to see if she could help them. With the light, Mary could see which rocks were the most unstable and was able to wedge them off of the top of the pile. It only took a few moments to clear enough of the rubble off of the Hollow Knight for them to force their way out of the rocks.

They looked terrible, their mask having a large crack in it and their armor being dented all to hell, their cloak was in tatters, half of the damn thing being left in the grasp of the rocks below. They finally managed to drag their way out, and the moment they didn’t need their hands to keep themselves steady, their arms made their way around Mary’s back and began to pat her.

Mary made a wet chuckle at that. The fact that they had decided that it was more important to comfort her than it was important to make sure that they themselves were ok.

Mary didn’t even try to hold back, she thrust her head into the unarmored part of the Hollow Knight’s chest, feeling something fall off her head at the movement and just tried to breath. The relief coursing through her body making her shaky. Mary rubbed her face into the Hollow Knight’s body, the feel of their velvet like body a wonderful sensation on her face, and wrapped her arms around them.

She didn’t stay awake long enough for the mantis to finally finish their fight and to dig their way into the tunnel.

But the Hollow Knight, upon feeling her fall into sleep, gently tilted her back. They spent the long hours waiting for the mantises to find them staring at the uncovered sleeping face of the Storyteller.

The mantises had finally managed to dislodge the gate holding the rubble up, allowing the rocks and mushrooms to tumble into the arena to clear the way out.

Even in its broken state, the gate had been made to withstand the forced of a rampaging Deepnest bug. The rocks stack against it where not even half as fierce.

The first mantis to poke their head into the killing tunnel paused at what she saw.

The normally dim tunnel, that was only ever adorned with the corpses of minor pests and the spears that pinned them in place had a new, brightly shining feature hanging from the new, significantly higher ceiling.

The former lord hung from thread, his arms forced wide and what legs he had remaining splayed. His head was pulled back, but from the right angle she could see how his remaining eye still glowed with the sickly enslaving orange. He was strung up like a spider’s refused meal, not even worth the silk to bundle.

The thread holding the traitor was glowing bright enough to cast the tunnel into stark light, allowing her to see the details of the dreamcatcher that seemed to be nearly burned into his chest, framed by two odd red marks. The marks could look like hand prints, if a bug had so many fingers.

She finally managed to drag her eyes away from the breathing corpse of what was once her leader, and finally became aware of the two creatures who were sitting in the light supplied by his imprisonment.

The mantis was a proud warrior, a strong fighter who had tested her blades against the creatures that crawl from the Deepnest caverns and the vagabonds that try and hide in the fungal wastes when they flee from the Pale Wyrm’s kingdom after breaking his rules.

But the creature that lifted its blade toward her made her flinch.

Perhaps it was just because of the light that shined so brightly, but it appeared as though the creature’s shadow was longer and deeper than it should have been. The bug’s pale face was cracked, dirt marring its perfection and adding an illusion of emotion to its unmoving face.

What armor it had arrived with, was now scuffed and dented from its former pristine appearance. The metal on its shoulders were heavily dented, one so caved in that it must have been digging into the body beneath it, and only the arm that was holding the sword toward her still retained its scuffed white armor.

Only the sword held unwavering towed her still retained its perfect shine, magic surely insuring its pristine state.

The cape that had hidden its body from view was torn away, leaving barely enough to cover its shoulders. This allowed her to see its black chest and stomach. Its shell ate the light that touched it and made it hard to see where its body ended and the shadow began, if there was even a place where there was a difference between the two.

Perhaps to the void, the shadow and the body were the same.

The creature was turned toward her, but despite the sword that was lifted to warn her off, it remained sitting on the ground. There was a lump of fabric on its legs, and it had one of its hands clutching the lump to its body. The creature’s entire body visibly tensed up as she carefully came closer. The sword pointed at her following her movements as she picked her way around the rocks.

As she closed the distance between them, staying far out of the reach of the creature’s sword, she could make out that it was not a lump of fabric, but the body of the Storyteller that was on the creature’s lap. The Storyteller had already been a small delicate creature, but now with how she was curled up in the grip of the ragged void creature, she appeared even weaker. Her mask was still in one piece but had a strange dark red fluid dried on it. Her cloak was dirty and frayed in some places, rips showing here and there that gave flashes of what must had been the Storyteller’s white shell beneath.

The mantis’s eyes lingered over the glimpses of white ignoring the void creature adjusting its grip on the sword pointed at her.

She was out if it’s range.

White was a color not commonly seen on a bug outside of their head. Most sentient creatures were often shades of gray or brightly colored. To have such a pale color below her cloak would signify either a soft body or godhood.

Or both.

But she was not here to meddle into the matters of the bugs of Hallownest.

“Creature. The way is clear for you to return. Your companions wait for you at the entrance of the village. The Mantis Lords’ requests that you leave this place. We have rebuilding to do.”

The creature did not move for a long moment, its empty eyes watching her. But all at once it rose from the ground, one arm continuing to delicately cradle the unmoving Storyteller to its body and the other still holding the sword toward the mantis warrior.

The Storyteller made an odd noise as she was moved, not a hiss or a click, but a sound not unlike metal protesting the weight pressed upon it. The mantis was distantly pleased to know that the bug hadn’t died. It would have been shameful for the noncombatant to be killed in the village, no matter the circumstance.

But as she followed the large void creature with her eyes as it left the collapsed cavern, passing below the still hanging body of the former Mantis Lord, perhaps the little creature was stronger than she could see.

The mantis warrior made a quick circuit around the tunnel to ensure that there were no others in the tunnel. But other than the two bugs who had just left, there were no others in the tunnel.

As she climbed back over the rubble into the arena still strewn with bodies of the fallen, the mantis warrior made a note to inform her lords to not let their niece into the killing tunnel.

It would be cruel to make her see her father like that.

Chapter Text

“This is going to be a falling dream, isn’t it?”

Mary was standing in the middle of a floating platform that was roughly the size of a four-seater table. It was, oddly enough, made of concrete. Like someone had taken a chunk of sidewalk from a city and made it float. All around her were fluffy clouds dyed in the colors of an early sunset and in the distance, there were gazebos with dramatic arches.

Hilariously enough, there were also huge floating dreamcatchers. Just minding their own business as they gently wandered between the clouds, glowing all the while.

Mary was a little bemused on how lucid this was.

Usually her dreams were just colorful nonsense or unending fear. You know, those ‘you’re being chased!’ type of dreams where you never see who or what is chasing you and you never reach the safety you’re heading to.

“But this is still unnerving as hell.” Mary muttered as she eyed the way the edges of her concrete platform were steadily crumbling. Real soon she would be standing on something the size of a plate and then nothing at all, inevitably plummeting below the clouds and falling for the rest of the dream.

Was this her brain’s way of dealing with stress? The crumbling platform being a metaphor for her crumbling lies? That would soon drop out from under her with no other way to escape?

If that was so, then what the hell was with the floating dreamcatchers?

Mary shuffled a little to get away from the crumbling edge that had snuck up on her. She still had a few moments of solid ground before it all disappeared, no need to jump or anything.

The light on the clouds shifted, as if the sun had traveled across the sky in a matter of moments. It was very pretty, and Mary stopped watching her crumbling sidewalk in order to enjoy the sight before her.

Maybe she would even remember this later.

“Little one, what do you desire?”

A sweet voice crooned from behind her, nearly startling Mary into falling off of the concrete.

Mary swung her arms in circles to regain her balance. Her moments making Mary suddenly aware that she was wearing her cloak and mask.

Not even in dreams could she escape from the damn things.

Mary very carefully spun around, bare feet scraping on the concreate as she turned to look behind her.

Hovering in the air was a giant white bug with strange ragged wings. Its eyes glowed like lightbulbs from its little black face. It had distinct halo of light behind it, like something out of a catholic painting of Christ.

It was the fluffiest damn thing she had ever seen.

“Little one, what do you need?”

The bug’s voice was very female. Sweeter and smoother than the nectar that was always served in the palace. The gentle vibrations crawled up Mary’s spine and made her shiver.

That was a bedroom voice if she ever heard one.

“I can give it to you little one, if you simply worship me.”

Mary blinked up at the fluffy crooning bug above her and dumbly said.

“Is this a sex dream?”

That seemed to throw the bug for a loop, it’s glowing eyes blinking down at her rapidly.

Mary planted her hands on her hips and looked the moth up and down. She had no idea what the hell this was supposed to represent in her subconscious. But it was sure coming across like some bug trying to seduce her away from her totally legit concerns and worries. The only other bug she had seen that had wings coming close to the ones that this one did, had been the butterfly in the pleasure house. Maybe this was a throwback to that? A pretty distraction? A good old-fashioned sexy distraction? A Femme fatale?

 “. . .what kind of junk does a bug even have down there?” Mary muttered, staring between the bug’s weird legs.

She couldn’t see anything through the fluff, but like, was there a slit down there? There had to be right? Actually, how did bugs even go to the bathroom? Surely, she would have noticed their butt holes or whatever, they all went around naked for fuck’s sake!

Mary began to put some serious thought into the acrobatics that would be needed to have sex with a bug floating in midair that was like ten times her size.

“You would need to get a bit lower for me to even reach between your legs, but like, we might be able to make this happen. Or could I rise up? Can I control these platforms? Can you control these platforms? Either way we’d have to go quickly because it looks like mine is crumbling and- No.”

Mary shook her head, clearing the thoughts out. As much as she would love to turn this into a wet dream, her concrete was nearly gone, and she didn’t want to get all worked up to be left high and dry.

“You’re pretty enough sweetheart, but it’s unlikely that you could give me anything that I really wanted.”

Mary looked the flying up and down. “I mean, this you’re really pretty, very fluffy and everything. But your legs aren’t, like, super great and those are like my favorite parts.”

The bug blinked at her a few times, the weird tentacle wings slowing down as she tried to figure out what the hell Mary was saying.

Mary had to balance on one foot, her stomach twisting as the concrete became as small as her fist. Mary tried to focus on the sputtering moth as her time to fall came closer and closer.

“Besides, dreams never really satisfy anyone. They just make messes. But hey, I’m really flattered by the offer- “

Mary dropped, her last word turning into a shriek as she plummeted through the clouds. The last thing she saw was the bug’s eyes widening.

Mary tumbled through the air while screaming. No cinematic fall here. She was a knot of flailing limbs and air dragged fabric as she tried to at least stop spinning as she fell through the clouds.

Mary just managed to stop spinning as fast just when she seemed to pass through the clouds.

She was no longer falling through a sky, but a void. The only hint that distance was passing was the sight of the clouds above her going farther away.

The darkness was quickly beginning to thicken until Mary felt like she wasn’t falling through air but water. It was no longer air tugging at her cloak, but this dense darkness that the fabric was being dragged through.

Mary’s stomach had been telling her that she been slowing down, but she was still surprised when she seemed to stop entirely. She just floated in the darkness, unable to see anything but was certain that there was a vast space all around her.

Mary didn’t know how long she stayed there, the darkness stealing her sense of time not that it meant much in a dream. But eventually she felt movement near her, like something large moving in water.

No, that wasn’t right, it wasn’t a single thing. It wasn’t like floating in the water near a boat, or what it might feel like to have a whale swim near you.

It was like a school of fish. An uncountable amount of small bodies flowing around her. The formerly still darkness now full of movement even if Mary could still not see a single thing.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Mary wasn’t sure why she was trying to talk to what had to be monsters in the darkness. But it’s not like she was able to do anything else.

The movement around her stopped, and after a confused pause that Mary could feel, there was a change in the darkness.

It opened.

The darkness split open in a million different places around her, and Mary could see a different kind of void coming from the cracks. No longer a dense darkness that could consume anything, but a pure nothing that glowed with how empty it was.

And the very moment that Mary realized that those were eyes, that the millions of holes all turned toward her and spilling nothingness into the darkness of this void were looking at her.

She woke up.

Mary woke with a jolt, her body dragging air into her lungs hard enough to set her to coughing. The thoughts of her dream were knocked clear from her mind by pain. She felt a thousand aches and pains all over her body and curled onto her side to try and flinch away from the pain she had upon waking up.

But instead of getting away from the pain, it just became worse as her legs let her know that they were absolutely scraped all to hell. Mary whined pathetically as she mourned her poor body. She tried to shove her head into her blankets but only found more pain as apparently there was some cut on her head.

There was an odd shuffling noise and Mary immediately turned toward the noise.

Someone was here with her?!? Her mask was off! She was naked!

Mary nearly screamed bloody murder at the idea of someone being in her room while she was sleeping. She managed to uncurl enough to sit up and look around the room. She saw a pale black eyed face hovering in the darkness above her. It was only barely illuminated by the light that seeped through the cracks in her door, casting shadows across its smooth surface, it’s body invisible in the darkness.

Mary relaxed.

Oh, it’s only the Hollow Knight .

Mary dropped herself back to her bed with a relieved sigh. She snuggled back into her bedding and closed her eyes.

. . .

WAIT THAT’S NOT BETTER.

Mary panickily wrapped herself in the bedding and nearly rolled off the bed. The only reason that she didn’t crash to the floor was because the Hollow Knight  had lunged toward her and stopped her from falling.

Mary was a panicking blanket burrito as the Hollow Knight  pinned her to the side of her bed with both of their hands as she wiggled in distress.

“No, no, no! No one’s supposed to see me! I look horrible! Gross and disgusting and horrific! Don’t look at me! Go away! Don’t hurt me!”

Mary whined, trying to hide her face in what blankets she had managed to drag with her but was distracted by the sudden tight squeezing of the Hollow Knight ’s hands wrapped around her body.

She gasped in pain.

The Hollow Knight  immediately loosened their grip on her. They tucked their hands underneath her body and picked her up so that she was no longer being pressed to the side of the bed in order to keep her from falling to the floor.

They tucked her bundled form into their arms and one of their large hands landed on her hip, one of the few places that wasn’t a painful bruise and gave two quick squeezes.

Mary, who was recovering from the pain of her bruises being squeezed blinked up at the Hollow Knight ’s unmoving face, her hands pinned to her chest by the blankets she had wrapped herself in.

The Hollow Knight  squeezed her hip twice again.

.  .  . no?

What were they . . .

The answer struck Mary suddenly, and she couldn’t help but feel silly.

They were telling her that they wouldn’t hurt her. Of course, they were! The Hollow Knight  had always been her protector. Just seeing what she looked like wouldn’t make them abandon their post. They were too steady for that.

Oh, she felt like a fool.

Really, as if the kingdom’s stalwart protector could really be chased off by some gross looking bug. They were much too loyal for that. Not to mention that they were basically a robot! They probably didn’t even have a concept for what ugly looked like! To them she was just a species they weren’t familiar with!

Mary just began to giggle, burying her face into the Hollow Knight ’s chest to muffle the sound. She had been so stupid! There had never been a reason to hide from the Hollow Knight . If her touching them hadn’t made them respond in disgust, just seeing her wouldn’t do it either!

The Hollow Knight  stopped squeezing her in a rhythm, but now they were staring down at her without moving.

Their head slowly tilted in confusion.
Unconsciously copying the body langue that they had seen the Storyteller use.

Why was she making that noise?

The Hollow Knight  wavered over their next action, but the temptation to use the new tool that the Storyteller had supplied them was too much.

They gave three gentle squeezes and waited to see what would happen.

She easily got the Hollow Knight ’s message. They didn’t know why she was laughing.

Mary finished up her laughing jag and tilted her head back to smile up at the Hollow Knight , aware in a weird way of her cheeks and the way her lips stretched over her teeth. She was sure that her face was an unsettling. The soft flesh moving in a way that bug faces didn’t.

“I’m silly. I thought that you would care what I looked like! I forgot what you were.”

Mary snorted and raised her eyebrows at the Hollow Knight , “You wouldn’t care if I was a beauty or the ugliest thing alive, would you? It wouldn’t influence your actions at all.”

Mary huffed one last laugh before she wiggled a bit more in her blanket burrito prison. She felt disgusting, slimy and crusty in equal measure. The mushroom ooze must have half dried on her or something.

She needed to take a bath.

And, as she looked up at the Hollow Knight  in the dim light of her bedroom, she realized that they needed one as well.

They had have relived themselves of their cloak and armor, but there was still dirt on their white face, and there had to be more dirt that she couldn’t see on their dark body.

“We’re both filthy. Take me to where the water faucet is. We need to get ourselves cleaned up before we go see anyone.”

The Hollow Knight  gave her body one single squeeze before rising out of the crouch that they had been in on her bedroom floor.

As she was carried across her brightly lit rooms that had gained more color from the odds and ends that she had collected over her and Hollow Knight ’s travels, Mary thought that perhaps she should change rooms. They were fine when it was just her inside of them, but now that the Hollow Knight  ended up in her rooms more often than not, she should get some with higher ceilings.

The Hollow Knight  had to walk in a weird crouch just to keep their horns from scraping the ceiling.

And, she thought as she glanced at her bathing nook, one with a real bathroom.

Mary had managed to request a large vessel to bathe in, and had somehow been given a large round glass vase with a metal lid. She was able to sit in it and cover herself from the neck down in water, but it was still a bit odd to be bathing in a glass jar.

She sort of felt like a fairy or a borrower, repurposing a large item for a very different use.

But it was a pain to fill, empty and clean. She only used it when she needed a soak, and right now, she really needed it.

The Hollow Knight  deposited her on the couch that had gained a number of brightly colored pillows, still all swaddled up in her blankets. They knew what to do, Mary having taken advantage of their larger size to move the glass monstrosity into her room, and to run her that first bath.

Mary chewed on her bottom lip as she watched the Hollow Knight  bustle around to fill the glass jar. It only came up to about their knee, and was only around three feet wide at the mouth.

There wasn’t a way in hell the Hollow Knight  was going to fit in that thing. She would just have to wipe them down and pour some buckets over them.

Mary wiggled out of the blankets surrounding her, grimacing at the gross feeling of something on her skin. Once she was finally free of them, she looked down and flinched at what she saw.

She was covered in bruises. Red and purplish splotches all over her legs and in great big swaths on her shoulders. She could easily see where the armor she had been wearing had touched her skin. Her chest and stomach were clear of damage at least.

But other than the bruises there was another color smeared over her body. A dark green paste was smeared over where cuts littered her legs. Most of it had been rubbed off by the blanket but Mary recognized it.

It was the balm that she had been gifted by some of the inhabitants of Greenpath. The bugs had nearly forced it upon her, proclaiming its ability to seal the bleeding cracks in a bug’s shell.

The dark color and pungent smell had made Mary unsure of it would do anything for her, but after being told the ingredients she was fairly certain that it wouldn’t have hurt her. She had given it to the Hollow Knight  and had simply never asked for it back.

 . . .  they had tried to stop her from bleeding.

They must had removed her armor, mask and cloak to check her wounds while she was asleep. And when they had found her bleeding, they had used what little they had known about non-magical first aid to help her.

Mary looked back to where the Hollow Knight  was carefully tilting the glass jar to be filled with water.

They were so damn cute sometimes.

Mary stood from her couch, limping slightly as her legs protested her weight. She was a bit embarrassed to be naked in front of them, but really, she always sort of felt like she was naked. Being so literally wouldn’t change much right?

Despite her thoughts, Mary still grabbed one of the cloth sheets that she used like a towel and wrapped it around her herself.

She just felt better wearing at least a single layer ok?

Mary fiddled around her bathroom area and collected all of the things she thought she would need, a few washcloths and the hunk of soap from Greenpath combined with a bucket for water.

She eyed the sheer size of the Hollow Knight , and got a second bucket. She would need a lot of water to get the entirety of them cleaned up.

Once the glass jar was filled with water, the Hollow Knight  rebalanced it and pushed it away from the protruding faucet. Mary went forward to fill her own buckets and once they were full, she handed them to the Hollow Knight .

“Dump those over your body, we need to get you nice and wet.”

The Hollow Knight  looked down at the two buckets in their hands, and then turned their head back toward Mary. A single void tendril rose from their back and slowly approached Mary. She watched the little black tendril in confusion.

Why were they doing that?

But as the tendril wrapped itself around an unbruised patch of skin on her arm and squeezed her three times, Mary understood.

They had questions!

“I’m really dirty and so are you! And since you’re already here, I might as well help you get all cleaned up. And uh, to be completely honest I sort of don’t want to be alone right now. I’m surprised that I didn’t have nightmares about being abandoned in caves and attacked by blades. Ahem, So! I figured that since I need a bath, we might as well help each other get clean! That way I can keep you with me!”

Mary felt a little silly to be selfishly keeping the Hollow Knight  here with her. She was sure that the Pale King or Hornet would like to see them since it had obviously been a while since she had passed out in the tunnels with the Hollow Knight .
But she was certain that she could get away with it.

Besides, they did need a bath. Mary could see smudges on their white face and odd little places on the Hollow Knight ’s dark body where it was obvious that something was sticking to their shell. As gross as soap tasted, whatever was clinging to them had to be so much worse.

The Hollow Knight ’s tendril gave her one squeeze to signal their understanding, and then dumped the first bucket over their head. Mary turned back to the faucet, but the little piece of void wrapped around her arm came with her. Mary gave it a little poke, but it just stayed wrapped around her arm as the Hollow Knight  worked on getting clean.

She left it be and ran the lump of soap under the faucet.

Mary began to work the soap with her hands and washcloth. Soon she had a good lather going and turned back to the Hollow Knight .

They were sitting on the ground and were pouring the last of the water on their legs. Their head was turned toward her and she could see that the dirt on them had barely cleared up at all.

They were going to need a good scrub.

Mary approached them and brandished her soaped up cloth at them.

“Lean over so that I can get at your head. We’ll scrub you from the top down.”

And with that demand Mary got to work. Even with the Hollow Knight  sitting down and leaning over their knees, Mary had to reach up to get to the tips of their horns. She took care to make sure that none of the soap made its way into their eyes.

Or eye holes?

Whatever, no burning soap eyes for the Hollow Knight . She was an old hand at giving wiggly kids bathes, and the Hollow Knight  was already way better behaved than one of her cousins. No struggling or splashing at all.

Mary had to really get in there with her wash cloak and fingers to remove all of the gunk that was in the Hollow Knight ’s cracks and crevasses. Their shoulder joints in particular were just caked in some sort of tacky black scum. She had to practically floss their joints with the wash cloth to finally get rid of the last of it.

Mary had to pour bucket after bucket on them to wash away the soap. But after getting the cloth that she was wearing continually tangled around her legs and soaking wet she just gave up on trying to keep it on. Mary just handed the Hollow Knight  a wash cloth and went behind them.

“You take care of your front, I’ll get your back. But stay bent over so that I can reach ok?”

Once she crossed behind them she dropped the towel and kicked it away. It was just getting in the way, and besides she was behind them now. So, she couldn’t even feel embarrassed. It was just like bathing a dog or something. The Hollow Knight  didn’t care about her bits at all!

 Right?

 Right.

Mary huffed and began to scrub at the Hollow Knight ’s shoulder blades. The damn things were just as crusty as their joints had been. But as she really began to throw her weight behind the scrubbing, she was struck by a sudden thought.

Mary wrenched her hands away from the Hollow Knight ’s body and yelped, “Wait! You’re not still wounded are you!? You’ve healed yourself up, right?!”

Mary leaned over the side of their body to try and catch their eye. They turned their head toward her, and suddenly she was at eye level with the Hollow Knight .

Mary stared into their eyes as she waited for some kind of response. The tendril around her arm squeezed her once.

She breathed a sigh of relief and gave them a quick pat between the horns before going back into washing the Hollow Knight ’s back.

“Oh, that’s good. For a moment there I was afraid that I was hurting you with how hard I was scrubbing. I would hate to hurt you! I know that there’s nothing worse than opening up a wound again while you’re cleaning it. Ah, but sometimes you just have to let it bleed more to clear out any debris.”

Mary rinse her wash cloth off before reapplying the soapy lather and going at the Hollow Knight ’s spine. It had a lot of little ridges that were surely trapping some debris underneath. As she watched the soapy water slowly trail down she their spine she marveled over the sight of the white bubbles getting caught on the matte black skin.

They looked like a work of art, more machine than creature. Parts of them entirely manufactured, perfectly sized and fitted for their purpose. Their back was just one such example. The matte black skin that looked like a hole in space hemmed into the shape of a bug with shiny black plates and perfectly fitted joints.

 Sometimes Mary could see them, not as the bug they were masquerading as, but the delicately crafted cage that they were.

Mary trialed her fingers down the Hollow Knight ’s spine and got a bit startled when the various interlocking plates and smooth velvet flesh shuddered. She had poked at one of the plates, and some of their skin dissolved into void before resettling.

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to tickle you, you’re just really . . . pretty? No, no no, that’s too tame a word. I’m a storyteller, I can figure out a better word. You’re effervescent, attractive, eye-catching, gorgeous. You’re a marvel in my opinion. I should really go and tell the pale king sometime that he really created an incredibly handsome being.”

The tendril around her arm squeezed her once, making Mary laugh.

“Yes! You agree with me! Well, aren’t you an arrogant oil slick!” Mary made sure to put as much over blown offense into her voice as she could, sure that the Hollow Knight  could recognize the tease for what it was.

The Hollow Knight ’s big head turned to look at her over their shoulder, even as they squeezed her arm twice.

“No? So, you aren’t gorgeous? Cause I’m afraid that I’ll have to fight you over that!”

She reached forward and booped the Hollow Knight  in the middle of their face.

Mary snickered as she refocused her efforts on the Hollow Knight ’s lower back, having to get to her knees to reach. The plates here weren’t caked in anything, but it just seemed as though she should be through.

“Alright, let’s rinse you off.” Mary grabbed the bucket that had been left to over flow next to the faucet and tossed the warm water over the Hollow Knight ’s back. The soap was washed away down the drain leaving the faint shine of water droplets clinging to their back.

“You can wash your arms and legs yourself. Make sure to get your feet really good as well.”

Mary rinsed off her wash cloth and foamed it up before beginning to scrub at her own skin. She was already plenty wet from the splashing water so the gross smears had softened up a bit.

She was a bit harsher with her own skin than she had been with the Hollow Knight ’s, but well, she never really felt clean unless she’s been scrubbed red. Mary went to town on her body, getting herself covered in the white foam. She was a little more delicate with her bruises and scrapped up legs, but being clean was more important to her than bleeding a little more.

As she sat on the ground to get at her own legs and feet Mary couldn’t help but talk to the Hollow Knight  again.

“You know, I think I’m jealous. If I had even half the shell you did, I wouldn’t have to deal with so many damn cuts. I mean just look at my knees! The damn things look like ground beef! At least they’ve already scabbed over some.”

Mary gave the mentioned area a quick swipe before focusing on her feet. They were rough and calloused from all of the bare foot walking she did. The bottoms of them were particularly gross today, the mushroom spores and mud from the tunnels having stained them a disgusting yellow color.

As she worked the soap between her toes she kept chatting at the Hollow Knight  who had begun to work on their own feet.

“I bet I would be able to run around wearing less too. The whole reason I wear my cloaks is because when I first ran into a bug in all of my naked glory they screamed and attacked me! Which like, I get, I’m pretty freaky to look at, ugly as sin really, but they came at me with swords! Or, I guess nails? Yeah, I think I only got away from them because they didn’t expect me to run as fast as I did.” Mary dumped a bucket of water over her body.

Mary was dreading this next part. She remembered getting a cut on her head, and she could feel the crusted blood on her forehead. Her hair was still half in a braid, but it was going to be a bitch to untangle and wash without a brush. She untied the cord that had bravely stayed at the bottom of her braid and tried to unweave what she could, but ran into a crusty knot immediately.

“God damn it. My hair’s a mess! Ugh, it’s full of mushroom goo and blood. Honestly, I should probably just cut all of it off. It’s not like anyone ever sees it.”

Would she even be able to cut it? The only scissors she had seen had been either tiny ones for cutting the thread for her dreamcatchers or giant shears for the cloth. Maybe she could just get a knife?

Mary was startled from her thoughts of going after the Hollow Knight ’s sword that she could see propped against the wall by a pair of squeezes on her arm.

She turned back to the Hollow Knight  to see them staring at her, their entire body turned around to watch her.

“What?”

Squeeze-Squeeze.

“I’m not allowed to cut my hair?”

Squeeze.

Mary was befuddled for a moment. Why would they care if she cut her hair? It was just hair, it’s not like it was import- oh!

“Hollow Knight, it doesn’t hurt to cut. I can’t actually feel any part of it but for where it connects to my head at the root. It’s not like their antenna or anything. It’s a purely decoration part of my body. Well, it can be used to help keep me warm, but cloaks do a better job of that anyway.”

The Hollow Knight ’s body seemed to untense, not relaxing exactly, but it looked like they were no longer preparing to lung forward to stop her from doing herself harm.

The void tendril on her arm still squeezed her twice again though.

Mary chuckled, “Still not allowed to cut it huh?”

Mary eyed the Hollow Knight ’s hands, still clutching their wash cloth, and then the filled jar of water. It would be cold by the time she finally got her hair untangled and it would be a shame to make the Hollow Knight  just refill it.

And if they didn’t want her to lop all of her hair off, then they should take responsibility.

“How about we make a deal Hollow Knight  . . .”

The Hollow Knight  had to be very careful with the Storyteller’s hair as she sat in the jar of water. She was leaning back so that the hair dangled over the edge, and the Hollow Knight  had to sit with the jar between their legs as they delicately picked at the dark tangled strands.

The Hollow Knight  understood a bit better at why she had been contemplating cutting it all off. It was difficult to pick apart from this angle, doing it completely blind and backwards would be so much harder.

But.

The way that the thin strands felt, and how they swayed and drew attention with every movement that they Storyteller made...    it would be a shame for something so pretty to be cut.

The Hollow Knight ’s stomach twisted in nerves as they remembered how the Storyteller had complemented them while washing their back.

She had sung her praises for their body while she had been cleaning it, and the Hollow Knight  had nearly ripped the cloth they had been using in half. Most of the time they were either ignored, or simply called intimidating. Never. . .  never called handsome. Not referred to as gorgeous.

The Hollow Knight  had wished that they could return the complements, especially when the Storyteller referred to herself as ugly.

She did not look like a common bug, no, but she was a wonder all to herself. Covered in a dry soft shell that gave easily under any touch and nearly glowed under light. With strands coming from her head that drew attention and tickled the Hollow Knight ’s instincts to follow the movement with their eyes. Her incredibly mobile face that moved with every emotion she felt. The Hollow Knight  was nearly able to read every thought that she had even with how little time they’ve had to understand her different expressions.

Her eyes that narrowed and widened with the flesh that covered them. The small dark hairy lines over her eyes that twitched, rose, and lowed. Her mouth that could open and close, the shocking red skin that outlined the opening that would stretch wide to show her blunt white teeth. The nub in the middle of her face that would crinkle up.

Even her eyes themselves that would roll in their deep-set sockets to show anyone watching exactly where she was looking. The strange white outline and ever expanding and narrowing black surrounded in a ring of color.

The Storyteller lacked pheromones, antenna, a tail or wings. But she didn’t need them, not when one could understand her every thought just by watching her face alone.

The mask the Storyteller wore was being used more to allow her the privacy of her own mind than to assure others that she had one at all.

The Hollow Knight  finally finished with the Storyteller’s tangled hair, and carefully poured water over it before beginning to gently rub in soap. The Storyteller made a soft humming noise, the water around her chest vibrating gently with the sound.

The Hollow Knight  gazed down at the Storyteller. Her eyes were closed in comfort and the corners of her red mouth were curved up in what must be pleasure. The hum she was making assuring them of such.

Their eyes trailed over her body. Her skin was molted in dark colorful splotches, marks that they were sure were not supposed to be there. There were also numerous shallow cuts splitting open her soft body.

Evidence of the Hollow Knight ’s failure to keep her safe.

The Hollow Knight  had been certain that they had lost her multiple times. First in the cave-in when they had been pinned down with only a hand above the rubble, and then again when they had heard her being chased by the infected mantis lord. It had been worse when the Storyteller had stumbled into their view, chased by the infected mantis lord.

The Hollow Knight  had gotten their first look at the Storyteller’s skin, and it had been cut and bleeding. They could see that her mask was on her head, but her face had been toward the mantis who was dragging his living corpse toward her. When they had seen the infected bug fall upon her, they had been engulfed in a cold rage that overwhelmed them.

For the first time, they had hated the infection. While before it had been a duty to contain it, now it was a task that the Hollow Knight  was desperate to accomplish. They wanted to reach the root of the infection and make it suffer. Make it feel a pain similar to their own.

The Hollow Knight  had clung to the hate in order to not let the anguish overtake them. If their form loosened while pinned below these rocks they would die here with the Storyteller, and they would never get a chance to avenge her.

So, when they had heard the enraged scream of the Storyteller, they had been hit with a bolt of hope.

The Storyteller was a powerful mystic despite how she acted when she was comfortable. She had vast amounts of magic at her fingertips. She could punish those that have wronged her.

And as the Hollow Knight  had watched pinned and unable to help, the Storyteller did punish the mantis lord.

She bound him to the tunnel that they were trapped in, stretching his body out to dangle and drip in the air. Binding them for all to see and place their own judgment on the traitorous mantis lord who gave in willingly to the infection’s embrace. To suffer in the worst way that a proud mantis could. Trapped and bound in a spider’s webbing with all knowing of their cheating and failure.

A well-deserved punishment.

After showing off her might like that, it had been humbling for the Storyteller to stumble her way to the Hollow Knight  and struggle to unbury them. Her face uncovered for the first time and uncaring of that fact in her hurry to help them. Her strange pale face dripping in the orange of the infection and the red of her own blood.

She had buried herself in to their arms, hiding away in their chest, and had fallen asleep.

The Hollow Knight  had watched her sleep, thankful that she didn’t need a dreamcatcher to keep her mind safe, and worshiping her visage with their eyes.

The Hollow Knight  had not allowed another bug to come close to them.  Not when they had carried her sleeping body through the tunnels and not when they had hurried to her room in the castle. The Hollow Knight  had played deaf to the shouts of those around them, unwilling to slow down and let others see the Storyteller in her unguarded state.

They had taken her to her bed, and after some hesitance had decided to check her wounds. Without the power of soul, they hadn’t been sure what to do for her soft skin, and had fallen back onto what little first aid they had been taught when they were small and their father hadn’t been sure what they needed for their void body.

Using the sealing balm that she had pressed into their hands all those weeks ago to at least stop the bleeding had been their only course of action.

The Hollow Knight  finally finished with washing the Storyteller’s hair, pouring water gently over the now untangled mass to get the last of the soap out. As they combed their fingers through her hair a few more times, their fingers nudged into the strange protrusion on the Storyteller’s skull.

She flinched away from their touch with a squeak, and the Hollow Knight  froze, afraid that they had hurt her. They squeezed her three times from the tendril of void that had wound its way around her arm and was reluctant to let her go.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. That’s just one of my ears. They’re sort of sensitive. They’re how I hear.”

The Hollow Knight  paused before lowering their head to get a better look.

This was how the Storyteller could hear? These small little disks on her head?

The Hollow Knight  wavered over the idea that had entered their head, but eventually they went through with the impulse. They untangled a hand from her hair and raised it over the Storyteller’s face.

They extended a single finger, and as gently as they could, tapped the tip of the protrusion on her face while squeezing her arm three times.

“My nose? It’s a way for me to breath and how I smell things!”

They brought their finger to her chest, where one of the splotches of color was.

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

“That’s a bruise. It’ll go away with time, but it will be a sore spot for a while. It’s caused by my skin getting hit too hard and damaging the blood veins underneath. Oh! Here, look!”

The Storyteller turned one of her arms over and showed the pale skin underneath. She tilted her hand back and traced once of her fingers down the pale arm.

“See this blue line? That’s my blood vein! My blood’s not actually blue, but that’s what it looks like through my skin.”

The Hollow Knight  traced the thin blue line that she showed them, and followed it until it disappeared in her arm.

Was the Storyteller full of small pipes like the City of Tears?

The Hollow Knight  dipped their hand into the Storyteller’s water and gently poked at the small red nub on the end of one of the jiggly bulges on her chest.

The Storyteller grabbed their hand and pulled it from the bump before they could give her more than a single squeeze on the arm.

“That- that’s um. Another sensitive part! Like my ears! It doesn’t really do anything, but the flesh under it! That’s my boob. It’s mostly just a way for me to store extra fat. In fact, every place on my body that jiggles is usually storing fat! It’s like, stored energy? Like how you store soul? It’s just a way for me to not starve to death if I am in a place where I can’t eat.”

The Storyteller laced her fingers through their own under the water and the Hollow Knight  decided to stop asking questions for now, leaving their hand in her grip.

The Storyteller was getting the water she needed.

She was hurt but healing and they were taking care of her. She was happy and playful, uncloaked and unmasked in their presence.

All was not right with their world, but perhaps, they could relax in this moment.

Mary was ashamed to say that she had sort of forgotten about the outside world while she had been sitting with the quiet company of the Hollow Knight .

The only reason she had gotten out of the water was because it was growing cold, and the only reason she had left the room at all was because she had very suddenly remembered that stored fat or not, she had defiantly missed a meal or two.

It had been surprising as hell to have the Hollow Knight  open her door only to have Tinsy rush through gap and circle her in a panic.

Apparently, she had been ringing the bells off and on for the past few hours and hadn’t gotten any kind of response.

A quick check showed that apparently the Hollow Knight  had leaned their sword on the string at some point. Silencing the bells before they could even ring.

Mary had been fully masked and cloaked up at this point but was fairly certain that the Hollow Knight  had felt her look even through the barrier. They had very purposely not looked down at her.

It was after some running around the castle, assuring everyone that she was fine and Tinsy following at her heels berating her that Mary ended up sitting on the lap of the Hollow Knight  while facing down the daughter of the infected bug that she had strung up in a tunnel to serve as a monument to his mistakes.

She sort of wished she had thought to keep some snacks in her room.

Mary was as still as a statue as she stared in horror at the mantis sitting across from her.

The Mantis was holding a special cup made for her bladed hands and was taking delicate sips as Ze’mer offered her small bites of meat carved off of the whole gruzling in front of them.

The picture the two of them made Mary think of a knife being fussed over by a mop. All sorts of fluttery bits being tossed in the air as the proud chosen knight of the Pale King fell all over herself to make sure that her lover was comfortable and fed.

And to make it worse, it seemed as though the Hollow Knight  had decided to take their cues from their fellow knight.

They had placed Mary in their lap and were now holding a small plate and staking it high with the small bits of cooked meat and vegetables that were her favorites from the spread on the low table between the pairs of bugs.

The food was a blessing of course, but damn it! Mary could feed herself! Did the Hollow Knight  think that she was so weak she would drop a damn plate?

Mary picked off one of the white chunks of potato and chewed with a bit of force. The Hollow Knight  immediately filled the empty spot with a small cut of carrot and waited for her to take another bite.

And to make it all worse, the Hollow Knight  wasn’t wearing a cloak! It’s not like it matters, bugs don’t give a fuck about nudity. But, the Hollow Knight  wore a cloak as often as she did! It felt like they were running around bare assed in public and now she was sitting on their lap! It felt kinky ok!? It might not have been a big deal, but god damnit, she felt like she was participating in some sort of exhibitionist’s fantasy!

Mary swallowed and decided that she was just going to ignore the absolute herd of elephants in the room and hopefully get some information.

“A “Her” was mentioned numerous times while I was amongst your tribe. Would you please tell me about this ‘Her’?”

The mantis delicately put down her cup, faced Mary head on and began to tell her the ancient stories of her tribe. About their journey to the Fungal Wastes. Their battles with the many bugs who lived near there, and about their struggle with the winged bugs who worshiped the dreaming god who sat on the crown of the world.

She told Mary of the dreams that haunted her kind and how they would lose warriors to the dreams, who would then climb out of the Hallownest and serve the bugs who lived at the crown. About how one day they could suddenly understand the noises that came from the bugs around them, and how some of those bugs told them of a great and powerful god who had given minds to the mindless.

About how the Pale King had built Hallownest, proclaimed himself ruler and crushed the other god beneath his might.

The Pale King had been doing his work, putting the kingdom in order and ensuring that everything was running smoothly.

He had already been informed that the Storyteller and his Hollow Knight had come out of her rooms and were now meeting with the daughter of the infected mantis lord. He would let them discuss and rest before asking for a debrief tomorrow.

He had just been thinking of stopping and retreating to tinker in his workshop of visit his wife in her conservatory when the door to his office slammed open.

The Storyteller stood in the doorway, the Hollow Knight behind her. She rushed into the room and the Pale King began to rise, panicked that there was a problem, that something had happened.

The Storyteller rushed to his desk and slammed her cloaked hands to the flat surface, yelling out in confused anger.

“You’re a GOD?!”

Chapter Text

The various retainers that had needed to speak with the king stood away from the heavy closed door of the King’s office. Their antennas flinching with each shrill sound that managed to pierce the thick metal.

The Storyteller’s voice, usually mellow and sweet, cut through the fearful quiet that hovered in the Palace’s halls. Her voice sharp and angry, though the words didn’t quite manage to come through clearly.

All that they had been able to figure out is that before this the Storyteller had been discussing the Mantis Tribe’s history. The after she had been told their story of the beginning of Hallownest, she had rushed to the Pale King to loudly question his godhood.

The retainers that had been nearby after hearing her shout at the Pale King told the others that the Storyteller had seemed enraged that the Pale King had not informed her of his godhood. That it had somehow been kept from her.

But before anyone could learn more from eavesdropping the Pale King had ordered the Pure Vessel to go absorb soul and get redressed. The Pure Vessel had closed the door behind it when it left, walking slowly and looking over its shoulder toward the room it had left.

That had been a while ago, and now no retainer had the courage to approach the shut door that they could hear the Storyteller scream behind.

The ones that had interacted with the Storyteller in person were surprised at the vitriol that she was showing. She had always seemed to be a calm and collected individual, breezing through the world, above and untouched by the concerns of mortals, but always willing to stop and listen to whomever gained her attention. Always happy to play with the Princess or to bend under the order of her attendant. A greeting from servant or retainer alike would not be ignored, but given a nod or a few words in return. She was not a social bug, but everyone was treated politely, no matter their standing.

But now she was angry.

Screaming so loudly that it was breaking through the metal doors and walls, drawing a shivering crowd of servants, gardeners, and retainers.

Screaming at the Pale King in rage.

Screaming at a god.

As another angry shriek pierced the door, words finally becoming recognizable as the Storyteller’s howling reached a new volume and pitch.

“THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU KILL HER?!”

“I TRIED!”

The retainers in the hallway all froze, their nervous twitching and shuffling coming to a halt. The stink of fear, which had already been thick in the air, became a choking cloud.

That had been the Pale King’s voice.

That had been the Pale King’s anger.

The very palace halls seemed to shudder with the aura that had slammed into them for the barest moment, a single slip of their god’s power. All of the bugs in the hallway suddenly become  aware of the consequences of the Storyteller’s enraged screaming.

They were next to an angry god.

The Storyteller had made the Pale King lose his temper and respond back in anger. Even if for a moment, a crack in that control might spread and the entirty of Hallownest was in danger. They stood in terror at the fate that might strike them down if their King was pushed past his limit, if he decided to strike out at the Storyteller.

The Storyteller.

Who was still screaming.

Her words were had gone back to being muffled, but she hadn’t seemed to pause at all at the King’s returning scream.

The Storyteller who was still in the room with their God. The bug that was powerful enough to shield them from the infection and beat it from their dreams. The Bug that appeared from nowhere and feared neither god nor void.

The bug that they heavily suspected might be able to fight a god and win.

There was suddenly a thought, hanging from a thread in all of their minds. A thought so outlandish, so impossible that many dismissed it off hand, but that a few delicately considered.

Should they be fearing for their King?

One of the retainers, a bug that had served the king for their whole life and now creaked with age, managed to stumble out of his horrified imitation of a statue.

“G- Go get the Queen.”

Half of the bugs immediately rushed away, understanding what this bug had concluded. The Queen was the only one who could step between the two raging insects.

Only a god could step between the two powers that were clashing behind those closed doors. One who was respected by both of the ones raging behind those doors.

The rest of the retainers simply continued to watch the closed doors, having decided that if they were to die from the clash of titans, then they wanted to see which one of the bugs inside killed them.

“Gods can’t be killed. They only change.”

Mary couldn’t help but snarl at the creature that was technically her boss and also! Apparently! A God!
“You better fucking hope they can, because we have to finish off the damn thing you left half alive. This whole fucking plague, all of these lives lost, just because a pair of egotistical gods couldn’t stand living next to each other! Couldn’t stand the bugs worshiping someone else!”

“She attacked me first!”

“Great! Wonderful! THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU FINISH THE JOB?!”

“You. Can’t. Kill. A. GOD!”

The king snarled at her, his mouth opening enough to give Mary a glimpse of his sharp teeth, but just as quickly as he lost his temper, he got ahold of it once more. He dropped his head into his hands. “You cannot kill a god, as I have since learned. They can only fade from a lack of belief. As long as they are remembered, they will live.”

The god in front of her raised his horned head just enough to look at her with one eye. “I defeated her in battle, I destroyed her body and yet a piece of her still lives on in her power’s domain. She has changed and became perverted with madness while locked away from this world.  I can’t reach her there, all I can do is trap what little is left of her.”

Mary pushed her hands underneath the hood of her cloak to tug at her own hair. The slight pain was cathartic as she struggled with this new layer to the problem that she had inherited.

When Mary had burst in to question the king, she had gotten him off balance enough that he answered some questions without thinking the answers all the way through.

So when she had asked why he didn’t cure the infection with his god powers, he had answered that his powers couldn’t effect another god’s domain. Which she had then pressed him about until he had admitted that the source of the infection was the dying struggles of a waning god.

Everything, all of this! All of this pain, suffering, and horror.

Because somebody just wouldn’t die.

“Fucking magic.” Mary moaned.

Mary heaved a sigh, and dragged her body upright out of her slouch. She went to stand in front of the Pale King.

He looked tired. He always did really, but now his body curled up and his head down.

Mary . . . didn’t have good views of gods. Ignoring major religions, because she was not getting into that right now, not without some strong alcohol.

Besides this seemed more like a Greek pantheon sort of thing.

So time to get information about who’s who and what’s what.

“Who are the god’s and what are they the god of?”

The pale king looked up at her before leaning back into his chair. “I am the Pale Light, God of Knowledge. The White Lady is also worshiped as The Root, Goddess of Growth. There is a slumbering Goddess of Leaf named Unn though her power has weakened. The enemy we are against is named Radiance the Goddess of Dream.”

The Queen too?!?

Mary took a deep breath. “Ok, So that’s all of the gods?”

“Those are all of the gods in Hallownest, but not all of the gods. We reside everywhere and have different levels of influence. Before I was a god I was apart of an ancient race of Wyrms. I believe that I ascended to Godhood because of my ability of foresight and I-“

“Foresight!? You can see the future?! THEN WHY THE HELL DIDN’T YOU SEE THIS COMING?!!!”

“It doesn’t work like that!”

Mary and the Pale King glared at one another. Mary panting from her screaming, and the Pale King with his mouth open and a low hissing noise coming from him.

The door opened again, and the Pale King and Mary both turned to yell at whoever had tried to pry into their fight. But were both taken aback by the sight of the White Lady.

She was in her chair and they could see the head of one of her gardeners peeking in the doorway just long enough to push her all of the way into the room before quickly shutting the door behind her.

There was an awkward moment of silence as the two stared at her, feeling guilty at their behavior.

“Husband. Storyteller. The retainers have informed me that you two seem to be having a disagreement about something, and thought that you might have need of a mediator.”

The White lady rolled herself closer, her tendrils dragging her closer to the pair, “Now, why don’t you two tell me what seems to be the problem. Husband? You go first.”

The Pale king was visibly cowed by his wife’s presence. There was a low hum that Mary only realized was there when he stopped making it. His wings, which had been flared out behind him to make him seem larger, settled back into their masquerade of a cloak and his body lowered itself back behind his desk instead of over it.

And with his disengagement, Mary realized that she herself had squared up her shoulders and thrust her chest out. Her chin was lowered and her fists were clenched.

Mary realized that she had been baring her teeth behind her mask and that her arms and legs had been tensed and ready to strike out.

Mary suddenly realized how close she came to fist fighting a god

The King seemed to test out a few sounds before saying, “The Storyteller had not known about our godhood, and had taken offense to it.”

Mary jolted, snapping her head toward the king, “That is not-“

The Queen’s voice cut through Mary’s words and silenced her instantly.

“It is not your turn to speak.”

Mary flinched back at the tone, but settled down like the child she was being treated like. It hurt her pride, but Mary and the King had already tried screaming at each other. Another person to stop them from going down that road again was probably needed.

The King continued, “She is angry that she had not been supplied all of the information that she thought she was owed.”

The Queen turned her head over toward Mary, “Is this correct Storyteller?”

Mary felt like she might pop from her anger, but she tried to force her voice out calmly.

“It is not . . . wrong. In my culture, gods are a touchy subject. Wars have been fought because people have been perceived to worship the ‘wrong’ god. Despite not being seen or even interacting with us, the gods where I am from have . . . mixed reputations. They are blamed for everything from the most wonderful events to the worst disasters. And these are simply explained as being a result of their moods. My culture generally thinks that gods consider us nothing more than distractions. That we have no worth outside of worshiping them. And we are to be punished if we do not.”

Mary lowered herself onto the seat that would let her rest her throbbing legs. The adrenaline that had surged through her at finding out gods were real had numbed the pain, but already her body was reminding her that she had hurt herself recently.

“So you might understand my  . . . reaction upon finding out that I was unknowingly working for gods. That the infection was caused by a god. That all of the hardship and death in this kingdom has been the results of two gods battling over a crop of worshipers to control.” The Pale King began to make a low hissing noise again, and Mary wished that he could see her snarl right back at him.

“But! You’re trying to fix it. You didn’t start it, and you aren’t the one killing people. I don’t know if you deserve all of this vitriol.” Mary flashed a hand up to stop the King from saying whatever he was about to and continued on in a louder voice, “But that doesn’t actually matter! Because you aren’t the one brainwashing people to commit murder, and aren’t the one making their zombie’s try to kill me. So. I am on your side.”

The King didn’t seem to know what to do with this lackluster declaration of loyalty, and honestly neither did Mary. There was a moment of silence as everyone thought over Mary’s words.

Mary took a deep breath and tried to make head way though her confusion.

“Ok, you are a god. So is the White Lady. We are going to trap the ghost of a god in the Hollow Knight. Fucking hell, there is so much I didn’t know! Do you have a history book or something? A list of common sense that I can read? It’s so damned hard to ask questions when all the bugs that I talk to already think that I know the answer! Like, Lurien was the one that had to explain to me how your currency worked because I couldn’t find a way to ask anyone!”

The King jerked his head toward her, “You didn’t know how Geo worked? But you had accepted the concept of a metaphorical stand in for a trade system so easily!”

Mary groaned.

“I know how money works, Pale King. What you all don’t seem to realize is that it’s not always a one to one! Like, where I’m from a single cent wouldn’t get you anything! A hundred would be needed for even a small purchase. Fifty at least! But here, you think in concepts of tens not hundreds. So ten of your geo would equal a hundred of my cents! I wasn’t sure how much a single geo was worth!”

The King stared at Mary for a few moments before delicately asking, “Just how advanced are your people? It took years of effort to make geo an acceptable currency in the entirety of Hallownest.”

Mary couldn’t help but laugh, she was talking to fucking bug Zeus about how dollars worked and still managed to be the weirdest thing in the room.

But now that she had been sidetracked from her anger, Mary began to more clearly see her situation.

It didn’t matter what she thought about gods personally. She was still stuck in Hallownest. Still relying on the King’s hospitality, unable and unwilling to escape his palace. She wouldn’t abandon these bugs that needed help, and she didn’t have anywhere to go anyway.

The fact that she worked for gods changed nothing. She would not worship them, and she suspected that they knew better than to ask at this point.

The White Lady spoke up again, perhaps sensing that even though the screaming was done, the fight was far from over.

“Is there something that can be done to help you? That we can help you with?”

Mary turned fully toward the Queen. The sudden thought that this was a god as well entering her mind.

But.

She was trying, making an attempt. Asking what she could do to help Mary.

“I need information. You have both told me nothing. I understand that many things appear as common sense to you, to all of the bugs of Hallownest. But you need to remember that I am not from Hallownest. I am a creature with different set of values and cultural norms. So. We need to communicate, I need to learn more about this world or I will trip over obvious truths such as this again and again.”

Mary leaned forward attempting to make eye contact with the Queen through her mask.

“I need to learn. And neither of you have the time to teach me, and I cannot ask my questions of the retainers or a common bug without putting my reputation at risk.” Mary cast a significant glance to the Pale King, “And you know why I must be believed to be knowledgeable and unruffled by all matters.”

The Queen gave her husband an unamused look at the obvious secret being communicated between the two but didn’t push the issue. Her husband had reasons to keep his secrets.

“If it is teaching you need, then I believe there is a bug uniquely suited to that.”

Mary hadn’t left the moment that the Queen decided that she was to meet the bug titled Teacher. It was actually about a week afterwards, to allow the Queen to arrange the meeting for the Teacher’s busy schedule. And lots of things happened in the interim.

For one, Mary and the Pale King had a tense debriefing session where Mary explained that she had somehow crucified the Mantis Lord.

It was unsettling to know that somewhere in the tunnels there was a bug that believed Mary was vicious enough to do that as a punishment, or that they themselves wanted to have that happen to the Mantis Lord.

But the Pale King wasn’t overly worried, even if he didn’t know who witnessed the crucifixion. It was likely that it was a bug from Deepnest who had gotten caught up in the cave in. And such a bug would not respond negatively to seeing Mary exercise such power. They respected strength and trickery, and Mary would have showcased both in her binding.

And another reason that the meeting was delayed, was because it would be a bit of a struggle to get to the archives, and Mary was still freshly wounded.

To the discontent of literally everyone.

No seriously, everyone was so frazzled about her being injured. Tinsy would fuss around her and bring pillows to her workbench and have her sit on at least three. The lecturing bug not letting her take a single step more than she had to, bringing her everything to where she had been placed.

Hornet somehow heard about her getting hurt and had gifted her with a tangle of sticky spider silk that the bugs of Deepnest used to close up wounds. She had also ordered Mary not to do anything that would open the cracks more until she had her next molt. Which had led them down a quick biology lesson where the little princess had her mind blown by the idea that there were bugs that didn’t molt.

The Queen had invited her for tea and had interrogated her about how long it would take her to heal. Tutting and fretting about what foods would speed it along and if there was anything growing in her garden that could help the Storyteller’s healing process. Something that could strength or toughen up her weak shell.

Even the King, once he had gotten over his hissy fit, had even tried to fuss at her while dripping soul from his hands even though he knew it wouldn’t do anything.

Such a fussy family!

The Hollow Knight was even worse somehow. Mary had told the Hollow Knight that a hot soak was good for bruises, and so now every evening they had managed to shoe horn their way into her room to fill up her glass jar. They would wait patiently beside the jar until Mary gave up and climbed into it to soak and let them wash her hair.

The second night after Mary had been all bruised up, she had stripped in front of the Hollow Knight and they had crowded her into the couch. They had frantically pointed at the most vivid bruise on her shoulder while their other hand squeezed her thigh, one of the few places that weren’t covered in bruises or scabs.

Mary had spent a lot of time assuring them that even though parts of her had turned a dark purple, that she was no worse off than yesterday.

Something must have made them think that it was a job for them to check her every day, because like clockwork they would be waiting at her door when she got done at the workshop. Scooping her up and carrying her back to her room to be taken care of. They would tug at her cloak every morning, asking with a three tugs, pause and repeat, to see her wounds. They had delicately glided with long fingers over her bruises and seemed to have been at least a little appeased with the visible lightening of shades, even if the changes in color still seemed to unsettle them.

Another hilarious thing is that the many retainers seemed to think that it was a good idea to never ever let Mary and the Pale King be alone ever again. They would just ‘forget’ to close doors or ‘suddenly’ remember a task that they had to discuss with the King, but on no take your time I’ll wait my turn.

She kind of got it. She yelled at a god. She was the one who created the dreamcatchers and the only one who could bind the infected. She was needed alive, and someone who screams at gods probably doesn’t last terribly long.

But still, it was frustrating to speak to the King about regular supply issues only to always have a nervous bug in the corner of the room who seemed prepared to go running for the Queen at the slightest hint of discontentment.

Mary would be more put out over it if it wasn’t for the fact that it probably was for her own good. She was still very angry about the god thing. She was sure that if left alone with the King for too long, she might end up arguing with him again.

And now that Mary had some time to get away from the situation and think about it, it was less that she hadn’t been told and more her own grievances with a hypothetical “god” then anything to do with the Pale King.

She hates the idea of someone or something having such control over her that she lashed out instantly when it was even hinted that a god that could control her.

It has made her hate the Radiance even more, beyond the horror of these bugs dying, now she hates her because she was forcing them to their death. And that she was doing so just because she is a god.

Mary will probably come to terms with her new revelations eventually, just like she had everything else, but for now? She was going to just focus on broadening her understanding of how this weird bug world works and not get surprised by anything else.

She will keep her cool and be totally unfazed by everything!

“That’s a flying jelly-fish.”

Mary was trying out this new idea where she just states facts about her surroundings and sees if anyone corrects her.

“No, that’s an uoma”

Mary took a deep breath and pressed her finger tips together and then she let it all out.

“A what?”

“An uoma! A rather docile creature, slow moving, and generally unaware of its surroundings though if you were to touch it you might get a nasty shock.”

“A shock?”

Not a sting?

“Yes! Uoma’s are creatures that are similar to luma flies, seeing as they also fly and give off light. Touching one can cause an odd numbing sensation and pain.”

Mary took a deep breath, reminded herself that these bugs lived under ground and as such probably didn’t know lightning or electricity was a thing, and that it didn’t even matter because everything was magical bullshit anyway, and let it out.

She made a gentle ‘ahh’ noise to let the bug that was leading her though the tight and narrow Fog Canyon know that she understood and refocused on just getting to the damn bug library.

It was taking a while to get there, mostly because Mary herself was causing a bit of a delay with her inability to scale the sides of the slick canyon. The bug who was leading her had to climb up ahead and then drop down a rope ladder that she could climb.

It was slow going, but without the Hollow Knight to carry her, it was the only way.

The Hollow Knight had not been allowed to come with her, the Teacher’s sent guard being judged enough for the trip to the archives.

From what little she had understood, the King tried to keep the Hollow Knight away from the Teacher. Apparently the Teacher had a habit of studying the Hollow Knight and ignoring everything else around them. A creature made of void fascinated them, and if given the chance they would poke and prod at the Pure Vessel until they were nearly physically removed.

The Hollow Knight had not been happy about this, squeezing her arm in a double pattern the entire time that they had stood side by side at the Stagway stop, waiting for her guide to arrive. Mary doubted that they would move an inch while she was gone, waiting for her return.

The Fog Canyon was a beautiful place full cool steam and floating jelly fish. There were even large bubbles that covered the ground and gently popped when they were brushed against.

Mary couldn’t help but feel like she had straight up changed planets. Because while all of the other places in Hallownest could hypothetically exist in the world she was familiar with, this one could not.

The entire place was covered in bubbles and the sizzle of acid echoed oddly in the strangely shaped place. It was entirely too alien for Mary who had gotten used to the bugs but apparently couldn’t handle a new biome.

As Mary dragged herself up the shaking ladder again, she tried to focus on how amazing the place looked. How interesting it was that this particular place seemed to function as an aquarium despite the air in her lungs. The way that the plant life would create bubbles from their photosynthesis. The coral like protrusions. The gently floating jellyfish  . . . . which actually, judging by their weird cores, might not be jelly fish at all?

Mary got closer to one of the smaller creatures, peering though it’s thin soap bubble skin to see it’s pulsing core. She flinched a little as it visibly buzzed with an electric charge, but continued to inspect it.

It . . . might actually be a plant? A way for these plants around the fog canyon to spread their seeds upward in a place that had neither wind nor creatures large enough to carry them.

And as the White Lady demonstrated with her simply being alive, it was entirely possible for plants to be “alive” in  way that allowed them to do magic.

Maybe that would explain the electricity?

Mary stepped back from the floating uoma with a head shake. She wasn’t here to mess with the wild life. Just to get to archives.

Mary turned back to where her guide was waiting for her.

The bug that had been sent to escort her to the archives was a bit of a whimsical individual, not at all troubled by her slow pace and need for assistance. They had even picked up on her ‘not question’ statements about her surroundings and had been both explaining the world around her and correcting her wrong assumptions.

They claimed to be a student of the Teacher, and as such always willing to learn.

“Quirrel? Are we close to the archives?”

The bug she had been following finished rolling up the ladder that she had just climbed from before turning to face her. “Ah yes, quite close! Just right through here, and we will see the archives!”

“Well, let’s go and see then.” Mary walked a step or so behind and to the side of the bug who was leading her, partially because she wasn’t sure where to go, but also so that she wouldn’t be in the way if he needed to draw his sword.

Mary had been taught by the other knights and guards how to, well, be guarded. It was very important to not walk on the side where the sword was, and just as important to not be directly behind the one guarding you. Just in case they needed to take a sudden step back.

The Hollow Knight was well above her height and had a habit of hovering over her while walking behind, so the same rules didn’t apply to them.

It was interesting to be out and about without the Hollow Knight with her. The world seemed both emptier and louder without their silent presence always a step behind her.

Mary followed Quirrel in to a wide open cavern that echoed with the sound of sizzling acid. There was a lake of the stuff with a building appearing to be built right in the middle of it all. The air above the lake was clogged with bubbles and with gently bobbing and much larger jellyfish. Vines dangled from the surprisingly low ceiling to hang just out of reach of the bubbling acid.

The area was well lit, though not consistently. It seemed as though the only light came from the windows of the archive itself, or from the flashes of electricity from the bobbing jellyfish

It was beautiful.

Quirrel who had let Mary stand in awe of the archives finally began to unroll the ladder that Mary would be descending down, a smile on his face as he prepared her way down.

“Welcome to the Archives, Storyteller.”

After walking down a metal path to the middle of the acid lake where the Archives were situated, Mary looked down into an open area where she could see a number of bugs scuttling around.
They went to and fro as they plucked vial from places in the walls and from stand on the floor, ladders strewn about across the area to allow one to go as far up as needed to select a vial from its precarious place.

Mary had been expecting it to be quiet in the archives. Mostly just because she expected it to be like a library, with the Teacher roaming around and shushing whomever was speaking above a whisper.

But the Archives were . . .  not loud exactly, but where a human place of knowledge would be a still and silent place, the Archives were bubbling with words and activity.

The groups of bugs she could see reminded Mary so vividly of young students, of aged academics, of people who went to college and had decided that they would simply never leave. They spoke together, their heads bent over their scattered notes on tables. They had debates in groups, blocking the wide paths as they yelled their opinions over each other. They sat in any place they could wedge themselves, small devices in their hands as they stared into the swirling depths of the vials in their hands.

It was a place of learning, of joyous study and exuberant ideas that were being tested against the minds of their colleagues the moment that they were thought.

It was not quiet.

But it was oddly enough, not loud. The great lake of acid that sat below the entire place, floors often just scaffolding above the bubbling liquid, created a constant low noise that seemed to swallow every sound that tried to echo off of the gleaming metal walls.

White noise that allowed you to be as loud as you wanted to be, while also drowning your voice for all that were not part of the discussion.

It was a surprisingly easy sound to tune out in just a few minutes of being inside of the Archives.

Mary had also not been expecting liquid. Stone tablets were what she had thought to see, since the bugs here didn’t seem to like flimsy materials much. But acid and glass was not what she had been expecting at all. And yet the archives were an absolute sewer of pipes full of acid and carefully packed away vials.

There was some carved metal signs and what appeared to be maps and catalogues, but all of the actual information was . . . kept . . .  in liquid form??

Mary plucked a vial from the wall next to her. As Mary held the little glass cylinder up to the light she squinted to look thorough the swirling green liquid. After a moment of concentration she finally began to see words float into being in the acid. The slivery words seemed to scroll across the vial disappearing once she was no long looking at them head on.

There had to be magic involved. There was literally no other way for this to work unless magic was involved.

Mary replaced the vial from the little cubby she had removed it, and looked in befuddlement at the sheer amount of vials available.

Mary literally did not know where to begin. She had all of the knowledge of the kingdom at her fingertips and she had not a single clue on where she wanted to start.

Should she read about the culture? The recent history? The different biomes? The areas around Hallownest? The laws of the kingdom?

She needed to have a foundation of general knowledge to build off of. She needed to know the same things that every single other bug that lived here knew.

She turned toward where Quirrel had been waiting for her to make a move.

“Do you have any lessons for children?”

Quirrel was not sure what to make of the bug titled Storyteller.

He had heard much about her,  having gathered information about her at the Teacher’s request.

The town that she had originated from, once a simple gruz raising village, is now a thriving pilgrimage stop, where one can pray at the shrine that was made of her old residence. The small round building having been absolutely covered in dreamcatchers and streamers until one might mistake it for a spider’s nest, if it weren’t for the absolute riot of color. All that remined of the inside was the wooden bed, now turned into a shrine table where people left tokens of thanks.

The common bugs only know that she wears a cloak and a mask that looks mournful. They speak of her as if she is an mystical and gentle bug who works tirelessly to insure that every bug can sleep safely. They regard her as a comfort, a reprieve from their fear. A savoir who has given them the tools they desperately need to protect themselves.

The noble bugs regard her as a mysterious individual that cannot be controlled, her motives unknown and actions unforeseeable. They perceive her as looking down at them with pity. That the help she offers comes with an implication that it will be repaid one day. That she will threaten them with her power the moment that she has them utterly reliant upon her ability.

There were rumors about her being a visitor to the City of Tears pleasure house, having been accompanied by a large noble bug who paid with a King’s Seal. That she would use the King’s Pure Vessel to threaten any who displease her. That she comes from savage land. That she is from Deepnest and is pretending to be from a far land. That she eats living bugs.

The difference in rumors reeks of sabotage, of purposeful sowing of discontent. It also points toward who is doing the sowing as well. Obviously someone of the noble class has some agenda against the Storyteller, and they are not in contact with any bug that they would perceive as being below their station. A bit of back tracking will need to be taken, but it shouldn’t be hard to find the root of these false rumors.

The only thing that the rumors can agree on is that she is very powerful, and that her dreamcatchers work.

Quirrel took another look at the Storyteller. She was of a regular size, perhaps a little taller than the average bug of Hallownest. She was slower than he had been expecting, and the ladder that Mononom had told him to bring had been of great use.

With her face and entire body hidden below mask and cloak it was hard to get an idea of what she was thinking. How she was responding to the world around her.

He had not gleamed much about her during the journey to the Archives, but that she would make odd statements about her surroundings and would accept any response without any other comment or question.

He had been proud at her astonishment of the Archives, her wonder being visible even though her coverings from the way that her mask had faced the wonderous building, from the way that her body did not move while she looked upon it.

It was humbling in a way to know that where ever this bug had come from, whatever grand things she had seen or done, she was still in awe of the Archives.

The place that Monomon built for anyone who wished to learn.

He forgot sometimes, how amazing the place he lived was.

Quirrel had watched as the Storyteller had looked about the Archives, her masked face turning this way and that. She was surely startled by the uncouth and rowdy bugs that called this place their home. Their loud yelling and ruffled appearances differing greatly from the noble bugs she was more familiar with.

The Teacher had a habit of luring in troublesome bugs and making them question everything they had ever been told, until they were the ones who began to ask questions.

Quirrel himself had been one such bug that had been lured in by the Teacher’s teasing and snipping remarks. Had followed her all the way home to try and prove that he did know what he was doing with the sword in his hand, that he wanted to be living as a mercenary.

He had woken up one day, a year after walking into the Archives, to the sudden realization that she had tricked him into staying. That he was much more relaxed and happy living in the loud, hectic, and free archives than he ever had been when he had been a part of the mercenary company.

She had laughed at him when he had confronted her. Her large body shaking as she had looked down at him. He himself had been at quite a loss at what to do with the realization that she had domesticated him months ago, and that it had taken him a year to realize her plan.

Quirrel was shaken out of his musings by the sight of the Storyteller holding an acid vial. She had lifted it toward the light, as if trying to make out what information was inside of it.

Quirrel had stepped forward, about to inform her that she would need an extra device to draw out the contents dissolved in the acid when he saw words begin to solidify in the acid.

He stopped in shock as he watched the Storyteller draw out the dissolved words from the acid without an extractor.

He was struck suddenly, by the knowledge that this bug was quite powerful, no matter how unassuming she appeared to be.

When she turned back to him after replacing the vial, she asked for their children’s lessons.

Quirrel was confused, “You wish for information about childcare?”

The Storyteller shook her head, her cloak shuddering with the motion, “No, the lessons you give children. The most basic information that every bug in Hallownest is taught at their youngest. I do not need to know how the world around me works in its completion. I do not need the details, the hidden truths of things. I need to know what everyone knows, whether or not it is actually true.”

The Storyteller raised another vial to the light, drawing out the words by herself once more. Performing a miracle as easily as Quirrel could sharpen his blade, uncaring of the wonder she was doing.

“What you are told as a child last with you longer than you think. Whether it is a truth, a lie, or simply a story to explain a complex truth in a way a child can manage, they stay with you. Many people do not go looking for more details when their simple truths and lies work for what they need them to.”

Quirrel couldn’t help but cast his mind back to his own mother’s words about fire, so long ago. She had told him that it was a captured animal that would eat anything he put near it and would try to bite him if he got close to it. He had been too young to understand what a burn was, but had been nipped by tik-tiks before and was familiar with something trying to bite.

And even now, years later, he couldn’t help but regard flames as little vicious animals one must be careful around.

“We, ah, have children’s stories? They have morals and are variations of what parents have told their children for years in Hallownest?”

The Storyteller stared at Quirrel for a few moments before she nodded once.

“That will be a place to begin.”

Bug literature had a lot to be desired.

Though to be fair, “Mossy’s Exciting Creep!” was for children, and did manage to let the reader know that it was very important to stay on the paths in Greenpath.

The stories for bug children had a habit of personifying everything as well. From the weapon’s used, to the charms attached, and the very environments that the adventure takes place, everything lets the reader know it’s opinion of what was going on.

It makes Mary wonder if it is prepping the children for finding out that one of the Royalty is technically a plant, or if there are lots of technically alive things in the kingdom.

Mary writes it down on her little chalk slate to ask about and goes back to her pile of vials.

Each one has a small story on it, and apparently the amount of information placed inside of the vial doesn’t really effect its size. She’s managed to read quite a lot on her time, and had managed to acquire a list of questions.

There were a lot of little things that stood out to her. Mary had slowly come to the realization that the bugs of Hallownest did not have the Rule of Three. There were no three sibling stories, no third choices, no three tasks.

Instead the stories of Hallownest had pairs. They were not always a black and white option either. There wasn’t a good and bad in most stories, no obvious choice. But two halves of a whole. Often the lesson in the story would be that you don’t just chose one, but instead worked with both.

It was interesting.

Mary looked up when someone had come near her, only to see that it was Quirrel again, having taken some of her used vials to put back in their places.

She was so happy that she had been given Quirrel to help her. The bug had barely questioned her reading material and had simply seemed amused when she kept asking for more, the pile of discard vials growing larger and larger as time went on.

He was also indispensable in keeping the other academics away. Mary knew that he had been gently escorting away any bug who had been coming toward her.

How polite!

“Storyteller? The Teacher will be able to see you now.”

Yes! Finally!

Mary got up from her seat, gently placing vials out of the way so that she wouldn’t knock them to the ground. She grabbed her little slate and nodded at the bug waiting to lead her.

She was finally going to talk to the Teacher! A bug that the King and Queen had assured her would be able to answer her every question and wouldn’t let it get out that she had needed such questions answered.

A bug that the King had begrudgingly assured her would tell her anything she wanted to know, whether or not they had been ordered to secrecy.

Mary was led past the milling students and through the halls.  Quirrel’s intended destination seemed to be a large door that had recently opened, allowing a flood of bugs to come flowing out. Mary and Quirrel made their way past the doors into a large amphitheater type room, with bleachers built in increasingly narrowing circles until there was only a round hole in the floor filled with a pool of acid.

On top of the acid stood an oddly thin bug wearing a mask and cloak.

“Greetings Teacher! I present to you, the Storyteller.”

The mask turned toward them, and the bug began to rise up.

And up.

And up.

A wide bell like membrane rose and below it long waving tentacles dripped acid down into the hole in the ground. The membrane was a faint green, as if it was made out of the acid itself.

The Teacher spoke to Mary, her voice reminding Mary of harp strings, as if there was more going on to allow this creature to speak than the simple movement of air.

“Welcome Storyteller. I am Monomon the Teacher. I have been told that you have questions.”

Mary stared up at the flying, talking, completely sentient jellyfish in front of her.

“I have so many questions.”

Chapter Text

 “How do bugs in Hallownest deal with the seasons?”

“Seasons? Can you explain?”

Mary looked up from where she had been making new notes to stare in bewilderment at the floating jellyfish.

 Monomon reminded Mary vividly of a college professor who had long since become unfireable and was enjoying tenure.  Those types professors that really really enjoyed their jobs. You know, those people that saw Miss Frizzle and Bill Nye when they were children and decided that they were going to be like that but in real life.

They had moved from the auditorium to a balcony like landing that allowed Mary to be on the same level as Monomon despite her hovering out in open air. They were far enough away from the other bugs who dotted other landings to give the impression of privacy, their words being swallowed up by the acid below.

Mary had already gotten some holes in her knowledge filled. Simple things like, what foods are available underground, if cooking their food was mandatory, who the neighbors were (bees!), and how advanced their weaponry was (Monomon was fascinated by the idea of bows and arrows). And she was beginning to slowly get into her questions of what the world was like here, not just the culture. But every now and then she had to switch her words around, mary having used too precise of a terminology for a concept that the bugs of Hallownest had not quite come across yet.

“Umm, the change in the weather outside? Does it not get cold enough to freeze water or hot enough to burn? There is also a possibility of it becoming incredibly dry or flooded I suppose, though I am not personally familiar with those climates.”

Monomon seemed to think deeply before responding.

“There are records of times when rain comes down much more constantly and some tunnels get blocked by water. But the periods in which that happens are so far apart . . . . Did where you come from often have seasons?”

Mary tilted her head, “Yes? We had four. Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring. Summer is the hottest, generally a time of drought. Fall is a cooler time with a slow decline in plants while also being a time of harvest. Winter is a freezing cold time where you can die from the cold and snow covers the ground. And Spring is when the weather starts to warm up again and the plants wake up from their hibernation and begin to flower. This must be quite a temperate place if you’ve not noticed a difference in temperature?”

“Mmm, perhaps. I’m afraid that I do not leave the caverns often, so I would not know that.”

Mary waved a hand at Monomon. “Nah, it’s fine. Having no answer so sometimes just as good as having an answer. You don’t have any special procedures for seasons because you do not have seasons. My question still got answered.”

Mary checked her notes. She had gained a lot of information about the environment, some nagging little things that had been haunting her and tripping her up.

“Moving on, how does Hallownest deal with the dangerous of the kingdom? Are their jobs that shore up the tunnels and keep the predators at bay or is magic involved in some way?”

Quirrel’s voice spoke up this time, “Storyteller, what exactly do you mean the dangers of our kingdom? I admit with our current infection, we had been safer in the past, but you speak as though there is a more constant danger?”

Mary, already in a flow of the give and take that the conversation had been going along, answered immediately. “Where I am from, we have a much more stable environment. We mostly live on the surface with a stable ground below us. We avoid sudden drops or sheer surfaces that must be traveled. Quirrel can tell you how slow I am to travel with! I cannot get far in your kingdom without lots of assistance.”

Mary made a quick note on her slate, meaning to ask how the less mobile bugs go about the kingdom before continuing with her answer.

“And that is to say nothing of all of your more aggressive species of non-sentient bugs.” Mary thought of the Squits that had been all too willing to take a bite her. Of the Fool Eater that the Hollow Knight had dragged her away from. “It is an odd experience to be hunted.”

Mary had been a bit lost in thought so she didn’t see the way that Monomon paused, her large body stilling for a few moments before she asked another question.

“Were there no predators in your home?”

“Hmm? Oh, no there were. Just none that hunted my species. We generally kept to our cities and predators that were large enough to concern us were generally far and few between. If anything too dangerous wandered into a populated area, it would either be removed by trained professionals or killed if deemed to dangerous to move.”

Quirrel placed a hand on the nail at his side, seemingly wondering how he would do against a danger in a town instead of the barren tunnels, “The towns use magic to repel non-sentient bugs and other dangerous, but if there is a particularly aggressive creature that has been roaming a tunnel then the king will deploy knights to eliminate it.”

Mary hummed in understanding before moving on to the next question that had been bothering her.

When a bug is considered an adult? All of the insects of Hallownest had different markers for adulthood and it differed wildly between species.

Size or age alone wasn’t a good indicator because a bug could have a very long larval state or go straight into their adult size after the first molt! Mary had seen grubs that she had thought were adults only to find out were children when they had spoken to her, and had seen miniscule little bugs that had talked like grandpas.

“How do you judge if a bug is an adult or not?”

The answer turned out to be a problem solving test. Bug could petition to be acknowledged as a mentally matured being long before they had their final molt. They could take the test once a year, and if the bugs giving the test acknowledged the fact that they were mentally matured they would be given a pin that signaled them as an adult.

“Do all bugs need this pin?”

“No, the test is generally reserved for insects with many metamorphosis states or with long nymph stages of life. For all others, size is still be a good indicator if a bug was matured or not. And if needs must then one can simply ask.”

Monomon lowered her mask down a bit, a tentacle curling around the banister that Mary had been leaning against.

“How does your species tell apart a child from an adult?”

Mary had been writing on her slate, not really paying attention so the words came out of her mouth without much thought.

“Oh, size is a very good indicator for young children, but we are only considered an adult once we turn eighteen years old.”

“ . . . 18 years?”

“Yeah, we really care about age for a variety of reasons. We physically mature at pretty different speeds according to out sexes. Like, the females of my species all become able to produce offspring at about 12 or 13 years of age, but we are children at that point. And males of my species only really start to physically mature at about 15 or 16 even though they also could impregnate a female at about 12. My species as a whole only reach physical maturity early but only reach mental maturity at around 25. But we become too independent in our teen years and early twenties to allow our parents to ever control us willingly. So, we are considered adults at 18 by the rules in our society if not by the actual culture.”

Mary continued on, “So we are lawfully adults at 18. But we are not finished growing mentally, and it is considered a crime to approach someone under the age of 18 sexually or romantically no matter what. Even if they are 18, if there is a significant distance in age then society as a whole regard the relationship as predatory and will shame the older partner.”

Mary turned to look at the two bugs with her, finishing her speech, “We keep careful track of the exact time that we are ahh, hatched and celebrate that day every year, to grow older is a cause for celebration.

Mary considered if her own birthday had passed while she was in Hallownest. Surely it had, but who knows what time of year it even was here. Maybe she would get some honey for a treat and celebrate with Hornet and the Hollow Knight.

Monomon gently broke into her thoughts.

“A year?”

“Oh yes! It’s not that long of time, but my species has a terrible tendency to grow large amounts in very short amounts of time. Hurts like hell.”

“ . . . Storyteller, you are referencing measurements of time that I am not familiar with, please tell me how many hours are in a year.”

Mary couldn’t help herself. She boggled at the jelly fish in front of her.

“Hours? Monomon, there are 365 days in a year! I don’t know the number of hours off the top of my head!”

It was Monomon’s turn to boggle back at Mary.

“What?! So many? Why such an odd number??! And a day is such an imprecise measurement?”

“What do you mean imprecise? We measure a day by hours! 24 of them! How do you measure it?”

“It’s how long a bug is awake between sleeps?!? And why do you measure them in 24 hours? The clocks only go to 10!”

“What? What the fuck?”

Mary and Monomon just flailed at each other in confusion, Mary’s cloak fluttering in a mess while Monomon’s tentacles noodled in the air. Both of them unable to understand how the hell there was such a difference in understanding about something as straight forward and simple as how to track time.

Eventually Quirrel stepped between the two women, trying to keep the peace. “Ahh, Storyteller, Teacher, perhaps we are in need of a break? Then we can return to discussing this, but surely, we have been working for too long and need a few moments to relax. Monomon, you are due for a dip! And Storyteller, I have been informed by your retainer that you require water often. I’ll just-”

As Monomon gently sank out of sight to dip herself in the acid, Quirrel looked over the balcony and waved his hand a few times at one of the bugs below. Once he got their attention, he made a few motions with his hands. The other bug’s antennas raised and the nodded once before rushing off.

“There, Clive will get use some refreshments, and we can simply relax for a while. Perhaps we should turn the conversation away from this topic? Perhaps I can answer one your simpler questions Storyteller?”

Mary was not to be dissuaded. “It’s, it’s time Quirrel! How can you all not have a measurement for a year? Do you not have weeks or months either?!? Do you not keep track of your age?!? I know you have seconds and minutes but . . . ten. Monomon said ten hours. Do you count everything in amounts of ten?”

Quirrel was unsure of how to deal with the frantic Storyteller, but at least she was asking a question she could answer. “Yes, we do? It makes it easier to keep track of. Storyteller, why are you so obsessed with time?”

Mary paused.

Oh, she supposed that she was, wasn’t she?

“It’s because . . . in my home, time is a very relevant part of our lives? We had figured out how to measure it. We tracked the movement of the sun to learn just how much light we would have in a day. Then we split the day into 24 hours. 60 minutes in an hour and 60 seconds in a minute. We learned the exact number of days in a year, and then split those days into months, and then those months into seasons. My people are constantly aware of the passage of time. The ever-constant march of time. Of time spent and time wasted. Of death crawling closer with ever second that you live.”

“Death?” Quirrel chirped, seeming to be confused at where this had come from.

Mary relaxed a bit, letting some of the panicked tension out of her shoulders as she answered Quirrel’s honest question.

“Yes, death. My people have come very far in medical advancements, very far in lengthening our natural lives as far as they can. We learned in such detail how our bodies work that it became a profession to cut open the living and sew up their insides to fix injuries and disease. We chased off death to the point that the most common end for my kind is our own minds and bodies to become crushed under their own age. Of our minds and bodies being unable to continue farther through the passage of time. Like, like a rock in a stream! If I live for too long, my mind and body will erode, not because of anything damaging happening but simply because I become worn out.”

Mary rolled her head over to where Quirrel stood, her mask tilted down. “Not that I would really want to live for too long. Living for too long makes you go mad.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s one of the reasons that my species is obsessed with time and death. Because if you lived for forever, you would run out of things to experience, things to do, reasons to be living. Not to mention the great question of even if you lived for forever, what if everyone else didn’t? You would watch everyone you love age and die, and maybe you’ll make new friends and lovers, only to watch them die. Any children you have, you’ll out live as well. In my culture, there are few worse fates than being a parent and having a child die before you. Eventually you would cut yourself off from everyone, just not to feel that loss anymore.”

The balcony was silent for a few moments, as Mary’s dower words hung in the air. The sound of acid the only sound that could be heard as Quirrel looked nearly sick at Mary’s words.

It was in this silence that the bug that Quirrel had waved over arrived. He very gently placed a small plate of some odd-looking leaves on the table and a small cup with a straw pocking out of it.

“Quirrel signed that you would need the calming tea. I hope I added enough honey to your taste.”

And then with a gentle head nod the two bugs were once more left alone.

Mary frowned behind her mask, disliking being treated like she a frail young lady who had to be plied with calming teas to keep from fainting. Yes, sure, she supposed that her and Monomon were going in circles there, but excuse her for having a minor panic about there being a misunderstanding about something like time!

Like, yes, in their defense, they lived underground and so whether or not the sun was out was probably not super important to them, but like . . . why was the terminology the same?!? And, ok, sure Mary also would refer to a day as how long she was awake, but like . . .

Ok fine. The mistake was understandable but Mary was still ticked.

So petty revenge it was.

“So, Quirrel, I have a question that I think you can answer. You are a bug that is very familiar with the different species of Hallownest, yes?”

Quirrel seemed surprised to suddenly have the Storyteller’s full attention, and at the odd sweet tone that her voice had taken.

“Ah? Yes? I have lived here for years and have met a sample of all of the different species of Hallownest. IT’s not terribly hard to do as a student of the Teacher.”

Mary folded her hands below her mask, “Oh, sampled the bugs of Hallownest have you? Perfect! I must admit that my species were a bit secluded and I rarely had a chance to meet a new bug while at home, but here I am spoiled for choice. So, as I was going to ask the Teacher before we got confused, how do the different bugs of Hallownest fornicate?”

Quirrel, who had been following along with Mary’s words with an air of confusion, nearly choked on his own spit. “Wh-what?!”

Mary smiled meanly as she left the rail to literally stare the bug down, “Oh, you see my species have a very particular way to do it, but I do not think it could be replicated with a bug as differently shaped as say you or Monomon. But a bug as traveled and curious as you have surely explored all of the different ways the bugs of Hallownest have sex. So please, tell me of your findings!”

“Wait! Wait! I- I don’t think that- “

Quirrel backed away from the slowly approaching Storyteller, her cloak seeming to spread out to make her even larger as the flickering lights of the Archives caused odd shadows on her mask. He could not see, but heard the teeth baring smile that was in her voice.

“Ohhh? I was promised that my every question could be answered in the archives? Or are you saying that you have never had sex with a different bug?”

“I- I’m not without experience, but Storyteller- “

Mary slammed her hands onto either side of the panicking bug, bracketing him in as she put her masked face closer to his own. His eyes widening as his vision was filled with the mourning mask, and his hearing filled with the sickly sweetness of the Storyteller’s crooning.

“Perfect! Now, in detail, how does one sexually pleasure a bug of Hallownest?”

Monomon floated in her acid lake. Her body drinking in the acid and refilling the reserves that allowed her to float in the air of Hallownest.  Her limbs keeping her steady in the bubbling acid around her.

Monomon’s thoughts were wound around the comments of the Storyteller. So many little things that the woman lets slip through, so many details that add to make such an odd picture. So many questions asked and even more unasked that cause Monomon to draw  . . .  conclusions.

The Storyteller is not a bug.

Monomon does not yet know what the Storyteller is, but it is neither bug nor plant.

The Storyteller did not ask the questions that are common of visiting bugs. She did not question how carnivores bugs could reframe from eating other sentient bugs. She took it as a forgone conclusion that one did not eat what was sentient.  Instead she asked about how they farmed their food, already aware of the concepts of raising creatures and plants for consumption, something that many foreign bugs struggled with.

The Storyteller asked Monomon how to be a bug, not how Hallownest bugs were. She asked in detail why antennas touching someone was more invasive than hands, why smaller male bugs were considered more attractive, why being in water was considered instant death.

The Storyteller knew how to exist in a society as advanced as Hallownest, but didn’t know how to exist amongst bugs.

All of these things could still be waved away. Perhaps her species have difference cultural norms, in fact it is assured that they do, but it was the little details that allowed Monomon to understand just what she was dealing with.

As a floating species, Monomon has to be aware of the air.  She has to know exactly how the air is flowing around her or else she will be tossed in the wind no matter how she flails her limbs. She has to know exactly what foretells a change in the air currents and must know instinctively how to use them to her advantage.

And one of the things that effect air, is heat.

The Storyteller gives off enough heat to almost imperceptibly effect the air around her, nothing so grand as a change in current, but the air above her is always rising with the heat it is infused with.

Bugs do not, cannot, create heat like this.

The energy that would be needed to create a constant heat like that would be outrageous, it would break down the body faster, it would need for the individual to constantly change! Like, a constant molt in order for the used material to be sloughed off and new martial to come into place. If a bug lived like that, the bug would not live long.

Monomon had been trying to think of a way to delicately ask for a live span, for if the Storyteller was nearing the final stage of her life. For if her species burnt out as quickly as a candle.

And then the Storyteller had said that they had a method of time measurement that was long enough to encompass a bug’s 365 sleeps. Even ignoring the obvious difference in sleep periods for various species, that would still be quite a long time. A period of time that would outlast some species entire pupa periods!

And then she said that one had to live 18 years to even be considered an adult.

That fact that she was an adult, was obvious.

Compared to a bug, the Storyteller was very old.

The Storyteller might be ancient.

Monomon suddenly understood why the Storyteller’s species might track time so slavishly. What she wouldn’t give herself for an accurate log of hours from the beginning of Hallownest to now. The math involved would be a harsh task, and perhaps they would have to devise a set “day” and “year” period like the Storyteller’s people, but to know without a doubt which was older, the Storyteller or Hallownest, would be a discovery all its own.

Monomon tilted her head up to where she left her favorite student and the Storyteller.

She had a creature in her Archives, one that might be as old as the Pale King. Who had lived in an advanced society full of creatures just like her.

She might have been alive before the founding of Hallownest, perhaps even before the Pale King ever made his way here! She might be old enough to be even predate the . . .

. . .

Monomon surged up through the acid, suddenly desperate to see if the Storyteller might be able to cast some light on ancient questions that had been plaguing her.

Monomon bursts from the acid, the chemicals in her body interacting with the air and filling her bell with the gas she needs to float upwards.

When she finally became level with the balcony where she left her student and visitor she saw an odd sight.

Her favorite student, curled up in an embarrassed ball, his antenna pressed flat to his head and his hands clutching the Storyteller’s slate and chalk. On the slate was a rudimentary drawing of a male bug’s genitals.

The Storyteller hovered over his shoulder seeming to be watching avidly as she sips at a cup of tea.

Monomon can taste that the air is thick with Quirrel’s embarrassment, nerves, and . . . arousal?

“Huh, so that’s what they look like. Now, how good are you at drawing positions- “

“Storyteller!” Monomon didn’t mean to shout, but she was a bit excited over the possibilities running through her mind.

At her loud exclamation her favorite student threw the slate over the far banister and fell to the floor as if he had been caught committing a crime.

The Storyteller spun around to face her and threw her arms out as if to fend off an attack.

“I was just- “

Monomon cut the Storyteller off, “I have something I want you to read. Quirrel get off the floor and lead the Storyteller to my private office. I will meet you there.”

And with those orders, not giving them time to question or argue, Monomon deflated herself and dropped back into the acid. She swam for her office.

Quirrel had practically run through the halls to get to the Teacher’s private offices. He could smell his own embarrassment and knew that even if the Storyteller seemed to be oddly smell blind, that the others in the halls could smell that he was flustered and aroused.

He had never thought that the Storyteller would ever ask him about that, not in such detail and not with the demand for personal anecdotes! Her questions about where the erogenous zones on the common bug were and his own experience with their use had made him remember his last tryst in a bit too much detail.

Perhaps those rumors about her frequenting the pleasure house were not entirely slander?

Quirrel only just stopped long enough to let the Storyteller catch up before he was wrenching the door to the Teacher’s private office open and beginning the long trek down.

Monomon’s office was at the bottom of the Archives in the deepest point of the lake. A place that was safest for her to be and the most secure area. After all, nothing could survive a dip in the acid below but for her.

Quirrel came to the main office, a large glass room with a hole in the middle to allow Monomon easy entry.

Quirrel had no idea what Monomon wanted the Storyteller to see in here, but was thankful all the same for the opportunity to get out of public while he was still releasing pheromones.

He began to bustle around the work place, opening cabinets and drawers to pretend to be busy so that the Storyteller wouldn’t try and continue their conversation.

“What . . . is this”

Quirrel nearly flinched into the acid when the Storyteller’s quiet voice sounded out form behind him. He turned to look, almost afraid of what she wanted to know.

The Storyteller had stopped to stare into the drawer he had left open, seemingly enthralled with what she saw. She gently reached in and pulled out something large and white.

It was the empty head of a Vessel. It had two short horns that were curled just a touch forward. She seemed to be entranced by its wide empty eyes.

Relaxing slightly at the different topic at hand, Quirrel walked close to join her in staring at the item, “Ah, that is the empty shell of a vessel. The Teacher was given such by the king when the Pure Vessel had first hatched. The king had panicked quite a bit, summoning the Teacher to the white palace. Apparently, the Pure Vessel had been incredibly delicate upon it’s hatching, a single touch of another bug or of a sharp object would not only damage it but also disrupt it’s form enough to kill it. This is the shell of one of the vessels that had been damaged before ever leaving the abyss. Monomon had used it to figure out what materials could touch the void without it dissolving.”

The Storyteller’s body twitched oddly, “Hatched? I had thought that the Hollow Knight had been created by the king.”

Quirrel nodded a few times as he wondered away to collect the instruments that Monomon would surely need. “Oh yes, it was. But for something to be alive it must still be hatched. The Pure Vessel began in an egg as everything does, made from the Pale King and White Queen in the, cough, usual way, then dipped in void. Nothing can survive exposure to the void, so the black eggs were then carefully injected with a solution to bring new life to the dead eggs. The Pale King kept a vigil of months down in the abyss, waiting for something to hatch from the eggs. And when they finally had, he sent for the Teacher.”

Quirrel cast his mind back to that trip, having to haphazardly attach a large jar of acid to the back of a Stag and having to very slowly make their way to the white palace.

When they had finally made their way into the palace, the jar being dragged behind them, they had come to see the dubious sight of their king, the bug that was their leader, clinging to a chandelier dangling in the middle of a large room with a single small bug directly below them, their head tilted back to stare at the king.

The king hadn’t been able to move from that chandelier for a few days, yelling down questions and comments as Monomon had thought up different possibilities and offered them to the king.

Eventually they had figured out that the tiny pure vessel would automatically absorb soul from the hot springs, and that the soul would strengthen its shell.

There had been a few tense moments where Quirrel had been the one tasked with gently poking the tiny Pure Vessel with a stick, but when all that had happened was the vessel turning to look at him, they had celebrated.

The Pale King had finally descended from the chandelier and, queerly enough, had embraced the vessel with shuddering wings. Though Quirrel supposes that the relief of finally having a creation that would be able to contain the infection must have gotten to him, god or not.

Although...

“I wonder what happened to rest of them?”

The Storyteller looked up from where her fabric covered hands had been stroking the empty shell’s horns, “The rest of them?”

“Oh yes, there were a number of eggs that were dipped in the void. Around ten? But other than this shell and the Pure Vessel the King never mention the others. Perhaps they didn’t hatch? A few eggs were expected to not pull through but all but two seems a bit unlikely.”

Quirrel’s musings were cut off by the sound of splashing acid. Monomon was rising from her entrance at the far side of the room.

There was work to be done, the Teacher wanted the Storyteller to read something, and Quirrel had a sneaking suspicion just what that could be.

Mary stared down at the small black item sitting on the table before her. Monomon had been frantic in giving it to her, seeming to think that Mary would be able to understand how to open it.

Mary had been sad to tell her that she didn’t have a clue, causing the jelly fish to visibly deflate in front of her, but had offered to give it a chance to see if she could find something that they couldn’t.

But only if they kept their distance while she was studying it. They had agreed readily enough, but had warned her to be very careful. The egg was old and fragile.

Mary very purposely put her back to the two bugs as she pulled her sleeves back. Her hands immediately felt the chill of the air as she reached out to pick up the object in front of her.

The arcane egg was black and shiny, but it didn’t feel like it was made out of a black and shiny material. It was actually quite rough? Not quite stone but something that really should not have been reflecting the light like it was.

It actually made Mary think of something stained with oil, but when she looked at her fingers they remained clean of whatever must have been rubbed all over the egg.
Mary trailed her fingers over the surface of the egg, her skin catching on the minor imperfections of the shell. She didn’t understand how this could possibly be a thing to contain knowledge, how this could be read.

But . . . it was an egg. Perhaps there was a way to open it?

Mary began to turn the egg, scratching her nails over its surface, looking for a hinge or a crack, something that would allow it to be opened.

And just as she thought that she had searched the entire thing, her nail caught on something on the very bottom of the egg. She flipped it over to get a closer look and saw nothing. But her fingertips felt something there.

She picked at it a few more times until her nail tip seemed to slip into something, Mary twisted her finger and the egg split open in her grasp.

Mary sucked in a lung full of air, even as her eyes bulged in horror. Had she just broken the egg?!? She quickly set it down on the table as it continued to split apart, something inside unfolding and opening up, and then that something unfolding and opening up until there was something resembling a flower where the egg once was, layers and layers of thin petals split open to reveal a tiny little ball at the center.

Mary could just barely see something carved into the center of the ball, but disregarded it at the sudden movement behind her.

Quirrel and Monomon had rushed forward, her request for space being forgotten as the arcane egg had opened. Mary flinched away as the nerds both went mad at the sight of the opened egg.

“This is amazing! How did this- “

“Incredible! This mechanism is so intricate- “

“-carvings on every petal-

“-look how fine the screws- “

“-surely an important- “

“-the first of its kind- “

“But what does it say!”

The two bugs were nearly tangled together as they fluttered around the opened egg. Monomon’s many tentacles nearly knotting together as she lowered herself to be at head level with the egg. Her mask getting almost close enough to tap the petals as she tried to get a good angle to look. Quirrel darted to and fro grabbing instruments off of the walls to get a closer look at every part of the egg. Using a device for just a moment before seemingly having an idea and going to grab another, the small metal devices littering the floor as he discarded them as he went to grab another.

Mary watched the nerds work. They talked over each other and to each other in equal measure, something one of them saying setting the other off while they both seemed to be terrified at even touching the thing between them, afraid to damage one of the petals.

Monomon raised her face slightly from the petals, “Storyteller, will you read what it says?”

Mary slowly got closer to the opened egg, making sure to stay away from the still muttering Quirrel as she got within touching distance.

There were obvious carvings on the petals but Mary couldn’t figure out how they were supposed to be read with how splayed out they were, but as she looked at the small ball in the center, she could just barely make out the words carved around its surface.

In the beginning of the-

And then there wasn’t room for more.

Mary stared hard at the weird device in front of her, at the joints and the gears and the springs that she could see at the base of the flower and she had an idea.

She wrapped her sleeve in her fist to keep the fabric contained, and so very gently, with just her knuckles, she pressed down on the little ball in the center.

The other bugs in the room seemed to hold their breath as the Storyteller once more touched the delicate egg and with her gently press the ball went down, and when she removed her hand, the ball gently rose, and with it the first layer of petals closed around it, allowing more to be read.

“Oh, that’s how you do it.”

As Mary looked at the now visible carved letters she was suddenly struck by the fact that it was very hard to see the letters carved into this black matte material. While the outside shined, the inside swallowed the bright lights shining on it.

It would be difficult to read with just light alone, but if she traced the words as she read them . . .

Mary glanced at the fluttering scientists beside her. They were so excited to have the egg opened and to figure out how it worked. Maybe if she just told them to read it?

But . . .

Monomon didn’t look like she would have the dexterity to read such small carvings, and Quirrel’s fingers were just as hard as all the other bugs she had seen.

You would need soft sensitive hands to read this with ease.

Mary took a deep breath and decided that it would be fine. Monomon was a damned jelly fish. There were gods and talking plants and magic in this kingdom! A weird hand wouldn’t even be a blip on their radar.

Mary very purposely did not look at the bugs beside her as she rolled up her sleeves and tied a loose knot in the fabric. Now her hands were able to easily poke out of the ends and she placed both of her pale little hands on the egg and began to read out loud before they could ask her any questions.

In the beginning of the existence, there was Everything. But as all things change, so did Everything. Everything separated into two beings, the Life and the Void.

The Life opened its eyes to darkness and felt a fear so strong it made itself glow to chase the darkness away. The Void opened its eyes to a glow so beautiful it would follow it forever. And so, began the dance of Life and Void.

Life forever running away and Void forever following.

The Life ran from the Void, fearful of its grasping limbs and the Void would reach for the Life desperate to hold the wonderful glow.

The Life would create obstacles for the Void behind it, creating plants to tangle the Void in. The Life created decoys, the first bugs, to try and hide amongst. The Void would willingly consume these plants, reveling in the gifts that Life had left for it. The Void would hold these bugs, cherishing the likeness that Life had given it.

The chase lasted ages, long enough to for the Life to have spread creatures and plants far and wide for the Void to hold and consume, if only to give the Life a moment’s respite.

But the Life was a delicate creature, terrified and desperate, and eventually the Life could no longer run.

The Void captured the Life, and drew it struggling into its embrace. The Life, exhausted from its running, fearfully slept in the arms of its captor. The Void, content at last with its love in its grasp, dug deep below the ground, to make a nest for its love and to keep it safe from the world the Life had created in their chase.

Our people, the bugs created to hide the Life from the Void, traveled to the core of the earth to await for the Life to awaken once more. For the great chase will begin again. We are safe in the arms of the Void as we wait for our shells to harden, and our wings to burst from our back. We are safe in the silent dark until we are able to scream our desires.

When our eyes see the Life glow in fear of the darkness that loves it, we will follow it up and burst from the ground behind it. We will revel in the chaos of the chase, and when the Life becomes exhausted once more and is caught by the loving limbs of the Void and taken back to the nest, we will follow to lay our eggs. We will die to feed our children in the nest.

And so, child, you learn the story of our world.

The Life that created us in fear, and the Void that holds us in love.

Do not fear child, for as frightful as Life will be, the Void loves all that Life creates and will hold you forever.

The Storyteller pressed a final time on the egg and the last petals closed up, keeping the contents of the egg safe from the elements. The room was quiet, Monomon and Quirrel having gone quiet and still at the Storyteller’s voice.

It . . .

It was a story.

A creationist story for children.

The implications, the ending addressing the reader directly and the assumptions that only a child would be reading this . . . it hinted at a species that died soon after their laying period and so left behind remains to teach the children that would hatch in a world devoid of adults. A world in the dark of the abyss, next to the void that they were taught loved them because of what created them.

Monomon’s voice broke the silence.

“This . . . explains some of the Pure Vessel’s actions when they had been freshly hatched.”

She floated closer to the Storyteller and gently took the Arcane egg from the stand, replacing it in the box that it had been resting in, just waiting for someone to read it.

“It would chase anyone who went past it going faster than a walk, and would stare at the brightest source of light, if the Pale King wasn’t around. At the time we had thought it a side effect of both the King’s predatory origins and the Queen’s plant core, but perhaps it was always the Void?”

The Storyteller shook herself, jolting out of her stupor as she turned to follow Monomon with her mask.

“ . . . the Hollow Knight used to cause trouble?”

Quirrel jumped in here, realizing what Monomon had immediately figured out. The Storyteller with needed to be distracted from her thoughts. The implications of the arcane egg being for children, and the obvious fact that all of the children were no longer here, that something had happened to this civilization to wipe it out with so few traces.

“Oh yes, they were so easily distracted from its orders. Any sound, even though doors or down halls would draw their attention. To say nothing of the trouble of leaving any small item near it. Anything it could pick up would disappear! The King nearly went mad trying to figure out where all of his reports and writing utensils were going to until we all saw the vessel pick up a tea cup and absorb it into its body. And then when the king ordered it to bring the items it had taken back, there had been a mess of chisels and slates that had poured from the tiny body, burying it below its own ill-gotten goods. The King had to dig it out in order to free it.”

The Storyteller made an odd noise, almost like a chirp as she raised her odd hand to her mask. Her hands were so pale, but with small hints of color. The palms were tinted red and the backs were the Storyteller’s hands were small and fleshy, like a slug or snail, but with distinct individual fingers. Quirrel would think that they were perhaps tentacles like Monomon’s if it weren’t for the way they only bent one way and obviously were strong enough to hold objects despite their thin size.

“Oh, that’s so cute! I had wondered how they always managed to have snacks!”

Quirrel was surprised, “You make the Pure Vessel bring you snacks?”

“Ha! I can’t make them stop! Nearly every hour I’m with them they will take out something that they will insist I eat.”

Monomon’s head snapped toward the Storyteller when she said that, but the Storyteller continued to talk, having latched onto the topic of the Pure Vessel with the strength of a bug trying to avoid unpleasant thoughts.

“It makes sense now that the King’s DNA was involved with the Hollow Knight. Their heads do look alike, and they are the fussiest bugs I have ever met. The both of them always wanting to check my wounds even though they can’t do anything to help me.”

Monomon floated closer, Quirrel able to tell that she was pretending to be calm, but the Storyteller, being unfamiliar with the Teacher, believing the act.

“Oh? What else does the Pure Vessel insist on doing?”

“Oh, they are always picking me up. Sometimes it’s needed, when they have to protect me or when we need to go over an obstacle, but they often just don’t put me back down! Honestly no matter what I say or how I wiggle they just keep their grip and continue on. At the very least they don’t do it when there are other bugs around. I have an image to maintain.”

“Oh that’s . . . fascinating. Are there other things?”

The Storyteller took the bait and was soon regaling the pair of bugs with tales of the Pure vessel taking heavy items from her hands, making her go to bed, straightening up her robes, and insisting she take a soak every night. All without orders to do so. All of their own violation.

But then she said the words that finally made Quirrel truly understand just how bad the situation was.

“-can answer simple yes or no questions, and they will squeeze me three times to say ‘I don’t know’ but they’ve also been using it as a way to ask a question. They’re so curious about so many things I do! It’s helped me figure out what things are different from my species and yours-”

The Pure Vessel was capable of asking questions, of having curiosity.

The Pure Vessel wasn’t hollow.

Monomon’s tentacles curled up once in her shock, before she turned to Quirrel who was also nearly paralyzed with the realization.

“Get my traveling tank ready, we will be escorting the Storyteller back to the white Palace.”

Chapter Text

The White Palace’s bridge was always a busy place.

Nobles arriving in carriages and nobles leaving in carriages.

Burdened wagons shuffling their way up and down the lane, arriving heavily stocked with food, wax, silk, and hoops. Then the same wagons leaving, filled to the brim with dream catches.  

Pilgrims walking on the edges until they came to the point where the King’s Molds stopped them, gazing in wander at the giant White Palace that the Pale King built as his home.

It was a busy place with many bugs rushing about, dozens of retainers coming and going, bugs lifting crates and moving baskets. A place with so much foot traffic and chatter that it was a wonder that anyone could keep what they were thinking straight from what their neighbor was saying.

In the middle of this chaos, stood the Pure Vessel. Straight backed and facing directly away from the White Palace. Its gaze locked on the mouth of the bridge’s entrance to the tunnels.

It stood so still that many bugs thought that perhaps a new statue had been added to the platform.  

It was only the way its cloak fluttered when a bug came a bit too close that betrayed it as not being made of stone.

The Pure Vessel had been there for hours, and with everything that drew the attention of the bugs of the place, there began to be gossip about why it was there.

“Did the Pale King, perchance tell it to guard the bridge?” A retainer said lowly, a touch too close to their topic to feel comfortable speaking over the clamor of the crowd.

A guest servant who had escaped their noble for the time being had no such issue with their volume. “No! Of course not! Look! See! It isn’t in its armor!”

“Maybe it got sent to escort a very very important guest?” A gardener who had come to pick up some honey piped up.

A passing bug with a box on its shell joined in on the conversation. “Not possible, it’s been there for hours. I’ve been unloaded ten wagons while it’s stood there, still as a fool eater, an no uppity noble would have the shell to make the Pale King wait!”

“Maybe it is playing a game with the Princess?” A passing kitchen maid piped up, stopping in her rolling a small trolley of boxes toward the kitchen entrance.

“No, the Princess wasn’t able to visit the Queen today.” The gardener said.

“This is so odd, this is so strange! Why is it here and not with the Pale King? Why is it here and not with the Storyteller?” The retainer muttered worry making their words fast and squeaky.

“I heard that the Storyteller isn’t in the palace today!” The gardener proclaimed!

“What! Where is she?! Why isn’t the Pure Vessel with her?!” The Noble’s servant squawked horrified at the idea of an important figure about without protection.

“. . . is it waiting for her to come back?” The kitchen maid wondered, leaning to the side to get a better look at the unmoving Pure Vessel.

“No, surely not! The Pure Vessel must have been given a task!” The retainer refuted.

“But, it’s main task is to guard the Storyteller? Right? Maybe this is just a way that the order is coming out? I mean, if there’s not a Storyteller to guard, then maybe it just waits for her to be returned?” The large bug said, shifting the box on his shoulder.

“I heard that it’s been seen waiting outside of the Storyteller’s door sometimes when she sleeps.” Added the kitchen maid, voice full of glee at the juicy gossip she got to share.

The Noble’s servant, not to be out done in gossip by a mere kitchen maid was quick to add, “But have you heard about what happened at the Duke Amor’s binding? Apparently, the Pure Vessel poured tea on a bug for daring to insult the Storyteller!”

“Gasp~ No! Really!”

“Yes! But where did it learn to do that? It’s not like anyone would do that in front of the Pale King!”

A new voice broke into the little group’s circle, “Maybe the Storyteller told it to do that?”

“Oooh! Scandalous! To think she would abuse her power like that!” The kitchen maid was titillated at all of this gossip.

But the gardener was quick to come to the Storyteller’s defense. “Hey! That’s not true! The Storyteller wouldn’t do that! If she was really abusing her power then she would have had them thrown in jail or something!”

“I heard that she was using a king’s seal to pay for the pleasure house in the city! With another bug!” The noble’s servant said with relish.

“What! No!”

“It’s true!”

The retainer couldn’t abide this obvious untruth. “No way! The Storyteller doesn’t let anyone touch her! Not the Pale King or the Princess or her personal retainer! The only bug that’s ever touched her is . . . the Pure Vessel.”

There was a quite in the group even if the surround area continued to be just as loud as it was a moment ago.

“You don’t think . . .?” The noble’s servant said.

“But- But how would that even work? It’s made of void!” The gardener burst out.

“Well, yeah, but it’s not like we know what’s under the Storyteller’s cloak! Any it certainly looks like a bug . . . maybe it’s just a matter of giving it the right orders?” The large bug wondered, giving the Pure Vessel a searching look.

“But it’s empty!” The gardener cried!

“Well…, some of the nobles from the Duke’s party are swearing that when the Storyteller finally bond the infected bug, that they could feel how angry the Pure Vessel was at how the Duke had tried to control the Storyteller.” The noble’s servant said, also looking at the Pure Vessel standing a way’s away.

“I heard that it got angry because a bug implied that once the infection is sealed away, that the Pale King will kick the Storyteller out of the White Palace.” Said the bug that had joined the group late

“Oh, there’s no way he’s going to do that!” Replied the kitchen maid.

“Yeah, she’s done so much for all of us! And the Princess adores her!” Said the gardener.

“Yes, the storyteller has certainly squirmed her way into the affections of the half breed.”

At those words, the surrounding bugs all turned to glare at the grey cloaked bug, making them flinch back a step.

The larger delivery bug who had finally put down his crate to rise to his full height over the grey cloaked bug snarled the response that the others gathered were all thinking. “Watch your words. That’s our Princess you’re talking about.”

The grey cloaked bug stuttered out an apology before scurrying into the chaos of the crowded platform, getting lost immediately in the mess.

The last to arrive and the first to go.

The bugs who remained in the gossip circle all turned to look one last time at the Pure Vessel standing so patiently at the edge of the platform.

“. . .as crude as they were, they weren’t wrong. The Storyteller has managed to make most of Hallownest love her. Maybe even the void isn’t immune to her charms.” Sighed the servant.

And as if to prove the bug’s words right, the Pure Vessel jerked forward, jumping off of the platform to quickly opened the door to an odd carriage that just arrived.

It was made of more glass than metal and seemed to be detaching a part of itself off of the back, but that was ignored in favor of watching the Pure Vessel reach into the carriage and withdraw a wiggling cloaked figure.

The gathered bugs watched the Pure Vessel cradle the Storyteller in their arms as the Storyteller released a strange chirping sound that anyone could hear the joy in.

“Yes, yes! I’m back you big baby. Safe and sound and no worse for wear, now put me down!”

The Hollow Knight squeezed the Storyteller once, waited a breath and squeezed her again.

They repeated this over and over again as they knelt on the ground and looked her over, the Storyteller’s soft body cradled securely in their arms.

She was back, ‘safe and sound’.

They had been so worried, visions of her getting hurt dancing in their minds. From her getting ambushed by a soul sanctum bug, to her getting cornered by infected bugs, or just her falling from the top of the Fog Canyon, the dripping red of her blood had been haunting their thoughts.

But here she was! Safe, and in their arms.

They ignored the Storyteller’s orders to put her down as they began to tuck her into their cloak. If they hid her under their cloak then it would be fine to carry her through the halls wouldn’t it? As long as no one saw them doing it then she couldn’t complain right?

“Oh. That is . . . “

The Hollow Knight heard the quiet voice, recognizing it as the Teacher’s. They turned to see her sitting in a large glass tank. A contraption with wheels and handles to allow a bug to easily push it about, allowing her to stay soaked in acid even away from her archives.

She seemed to be completely focused on the Hollow Knight, but unlike all of the other times that she had come to the White Palace and seen them, her tentacles stayed away from their mask.

The lack of her usual response made the Hollow Knight pay more attention to their surroundings. Was there some reason that the Teacher wasn’t gripping their horns to turn them one way and another? Was Father somewhere nearby to chitter at her until she stopped? Was Mother here to remind her that the Hollow Knight was not one of her experiments? Was Hornet standing between the two of them, her toy nail in the air to fend off the ‘rude’ touches?

No. There were many bugs in the area, many who were watching the exchange, but none that would have the ability to stop the Teacher from checking on their form.

The Hollow Knight tilted their head to the side in confusion.

The Teacher seemed to shudder in her tank before speaking once more.

“Pure Vessel, escort us to the Pale King. I have a very serious matter to discuss with him.” And then, added on to the end with the air of someone testing the floor of an unstable tunnel, she said, “Please.”

The Hollow Knight rose to their full height. They had been given an order. They would obey.

They began to walk away, pace adjusted to allow the bug pushing the Teacher’s tank to keep up as they headed deeper into the palace.

“What? Hollow Knight! Come on! I can walk! I’m perfectly fine! Put me down!”

The Hollow Knight ignored her and carried on.

They found the Pale King in the middle of a meeting with a few retainers, but when he saw the Hollow Knight enter while carrying the Storyteller and followed by the Teacher being wheeled in he quickly sent them away.

He barely waited for the door to close before he asked what he had been dreading.

“Pale King-”

“Did the Storyteller get hurt again? How bad is it? Can she not walk? Did she fall and injure her legs?”

“My King-”

“I knew I should have sent the Pure Vessel with her. I knew that she would manage to get in trouble again. Storyteller, where does it hurt? What can I do to help?”

The Storyteller sputtered in the Hollow Knight’s arms, just barely managed to get out the words, “How incompetent do you think I am?!” before the Pale King was once more dripping soul uselessly from his hands as he hovered in worry over her.

“MY KING.”

Monomon the Teacher was not a creature made for yelling. Her way of talking was not quite suited to loudness. But as a Teacher, she had learned how to raise her voice over the chattering of others without sacrificing the strict tone one needed to keep a handle on and rein in a large group of excited academically inclined bugs.

“New, important information on the void has been uncovered. The current plan to contain the infection will fail. The Pure Vessel is not hollow.”

The Pale King was still.

His hands were frozen, still held over the Storyteller, but no longer dripping soul. His palms having dried up at the words of the Teacher.

Mary, having ceased wiggling at Monomon’s shout, was confused. “What? The Pure Vessel is the Hollow Knight, right? Of course, they’re empty. And Monomon, a forgotten children’s story can hardly be considered important information.”

“Y-yes, Monomon, surely you have jumped to conclusions. My Pure Vessel is entirely hollow. Without a voice, or a will to break. Made of void to contain the infection.” The Pale King recited the criteria that he had used to make the Pure Vessel. It was what his creation was. All that it was.

“Storyteller, that children’s story is the oldest record of what was here before Hallownest. It is the only record of the Gods Life and Void. We have recorded evidence of the God Life, the small liquid filled cocoons are scattered around Hallownest and can be harvested. It was the liquid used on the eggs that the Pale King sacrificed to create the Vessels.”

Monomon nodded toward Quirrel who handed Monomon the slate he had been carrying. It was a quick draft of the story, not word for word but certainly a decent summary. She waved the slate at the Pale King, but when he refused to hold it, she settled it on the low table nearby.

 “A God that created life. If that part of the story is true, and we can prove that at least some of it is, then the parts about the void have weight as well! The fact that there is one god means that there will be another. There is always a pair. That the god Life can be proven to have once been alive, active, and real, then that means that the Void must have been as well.”

Monomon turned fully toward the Pale King, her body still sitting in its rolling tank, the acid steaming around her as she curled her tentacles around the top to keep her balance as she leaned forward toward the silent Pale King.

“The Void is not empty. The Story implied that it . . . desires to be filled. That it looks for things to fill it, for things to hold. That it craves life and light to keep. And while that might be a death sentence for a mortal bug, there is a reliable record Life routinely escaping the Void’s grasp. The Story implied that a newly awakened Life would leave the void smothered abyss often enough that an entire species based their mating rituals around it.”

Monomon kept her gaze on the Pale King as she tried to make him understand. “The Pure Vessel cannot hold the infection. At least not if the infection has any ability to fight back. If it cannot be assured that mere contact with the void will neutralize the source of the infection than the Pure Vessel cannot be assured to withstand containing it.”

Monomon settled back in her jar, pointing a tentacle toward the Hollow Knight.

“Some part of the void is aware and, for all intents, alive. Look at your Pure Vessel my King. Does that look like empty to you?”

The Hollow Knight, who had knelt down to allow the Pale King to fuss over the Storyteller had been unmoving for the entire time that the Teacher had made her accusations. They had been as emotionless and unmoving as a statue.

If it weren’t for the void that trickled out of their eyes, the Pale King’s statement of them being empty might have held water.

“N-no. That’s just. It just doesn’t understand something. There are conflicting orders, that’s all. It’s done that ever since it was small.”

Monomon jumped on that utterance. “Yes, it has done that ever since it was small. The first time it failed a task you set, it leaked void. The first time it was beaten in a fight by one of the guards, it leaked void. The first time you left it in my Archives while you returned to the White Palace, it cried tears of void. We saw it then as a result of its emptiness interacting with the world, of it being a physical reaction of inner damage caused by its mind failing to adjust to the situations in front of it.”

Monomon resettled in her jar, shifting uncomfortably, “But now? I rather suspect that it is just easily reduced to tears and we never noticed.”

The Pale King stared at his Pure Vessel, something deep within him fracturing as he came to the realization that he had fended off for so long.

His child was aware and alive, and if this vessel was alive then the others . . .

No.

No.

“No. It’s not possible. They-it is made of void, and void is nothingness. It does not have a will. It cannot fill fear. It cannot feel pain. It’s not a real bug. It can’t be.”

“My King-”

“NO.”

The word wasn’t quite a shout, but there was a power in it that had all of the bugs in the room flinching backwards with the power that the Pale King had threaded through it.

All of the bugs.

Mary was standing now, having climbed from the Hollow Knight’s hands when they had frozen, and was mostly ignoring the goings on behind her as she cupped the Hollow Knight’s head between her hands. She was uncomfortably remined of just hours before when she cupped a slightly different looking head in her hands.

She was desperately searching their eyes for . . . something.

Anything.

A sign that Monomon was right and that there was life inside of them, or a decisive lack that would let her know that the Pale King was correct.

But all that she saw in their eyes was the impossible darkness of the void, and the slow trickles that flowed out and stained her cloaked hands like ink.

They appeared the same as always.

But if they were always like this?

“I can check.”

Mary’s words ghosted through the room, drawing the attention of the Pale King from where he had been getting more and more aggressive toward Monomon. His wings had been beginning to spreading in a threat display that had made Monomon puff up in her own.

 Quirrel jumped on her words, desperate to draw the Pale King’s anger away from his Teacher, who had continued to try and argue with the angry god in front of them.

“Check what Storyteller?”

Mary didn’t turn from the Hollow Knight as she answered, “I can check if the Hollow Knight is alive or not. If they have a will and mind despite being void.”

Mary finally released the Hollow Knight and turned toward the Pale King as she purposely said, “If they believe.”

The Pale King’s eyes widened, understanding her meaning. He gave her a single nod. He turned back toward the Teacher and her student. He resettled his wings, and suddenly appeared as though he had never been anything except a calm and collected ruler.

“You will leave. The Storyteller cannot do this in front of an audience.”

Mary didn’t pay attention to Monomon’s angry whistling as Quirrel quickly wheeled her out of the room, desperate to remove his Teacher from the room that still throbbed with the barely leashed magic of the Pale King.

Instead she walked around to the Pale King’s desk and pulled one of drawers open.

Mary didn’t have a hoop or string on her, but she knew there was a small bit of left-over silk in the Pale King’s desk. She shuffled through the small drawer that she had ended up taking over for her dreamcatchers, pushing aside the loose bits of string and pulled out the left-over skein.

She could make something out of this, just a quick little charm to put both her and the Pale King’s mind at rest.

Mary began to wind the silk around two fingers, her back to the Pale King and the Hollow Knight as she quickly spun the silk. Once it was nearly all tightly wound around her fingers, she carefully tugged her fingers out of the circle and slide the thread though the opening before pinching it in half and tying it as tightly as she could around the middle.

Mary fished out a pair of forgotten shears from the drawer and took her half-made pom-pom to where the Pale King and the Hollow Knight waited.

“Here, it’s a . . . a nightlight. One side is cut by a parent, and the other by a child and it will glow for as long as it stays together. Pale King? You go first.”

The Pale King took the shears and with a quick ‘snip!’ cut half of the pom-pom, the strings fuzzing out immediately.

Then he handed the shears to the Hollow Knight.

The Pale King did not say anything, so Mary was the only who gave the Hollow Knight the order.

 “Hollow Knight, cut the strings on the other side, like the Pale King did.”

The Hollow Knight moved slowly, their large finger’s just barely fitting their tips into the handles of the shears. The little white pom-pom looked even more miniscule next to their hand as their fingers slowly closed the shears.

‘Snip.’

The glow that came from the pom-pom wasn’t terribly bright, but it was casting a very visible shine on the shears still in the Hollow Knight’s void dark hand.

The Pale King, who had been watching silently began to slowly shake his head.

Mary who had been watching closely as well felt as if the worked had tilted sharply to the side and now she was standing on an incline. She felt that if she made a single move she would slide and fall.

Mary slowly tilted her head up to stare up into the Hollow Knights empty eyes.

No, not empty.

Just . . . dark.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t deal with this with them in the room. She needed time to come to terms with this.

Time away from them.

Mary spoke, feeling as though she was very far away from what was happening around her.

“Hollow Knight, I need you to go wait outside.”

Mary didn’t move as the Hollow Knight so very slowly followed her order, their pale face turned back to watcher her and their father as they left the office and shut the door behind them.

At the quiet click, it was as if whatever had been keeping the Pale King silent shattered.

He let loose a noise like rocks in a blender as he flung his wings wide and a wave of light burst out from him. The light passed harmlessly through Mary but it flung the various furniture around the room. They smashed into the walls that had begun to glow violently with designees that hadn’t been there before.

The Pale King continued to make that horrible noise as he released wave after wave of soul magic that beat the furniture into the walls. But Mary was too deep in her own head to truly see what was happening around her.

They’re not a machine. They’re a person. They have been a person this whole time. I clung to them naked. I made them help me bathe. I was naked in front of them. I made them carry things for me. Everything I have ever said to them, I said to a person. They’re a person.

“Oh god, they’re a person.”

Mary’s shocked whisper seemed to be loud enough to draw the attention of the raging Pale King. He rose from the ground, wings buzzing as he darted toward where Mary stood still and untouched in his rage.

He hovered in front of her, his robes billowing in the wind his wings created, his long body twisting and curling above the ground as he snarled at the single target in the room.

“Storyteller! You, you did this! You convinced Monomon that the Pure Vessel was alive, and now it is. Only you would have the power to do this!”

Mary startled back, still mostly shocked and just not becoming aware of the bug in front of her.

“What? No, I didn’t! I just read a story! You know that I can’t just . . . bring something to life! I don’t have that kind of power.”

“You must have! You had to have! The Pure Vessel didn’t act like this until you came along. They were empty before this! You’re the only thing that has changed! The only thing that was added to all of this. It has to be you!”

The Pale King got even closer to her as he spat his accusations, his wings causing enough wind to cause Mary’s own cloak to flutter and distend in the updrafts.

Mary responded to the Pale King’s vitriol with her own anger. He was yelling at her, and her own unthawing emotions were raw and confused. She didn’t have a problem with releasing the build up at someone who was doing the same to her. Mary willingly traded her horror for anger as she met the Pale King’s screaming with her own.

“I DIDN’T DO SHIT! You know how my power works! You know what has to happen before I can do anything! Have you heard any grand speeches? Any rumors? I thought they were empty too! I thought that they were nothing more than a well-crafted machine! I only learned that they had been hatched today! I didn’t influence this! I can’t make a person out of nothing!”

“LIAR!”

The Pale King roared in Mary’s face, refusing to believe her words.

What happened next can only be blamed on the stress of the situation.

Mary had just got her world turned upside down for the fourth time in her life. The first time when she woke up in a world surrounded by bugs, the second time when she learned that magic was real, the third when she learned that gods were real, and now when she learns that the creature that she thought was basically an unfeelingly, unemotional computer that she could allow herself to be free and comfortable around was actually a person.

She was stressed, she was angry, and she had a lot of guilt about being a liar to all of these people that were in desperate need of a savior.

And now she had a god screaming in her face, blaming her for everything as he threw the biggest hissy fit she had ever seen.

So.

She launched herself at the Pale King with a shriek.

A bright light was suddenly between the Pale King and Mary, but instead of being stopped by the sigils hanging in the air, she went right through them and football tackled the Pale King out of the air. Her soft body slammed into him, her arms wrapped around his slender body and the both of them crashed into a mess of fabric and flailing limbs.

Mary did her best to punch the Pale King in his stupid face, but only managed to get her sleeves caught on his teeth as he hissed at her.

The Pale King’s long body tried to constrict around Mary’s legs, but his own pointed legs kept catching and sliding in the layers of fabric that Mary wore.

Mary let loose a parade of curses, insulting the Pale King, his mother, and the ground he walked upon while the Pale King hissed and growled, sounding like an angry cat mixed with a garbage disposal.

They rolled on the floor in a tangle of fabric and limbs as Mary tried to beat the Pale King with her fists, and the Pale King tried use magic against her.

The Pale King was unfamiliar with physical fights. He hadn’t physically fought anything since he had shed his large size, magic being all that he had ever needed once reincarnated. But no matter what spell he cast there was no effect on the Storyteller who was on top of him, their combined weight pinning his wings to the floor.

He was left with a long-repressed instinct to wrap around prey and bite where ever he could, but he got nothing but cloth between his teeth for his struggles.

As for Mary, her mask had been twisted around her head, blinding her. Mary had never been a very physical person. Her knowledge of fighting began and ended at the rule of ‘don’t put your thumb in your fist’.

She could neither see the Pale King nor get a good idea of where he was, but her own mindless anger and blank minded need for an outlet kept her fists and legs swinging past the point where she would have thought better of it.

They struggled and fought for a long time, at first because they were single minded in their rage, but then because Mary managed to get her sleeves stuck in the Pale King’s horns and the Pale King had managed to wrap his long body into her cloak and tucked himself behind one of her knees.

Their fight came to an end, not because there was a victor but because they had both become too entangled to move.

The Pale King’s body had managed to grip onto one of Mary’s legs, but at the angle he was he couldn’t do anything with it. Mary’s arms were nearly bound behind her back in all of the rucked-up fabric. Her legs and hips uncovered and bare to the world, and she had a mouth full of her own hair. She spat it out in order to finally get her breath back.

“You, hah- hah-, can’t deny it Pale King. You and I both know that I can’t do magic, it had to be the Hollow Knight who believed that the nightlight would glow.”

The Pale King found the air to hiss and gave a weak wiggle. “No. No the Pure Vessel is empty. It has to be. I cannot be wrong about this!”

Mary grit her teeth at the Pale King’s words. Did his violent denials of the truth really come down to him not wanting to be wrong?!

“You made a mistake! It was horrible, you fucked up, but just own up to it and more on! We will need another plan to deal with the infection! Apologize and do better! Make it up to them!”

The King struggled and managed to flap his wings a bit from where they were awkwardly pinned beneath them, his voice turning to a howl as he tried to hold onto his anger. Anger was better than the bottomless cold of horror.

“No! Be silent! The Pure Vessel has to be empty! If they’re not empty then none of them were! Then the rest of my children are DEAD!”

Mary suddenly remembered the shell in the Teacher’s office. The child’s head that she had held in her hands.

Her stomach lurched.

That hadn’t been a failed piece of machinery, a broken piece of equipment. That had been a baby that hadn’t made it. She could hear Quirrel’s voice in her ears, wondering once more about what happened to the others. How there had been ten eggs that had been lowered in to the abyss, and how only one vessel had left it alive.

Mary took a deep breath, as muffled as it was by the cloak still wrapped around her face and punched her emotions down to be dealt with later.

She needed to drag the Pale King forward or else nothing would be done, and if she had to do it while tangled in her cloak with her ass out and half laying on the Pale King, then by whatever god that wasn’t a bug, she would.

“If they were empty unfeeling machines, then your children had been worse than dead. If you had always seen them as your children, then they had always been dead. Mourn! Mourn them, have a good cry! Shout and scream and let the regret pour from your body. Then you pick yourself up the next morning and you drag yourself forward. Because while nine of your children are dead, you still have the two that need you. You need to move forward and take care of them, of the ones still alive!”

The Pale King’s long centipedal body twitched and Mary could feel his small little legs flex against the leg that he had wrapped around. He began to gently shake, and Mary had a moment where she had hoped that her words had gotten though his rage, and perhaps he had begun to cry?

But as she heard the chitter that signified a laugh from the Pale King her hopes were dashed.

“Nine? You think only nine died! Ha! There were supposed to be only ten! Only ten vessels were supposed to hatch from those eggs. But I watched for days as thousands of my children died.”

The Pale King’s voice cracked as he began to speak, as he finally told another about the tragedy that happened down below in the abyss. To Mary, the captive audience tangled with him in the mess that they had both made of themselves.

I waited for them to hatch, alone in the dark. My own glow the only light in the hole that housed the void.

My species does not wait for our eggs to hatch. The mothers would hide the eggs away and only the Wyrms that managed to find their own ways would survive. It was all too common for one of us to eat all of our siblings and then die while we were still small and slow.

I was the only living creature in that dark, in the long wait. I was the only one that would carry the burden of dipping the eggs in the void and pulling them back out. The only one that would carry the blasphemy of injecting the life blood in to the culled eggs.

It was a sacrifice I would bare alone, and I mourned for my children and my wife in the time alone. I thought that I had already seen my children die, long before the shells ever cracked.

But, after I had already emptied myself of grief a sound cracked the thick still darkness.

An egg was hatching.

I . . . I watched the small body force its way from the shattered shell. I watched it crawl its way out of the void dyed egg and . . . it was a child. It was my child.

It had just a single pair of horns that curved like my wife’s branches. Its eyes were wide and empty, but when it turned its little face toward me, I don’t think I cared.

It was a child. My child. A child born of Root and Wyrm who had surely survived the dip in the void. It had to have.

It.

It walked toward me. With the stuttering steps of a new born. It was already able to move, its little legs being unsure and causing it to sway as it made its way toward me.

I . . . I remember reaching out for it. I wanted to hold this little life now that it had struggled it’s way free from its shell. I wanted to greet this child that I would welcome into my home and introduce to my wife. To the child that I hadn’t known I so desperately desired until it was in front of me.

I had knelt down and reached for it and it was the moment that I had grasped my child, the very moment that my hands touch it-

Whatever life magic that had been animating it collapsed.

My child, my first hatched, popped like a soap bubble. The void that had filled it, making up its body, burst into smoke as only its hollow head fell into my hands.

I had killed my child with a touch.

It had happened too quickly for me to truly understand that the little life that had been before me was now gone, but as I had stared in horror at the shell in my hands I had heard more movement in the silent abys.

From the egg that had hatched, another pair of little hands were clutching the edge of the shell, another little head crested the top of the egg, and I was once more staring into a pair of dark empty eyes. And beside that small white shelled head, rose another, and another, and another until the egg was spilling small void bodies outward like seeds from a bag.

Most of them managed to free themselves from the egg safely, but as I watched, little bodies caught a sharp edge of the shell, or had a sibling land atop them and puffed into the black smoke of the void.

And every single one of my children turned their eyes at me and walked toward me.

I didn’t move fast enough to avoid them all, still caught in the horror of what had just happened, at what was continuing to happen. Anywhere they touched me, their bodies couldn’t take the strain, and they all died.

To this day, I still don’t know if it was a matter of me being a god, or if any bug that had been brought with me would have caused the same effect. I just knew that I had to get away.

I eventually retreated to higher ground, to get away from them, to gather my thoughts and try to plan.

But I only had a barest of moments to think, to try and understand where the hundreds of vessels were coming from, why they were dissolving at my touch, before they began to jump for me. Most of them made that first jump for me, managing to land on the platform, but some of them . . . didn’t.

I remember vividly, one of them had managed to clutch the edge of the platform near me, their little head tilted up to stare at me, only to lose their grip and fall a bar few feet to the ground. But they never touched the ground, they landed on another of their siblings, whose horns were fashioned much like my own, and they died impaled.

It was a type of torture, to run from my own children, to watch them struggle behind me, falling to their deaths, hearing the crunch of the only shelled part of them smashing to the ground, to try and help them up on the ledge, only to have them dissolve at my attempts to help.

It.

It went on for a very long time.

The vessels continued to crawl from the eggs and for every one that almost managed to reach me before falling to their death, three more would try and make the jump.

And I could do nothing but watch them fall to their deaths.

I knew, in that way that my power allows me to know, that if I were to rush ahead and try and find a way to help them, ropes, baskets, anything to make their climb easier, to try and allow them to survive, that they would turn their faces toward the void that pooled so thickly nearby and walk directly into the liquid darkness.

That if I stayed and acted as a beacon, then I had a chance of guiding one of my children to the top of the nearly impossible climb, but to leave and spare myself the sight of their deaths would surely kill them all.

Even the smallest chance was a chance after all.

So, I waited.

I watched child, after child throw themselves up and up an up toward me, where I continued to glow as bright as the void-soaked air would allow me.

I stood and waited for the waves of my spawn, my offspring, my children, to attempt the last and final jump, that would finally allow them to reach safety, to finally allow me to lead them out of this darkness and into the White Palace so that I could try and make them last. Make them survive the touch of the world.

I watched so many cling to the edge, watched them release their grip on safety to reach for me. Watched them fall, having been so close to living.

When the Pure Vessel made it. Caught the edge of the platform and pulled themselves up. I had a moment of pure joy.

My child, my child would live! They had made it out of the abyss. They walked toward me, and for once it didn’t fill me with horror.

I could lead them out!

But then I saw another child try and make the final jump, right on the heels of the Pure Vessel, and I understood what it meant to have one of my children finally reach me. I understood as the Pure Vessel continued to take step after step toward me, pushing me farther and farther away from the edge where another child clung.

At the victory of one, I would have to doom all of the others that still attempted the climb.

There was little room to evade the pure vessel even if they did not move with any particular hurry as they trailed behind me. I would either have to leave, or let this one touch me and die.

I decided to leave.

I was weak. I had watched for so long as my children all threw themselves to their death because they would not stop their attempts to reach me.

I was just supposed to be sacrificing ten eggs to create ten vessels. I was just going to grow ten empty creatures so that one of them might have saved all of Hallownest.

But instead I sacrificed ten eggs and watched millions of children all die trying to climb out of that pit to get to me. All I managed to save was a single vessel who I had to stack the entire fate of a kingdom on.

I had found a shred of comfort in the thought that they were empty, all of them just chasing after me in the instinctive way that void always goes after light in an attempt to snuff it out.

But.

If none of them were empty?

The Pale King had spoken slowly, his rage quickly dwindling as he relived the horror of the past. Pausing every now and then, his breathing hadn’t become labored, but the way that his words cracked in half as he described the child that he had first touched? The way that his legs had dug into Mary’s thigh as he told her how he had run from his children in order to keep them from killing themselves on him? It spoke of how unsettled he was.

How fractured the mask of his calm really was.

It was only when his story came to a close, when he told Mary about having to carefully outpace the baby Hollow Knight as he led them to the White Palace that Mary became aware of how her head hurt. Of how there was a fierce tension around her eyes. Of how desperately she wanted to cry.

But, only one breakdown at a time, and the Pale King was obviously shattered. She could cry later.

She would cry later.

But right now, she would try and pull him over this hump or the Pale King would spiral back into denial and continue to use his flawed coping mechanism.

Mary flailed her hands a bit, trying to find some part of the Pale King to grip, to add a physical element to what she was about to do.

She managed to find one of the Pale King’s hands, and laced her fingers into his. Her sudden grip on him, seemed to bring him just a bit back in to the present and out of the memory that had been haunting him.

“Pale King. You made decisions for others, you used powers that you did not understand, you made mistakes. You tried to carry the weight of the kingdom on your own back, but you misunderstood who was making the sacrifices.”

Mary squeezed tightly to the Pale King’s hand. Trying to ground him with her touch.

“Do you plan to abandon the kingdom and let the Radiance have it?”

The Pale King made a snarling noise, though it was weak. “No. She will not have these people.”

Mary nodded, though she wasn’t sure if the Pale King could see.

“You cannot correct the errors of the past, so you learn from them. You cannot continue as you have been, you must face your mistakes and move past them. You have kept the core of the infection from your advisors and your populace. Swallow your pride, share your burdens, and ask for help.”

The Pale King seemed to shudder, his entire body flexing at Mary’s words.

“This is a matter between gods-”

“So, fucking what? You tried to do this yourself, tried to isolate yourself as simply a god, and you have dug yourself into a pit with your mistakes. Keeping it between gods hasn’t worked, and it won’t work. Let your people help you. Tell them the truth, accept their judgement and then work with them on a better idea. Hiding will do nothing but make the situation worse, no matter how much you wish you could ignore it forever.”

The Pale King was gripping her hand hard, but Mary just squeezed back. The room was quiet, Mary’s soft breathing and the gentle clicking of the Pale King’s legs settling on the floor the only sounds breaking the stillness.

But Mary was sitting nearly bare assed on a cold floor, and the world continued to turn whether or not they wanted it to.

“Come on Pale King. We need to get ourselves loose.”

The both of them had fought, had physically struggled and beat each other with words and bodies alike.

But now they were tangled on the floor, both of them wrapped up in each other’s cloaks with the edges caught on the Pale King’s horned crown.

A god having been forced to resort to wrestling on the ground with a mortal like the wyrm he was. His symbol of royalty forcing him into bondage.

And Mary, a human amongst bugs, always hiding away and having been forced into such a state by her own fear of being seen.

The Pale King had called her out correctly, she was such a liar. And here she was, telling him to go and tell the truth.

And fuck it, she knew the Pale King’s deep dark secrets, might as well bare a few of her own.

Mary wiggled out of her robes, loosening the fabric around her shoulders, the place where she had been instinctively holding her arms down to keep the fabric around her chest. She kicked and wiggled and eventually finished sliding out of her cloak, something made easier by the Pale King having unwound his body from Mary’s leg.

Mary eventually popped out of the knot of bug and fabric and sat befuddled on the floor in nothing but her underwear for a breath or two. But then she set about unwinding the Pale King from both of their robes.

They had somehow managed to flip the Pale King’s cape thingy over his own head and catch her sleeves in the tines of his horns. Her pin was slotted neatly between two of his horns, the little metal circle being the reason that she hadn’t been able to pull her cloak down.

Mary managed to free the Pale King’s main arms from where they had been twisted up in his own sleeves and finally uncovered his face.

Mary couldn’t help but give him a nervous smile as the Pale King saw her bare face. His eyes widening as he saw what his Storyteller looked like for the first time.

As Mary traded her secrets for his.

Mary slowly stood up, her hand having taken one of the Pale King’s to pull him up with her.

“Pale King. In my culture, having a fist fight with someone on the floor followed by the barring of deep secrets would assure a friendship. I suspect that you need someone who does not fear you, does not threaten you, does not worship you, and does not need you to tell you when you’re being an idiot. Pale king, I refuse to be one of your people, but I would be honored to be a friend. Will you treat me as an equal?”

The Pale King stabilized himself, his body finally righted even as his world shook. The Storyteller looked so alien, so much more different than he had ever thought that she would be, and now he was trying to combine the sight of this impossible creature with the familiar one that he knew.

“I- I would be honored Storyteller.”

The Storyteller’s face twisted oddly, before she spoke again.

“Call me Mary.”

The Hollow Knight stood straight and still outside of the doors that had slammed shut the moment they had crossed the threshold, the seals that the Pale King had etched into the doors glowing into life. The Teacher and her student remained nearby, watching the doors as well, but standing much farther back from the violently flaring seals.

The seals were new, added in after the Queen had hinted that such a precaution might settle the minds of the retainers, and also help keep the secrets of the kingdom the next time that the Storyteller and the Pale King got into a screaming match.

The retainers that cluttered up each end of the hallways whispered to each other as they watched the seals brighten and dim over and over again. The glow of the seals signifying the amount of strength being used to contain whatever was happening inside. Many of the bugs had to blink away spots from their eyes at how the glow had seared their eyes.

They didn’t know what was worse.  To know without a doubt that there was a fight happening behind those doors by the sounds of the screams and the feel of the magic vibrating the air? Or to have such a heavy silence and only the bright throbbing of the seals keeping all of the evidence of the struggle hidden away.

One of the retainers had run to get the Queen, but even as they cleared the way to allow her through, they knew not even she would be able to open that door before the ones inside were ready.

She simply rolled herself to wait next to the Teacher’s glass container. She knew better than to ask what had been going on while such a crowd watched their every move.

Time crawled by, the gentle tones of the palace bell ringing through the halls as it let everyone know that the Pale King and Storyteller had been sequestered away for two hours now.

But no one was willing to leave.

The Hollow Knight continued to stand a bare few inches from the door, unbothered by the bright seal a hair’s breadth away from their mask. Unmoving and silent, with void trickling from their eyes and a small ball of cut string hanging from their finger tip, glowing merrily.

It seemed far too soon when the seal on the door dimmed to nothing and the two metal doors cracked open to show the Pale King.

He looked wrung out, low on soul, and rumpled. As if he had been rolling on the floor.

He first stared up at the Pure Vessel, and then flicked his eyes to his wife and the Teacher behind the looming figure.

“Monomon. You . . . were correct. I am . . . we will all reconvene after I have had time to rest. Do not speak of what we spoke of.”

The Pale King refocused on his wife. “Root, I do not have the strength now. I must keep a secret from you for a single day more. I will plead your forgiveness.”

The Queen nodded, her tendrils reaching for her husband as she picked up the exhausted bug. He allowed her to do so without struggle, and buried his face in her neck. He knew that she would be unlikely offer such comfort after knowing all that he had kept from her.

The Hollow Knight, who had moved to the side to allow the Pale King through, continued to watch the doors. They did not have to wait long, the Storyteller stumbling out once the Pale king was through.

She was visibly more rumpled than the Pale king, tears in the fabric of her cloak and splashes of void on her sleeves. The Hollow Knight reached out to pick her up, as they had done many times before.

And for the first time in since the beginning the Storyteller reared back from their touch.

That drew the attention of every eye in the halls, all but the Pale King’s who just buried himself deeper into the comfort of his wife.

“H-Hollow Knight. I don’t need your help right now. Just-, just don’t come with me.”

The Storyteller turned and hurried away, leaving the Hollow Knight behind her as the retainers parted before her.

The Hollow Knight had frozen in their reach for her, their legs bent and their hand still splayed out, trying to grasp the usually so willing Storyteller.

The void continued to drip from the Hollow Knight’s eyes as they stared after the fleeing Storyteller.  

Chapter Text

“-never going to work- “

“-useless to try and do that! The seals- “

“-we can’t seal every bug in Hallownest! The travelers alone- “

Mary stood next to the Pale King’s desk, her hands delicately weaving a dreamcatcher as the dreamers all shouted at one another on the current idea for how to deal with the infection.

The Pale King had brought together Lurien the Watcher, Monomon the Teacher, and Herrah the Beast to tell them of their new circumstances.

They had been relieved of their impending duties as Dreamers, but they now had the titles as signs that they were aware of the true source of the infection. That they knew about the Radiance.

Lurien had been unreadable in his response to knowing that it was a god who was causing so much strife in Hallownest. His cloaked body only gently nodding along with each earth-shaking fact that the Pale King dropped on his shoulders.

But Monomon had been visibly angered to know that the Pale King had forbade mention of the Radiance by his citizens when Hallownest had first begun. She was livid to learn that knowledge had been repressed, even after being fully informed about how a god draws power from mortals.

And Herrah had been a bug after Mary’s own heart, caught somewhere between anger and exasperation that a god was causing her this much trouble.

At Mary’s urging, the Pale King told them everything.

Well, almost everything. Not even she was cruel enough to make him relive the ordeal of explaining what happened down in the abyss, of how many children died, but she gave them a gentle warning that it was a sore subject and that there were more than ten vessels that had crawled from the eggs that had been sacrificed, and many more that did not make it out of the abyss.

So, now a week after that day, when secrets had been dragged out from behind the Pale King’s teeth, and Mary had allowed herself to be unmasked, Mary and the Pale King stood next to each other as companions and confidants, joined by the horrors they shared, and the secrets that they bared.

And the exasperation they had with the bugs in front of them.

It was . . .

It was terrible. They were all so uniquely horrible to work with.

No, that’s a bit too harsh, it was more like . . .  they were all used to working with others, but as the bug in charge, not as equals.

Monomon kept trying to, for a lack of a better word, teach everyone. She would go into long drawn out descriptions of the seals that she was planning to use and how they would be made, when all she needed to really do was tell the group what the seal would do. Mary was learning a lot from it true, but she couldn’t use any of it!

Lurien would begin to offer an idea, but sometimes he would find fault with it half way though his explanation and interrupt himself to apologize for wasting time. The Pale King would often have to order him to finish his thoughts so that everyone could understand why his seemingly plausible plan would fail.

And Herrah! The fact that she was a queen had never become so apparent than when she was so firmly telling them all that a half-baked plan would have to be abandoned without wanting to tell anyone why she thought so! It was oddly enough, Mary who was the one that had to repeatedly ask her what her reasons were. They were always good reasons that couldn’t be set aside but it was like pulling teeth to make Herrah the Beast, Queen of Deepnest, explain her reasoning.

There had been a number of plans presented and discarded over the days of debate.

The option to carve a huge sigil over the entirety of Hallownest had been offered by Lurien and shot down by Herrah, “The plants and creatures will not respect the rules and the lines will be broken in the time it takes to snap a string.”

Herrah offered the idea to find the original body of the god and seal that, but was informed by the Pale King that, “In my attempts to remove her from Hallownest I did not leave any part of her body intact.”

Now it seemed to be Monomon’s turn for her idea to be dragged through the mud.

It was being debated that perhaps they could put seals on every bug in Hallownest. But even Mary could see the flaws in this plan. The sealed object could be lost or damaged, and bugs often molted making the redrawing of a seal on their shells a never-ending task.

It would work, but there would always be slips and mistakes something possible for maybe just the archives but not something that an entire kingdom could keep up.

Mary was quickly reaching the end of her rope, her nerves strained from the yelling in the room and the simple stress of even partially shouldering the burdens of Hallownest.

She had a whole new respect for the Pale King. He had to deal with all of this, and it had taken him so long to finally crack. He was made of some really tough stuff.

Much tougher stuff than Mary.

Mary gently placed her half-finished dreamcatcher done the corner of the Pale King’s desk, drawing his attention. She began to very slowly creep along the sides of the walls as the three bugs continued to yell at each other, Monomon trilling like a harp, Herrah hissing through her fangs, and Lurien chittering like an angry cricket.

She had learned that as long as she moved slowly, they were unlikely to notice her leavening and trying to draw her into the arguments.

For some reason Monomon and Lurien both had some kind of respect for her, while Herrah still seemed to view her as a useful annoyance. Either way, if the former saw her leaving they would ask her to weight in her opinion with the hope that she could shed some light on their dilemma, while the later seemed to just enjoy watching her squirm.

The only one who noticed her leaving was the Pale king who watched her inch along with an air of resignation and jealousy. He knew that she wasn’t accustomed to such a loud crowd, had even discussed with her about how much she thought she could take before needing a break, while also wanting to also flee these circular meetings himself. But the moment he moved, he drew the attention of the three other bugs in the room. He couldn’t even slump in his chair without some looking up to see why he was moving.

Mary felt for him, really.

Mary managed to very carefully slide out of the heavy office doors that she had ensured were left open just a crack. The heavy metal doors were sealed to keep sound and in and the glowing seals kept the meetings from being eavesdropped or spied upon. But Mary could slip right through the glow, unaffected and unnoticed by the seals.

Mary managed to slip out of the doors and then let herself slump against the wall out in the hall. It wasn’t empty, retainers walking past and a few small groups chatting with each other, but it had become a common sight by this time, watching the Storyteller ignore the sigils hanging in the air was no longer and amazing sight.

Well, it was, but when you work with gods you had to get used to miracles eventually.

A few retainers had their heads tilted towards her, watching her slump on the wall with interest despite how she did this every other day or so.

They were desperate for any hint about what was going on behind those doors, at what had caused their Pale King to summon the Dreamers to the White Palace and keep them here for so long. At what had caused the White Lady to seclude herself to her conservatory. At why the Storyteller walked unaccompanied through the halls of the White Place when before she had been always shadowed by the Hollow Knight.

At what kind of God the Storyteller was to have battled the Pale Light and managed to walk away.

No one had the courage to approach her and ask, and her personal retainer would simply tell them that it was not her place to ask questions of the Storyteller.

Mary stepped away from the wall and began to wander down a hallway, meandering away from her responsibilities even as her mind went back to circling the problem that had been haunting her for the past few days.

How to deal with the infection?

Or really, how to deal with the Radiance, queen bitch of dreamland.

There was no physical body to fight or confine, no set place where her power was radiating, honestly it was strange at all that a god that lived in dreams was confined to just Hallownest, but the Pale King had told her that the whole reason that he and the Radiance had gotten into a fight was that neither wished to leave the area, the Pale King because it was where his wife was rooted, and the Radiance for reasons unknown.

Mary made a mental note to try and aim the group to maybe figuring out why exactly the Radiance had wanted to stay so badly. Maybe there was some sort of anchor for her power, I mean why else would you fight a losing battle if you couldn’t just pack up and leave? Everything anyone has to say about the Pale King always mentions that he is a titan of magical power. That when he first began to bring Hallownest underneath his rule, that he had to keep his White Lady close by in order to break him from his destructive anger. That through the White Lady’s influence he had eventually become the cool and unflappable bug that he was now.

Mary sort of saw it, but thought that he resembled more a pressure cooker. Able to bottle it all up even when he really needed to let off some steam. Eventually he exploded in a much worse manner that just yelling at some stupid bugs who needed a reminder of who was in charge.

In the months that she had been here, and even though the grief on his shoulders, Mary hadn’t seen the Pale King’s back so relaxed until the day after their slap fight on the floor.

Mary blinked dumbly at the sudden brightening of the light around her, before quickly stepped back and slamming herself on the side of the wall.

She had wondered to the Queen’s Conservatory in her meandering, and she could not afford to be seen by the ones inside.

But, now that Mary was paying attention she could hear the happy sounds of a young child squealing in joy.

It had to be the princess.

Mary hadn’t played with Hornet in so long! Even before all the secrets came out it had been a while since she had seen the little princess! And now with Herrah here every day, the little princess had been tagging along more often than not.

But, Mary thought as she carefully peeked through the vine laden gate, Hollow is always the preferred playmate.

Just Hollow now. They were no longer called the Hollow Knight, unless there are others about. The Queen had tried to change their name to something else, but they refused to respond to any of the names that were tried, and it was Hornet herself that insisted that “Hollow is Hollow!”

Hornet was apparently a blessing to the new trouble of trying to get Hollow to do something without being ordered first.

The Pale King had told her, that after that day, Hollow had basically tried their hardest to go back to an unfeeling and robotic bug. The Pale King suspected that it was a fear response even though when the White Lady had been informed of her child being alive, she had tangled them in her tendrils and not let them go for hours. Even now, she kept Hollow at her side, refusing to let them leave her domain.

Though Mary had heard about all of this second hand from the Pale King. She hasn’t really been comfortable seeing Hollow since that day.

Since she learned they were a person.

Oh god, just the thought of everything that she did to them! How she had used them like a plush toy and a pack mule all in one!

She had made a- a- heir to the thrown of Hallownest wash her hair!

She would never live down the embarrassment and shame!

But as Mary peered through the iron gates to catch glimpses of the happy laughing child that she could hear and the silent giant that had to be with her, she couldn’t deny that she missed Hollow terribly.

Mary hadn’t quite realized how much she had accustomed herself to their presence, until they were suddenly gone.

She kept holding things out to the side, expecting a large void dark hand to take it from her, only to be left standing for a while just waiting for what won’t come. She would stare up at items above her, waiting for Hollow to take it down for her. She had even once ordered her own empty room to start filling up her glass jar for a bath, and had been completely befuddled when nothing had happened.

She had become way too accustomed to Hollow being her giant shadow that had been all too quick to take care of her every minor demand.

She had been spoiled rotten.

Both for the help that they provided and the company they had given her. They had become something like a comfort item, always there to grab and cling to when she got overwhelmed by this odd world, always available to hide in.

There had been many a time that she had hidden in Hollow’s cloak when she had seen nobles in the palace, the familiar faces of the ones that would bother her for visits and conversations about things she was unfamiliar with.

Before Mary had realized it, Hollow had become her shield against the world, a silent and stalwart defense between her and everything she couldn’t handle, both physical and mentally.

And now they were gone, because they should never have been used like that in the first place.

Mary finally managed to catch a flash of red fabric in the overgrown foliage of the Queen’s Conservatory. She leaned out from behind the door, sure that her white mask would get lost in the petals of the white flowers that were sprouting from the curling vines on the door.

The little princess was running around in the more open area, followed closely by Hollow who was pacing after her like they always had when playing this particular game of chase.

It made something in Mary’s heart ache to see the two of them play. Where before she would just join right in with them, now she knew that she would not be invited.

It was the first time that she had seen Hollow in days, and she was so . . . she wanted them back. She knew it was selfish and awful and that she was a bad person, but she wanted her giant cuddly shadow back. She wanted to narrate the stupid things she saw to her silent audience again. She missed them always being so close behind her that she couldn’t take even a single step back without being swallowed in their cloak. She even missed them picking her up all of the time! Them carting her around like a doll or a small yappy dog.

That must have been what they thought of her as, something so slow and weak and useless that it was just easier to pick her up and mover her around so that they could get done with everything faster.

Everything that they did must have just been in an effort to get rid of her quickly. What else could it have been? She had been their slave master! They must have been so sick of her and all of her demands. She had been so petty! Making them bring her food and hold her things.

The thought of what Hollow must surely think and feel about her made Mary unwilling to stay and watch the happy scene in front of her, she turned to go back into the White Palace’s hallways to hide away and mope about her terrible actions.

But then she tripped on an arching root, and fell to the ground with a muffled “Shit!”

Hollow’s head snapped to the side at the muffled noise.

They knew that voice.

The voice that they hadn’t heard in ages.

Hollow rushed toward where they had heard the muffled cry, their body dissolving at the edges to move even more quickly toward what they were sure they heard. Their hands slammed into the iron gates of their Mother’s conservatory as they arrested their forward momentum. Tendrils of void, and the edges of their cloak flung out in front of them as they just barely managed to stop themselves from leaving the conservatory against their mother’s orders.

They stared down at the rumpled form on the ground, deeply familiar with the bulges and curves of the Storyteller that laid sprawled on the ground before them.

She had fallen.

They wanted to pick her up.

They had not seen her for days. Not felt her warmth in their hands for even longer. They did not know if her body had healed from its injuries. They had not been able to help her soak in the water that she needed to heal quicker.

They had only been able to collect any news of her from the gossip between the gardeners while they pruned their mother’s conservatory. That she had been meeting with the Dreamers and Father for days. That no one knew what they had been speaking about. That she could slip between the seals on the doors. That the retainers had finally realized she was a god, but no one knew what she was the god of.

But not if she had been drinking enough water, if she had been given enough food, if she had been able to sleep well.

They had not been near her since the moment that they cut the strings on the little nightlight that they still had cradled in their body, the last thing that she had given them.

But here she was. Laying on the ground in front of them, just out of their reach, the iron gates signaling the distance they were allowed to go, their mother’s order keeping them in her domain.

But.

The storyteller was right there. She was so close. They could just scoop her up and bring her behind the barrier. They would only be disobeying the order for a moment.

But they were not supposed to disobey orders.

But . . . the rules had changed recently. Mother and Father had told them, separately and together, that they were not empty. That they were not will-less. They were just as alive as any other bug. That they had the ability to feel emotions, and that they had the right to make decisions for themselves.

That they could do what they wanted.

Hollow . . .  wanted to disobey Mother’s order and take the Storyteller into their arms.

Hollow watched as the Storyteller groaned and cursed, slowly rising to her hands and knees.

They would lose their chance soon. If the Storyteller saw them, she would flee as she had the last time she had seen them. If she got back up them they wouldn’t be able to capture her. But she was out of the reach of their arms.

 . . . but not of their void.

Black tendrils crawled out of Hollow’s shadow and squirmed across the distance to the Storyteller, they slid underneath her cloak and wrapped around her soft legs, tightening enough to have a firm grip before dragging her across the ground toward the gate where Hollow had already crouched in preparation of picking her up.

Mary shrieked as she was dragged across the ground.

Was she getting attacked?!? In the white palace?!?  

Mary flailed her arms out as her cloak was rucked up around her hips and she tried to kick her legs out of whatever had managed to grip her. It was only when a pair large hand clenched around her hips that she realized who was dragging her across the ground.

“HOLLOW!”

Hollow stood, their arms full of a struggling Storyteller, her voice muffled by the cloak that must have rucked up to cover her mouth. They curled their fingers around her, instantly being comforted and settled by her warmth seeping into their body, by their ability to feel her chest expanding and collapsing with her breathing. They could not smell her distinct iron blood in the air, and she had not squeaked in pain while they had wrangled her into their arms.

She was safe, she was healthy, she was well. If not happy, but they were sure that showing her Hornet would fix that quickly.

She did love their little sister so.

The slightly strained voice of their Mother called out behind them. “Hollow? What are you doing? Is someone there?”

The tall vessel did not freeze, but as they stood with the Storyteller in their arms, they did remember that the rules had changed.

Their Mother said that they had a will. Mother expected them to have a reason behind their actions now, when before everything they did would be waved away as having been a miscommunication or a lingering order.

All of their former orders had been abolished, and their Father had made a point of saying that no orders were to last more than a day, and that all orders and requests could be disobeyed.

If they wanted.

Their Mother had not given them an order to capture the Storyteller.

She would know that they had done this of their . . . own will.

Their Mother would know that they had dove so desperately for the Storyteller and had taken her into their arms because of their own want to do so. Not because there was a need to protect her, for she was safe in the White Palace, but because they wanted her to stay.

There was no rough terrain, no need for a hasty exit or entrance, no dangerous enemy. Hollow simply wanted the Storyteller in their arms.

Mother, and Hornet, and even the Storyteller herself would know this.

Because Hollow had a will now.

Something deep within them twisted uncomfortably. It was . . . painful to have people know their thoughts through their actions. To have people perceive their wishes and desires from their actions, when before anything they did would be explained away as the behest of another.

As Hollow held the Storyteller and turned to walked back to where they had left their Mother and sister, they felt as though people were able to see inside of them, see their desires and thoughts for the first time.

They weren’t sure having a will was such a good thing.

Hornet, upon seeing who Hollow had in their arms was overjoyed. She shouted the Storyteller’s title as she rushed forward to circle her taller sibling as they continued to carry the wiggling Storyteller over to their Mother.

Their Mother gave them a look as they presented the Storyteller to her. Kneeling with all of the prompt and circumstance that they had been taught for the court of their Father. They were really rather obviously trying to pretend that they had been ordered to capture the Storyteller for their Mother instead for their own desires.  They knew it wouldn’t work, but old habits were too deeply ingrained to stop. Everyone would have believed before that there had simply been a stray word that had made them think that their Mother wanted the storyteller, but now . . .

Hollow turned their face away from their Mother’s gaze as the Storyteller finally got her arms free from her sleeves and tried to push herself out of their hold.

But Hornet popped her little head up before her and startled her.

“Storyteller!! Where have you been?! I haven’t seen you for days and I’ve wanted to play with you!”

At the sudden arrival of the princes in front of the Storyteller’s mask, she reared back until her head bumped into Hollow’s chest.

But the moment that she touched them, she jerked forward once more, and began to try and climb out of their arms once more.

“Princess Hornet! I- I have been busy in meetings with your father, mama and the other Dreamers. We have all been very very busy!”

The Storyteller tried to swing her legs over Hollow’s arms, but they just adjusted their grip in order to continue to hold her.

“But Hollow has had time to play! And why do they need you in the meetings?! You’re not a Dreamer!”

The Storyteller gave up on her legs and was now trying to prop herself up without putting her hands-on Hollow at all, trying to pull herself up by tugging on her own cloak. But every time that she managed to begin pulling herself up Hollow would tilt her back and bounce her a little, jolting her into falling back into their arms.

“I’m, -grunt- not a Dreamer no, but I am still a very -huff- powerful -grr- individual!”

Mary was beginning to get desperate. She couldn’t wiggle out of Hollow’s arms and her heart couldn’t take being held like this for much longer.

True, it was an incredible comfort easing a painful spot that she had in her soul, but that didn’t draw away from the fact that she was still being held in the arms of a recently released slave. Who was child of the Queen. A Queen that was watching Mary struggle in her child’s arms with a very judging look on her face.

In a final act of desperation Mary threw her body weight back, trying to flip herself out of Hollow’s grip. She managed to get upside down, her weight focused on her shoulders and her feet above her head before numerous tentacles of void wrapped around her middle and around her legs. Mary stayed in that awkward position for a few bare moments, her feet over her head, before the arm below her shoulders shifted around to have her propped-on Hollow’s palm instead. She felt their other hand grip her legs and then there was a sudden drop.

Mary gave a squeak of fear before finding herself a bit lower down, legs and arms still wrapped in void tendrils as Hollow crossed their arms over her body, fingers tucked underneath her thighs and their arms forcing her to lean back against their chest. There was a weight on her head, like they had propped their chin on the top of her head, despite the fact that such an action would force them to contort their spine in a painful way.

“See! Hollow had missed you too! You need to come and play more or else you’ll keep making them sad.”

“Yes Storyteller, this is the most that Hollow has done of their own will.” The Queen, who had been watching silently as her child struggled to keep a grip on the wiggling Storyteller, finally decided to address the bug who had unknowingly trespassed into her conservatory.

The day that her husband had dragged the words from his teeth to tell her that she had a living child, she had felt for the first time ever that she was unstable. That up was down, black was white, and that she was falling when she had always been rooted so firmly. She doesn’t know what she did in her blank minded state, but she remembered that once she had come back to herself, her conservatory, the place her husband had decided to tell her of his mistakes, had been overgrown with thorns and roots.

Her body had broken out of its bindings and she had wound her husband and her . . . child, inside of her tendrils. She had gripped them and curled around them in the ways that she had once clutched the ground when she had been part of the giant that could touch the core of the world and branch into the sky.

It had felt so good to be buried in the ground again, to reach upwards and to be firmly gripping the ones that she loved. But when she had finally come back to herself, when she had opened what remained of her eyes to see her husband made immobile in her roots, to see her child hanging from the vines that had looped around them, she knew that she could not stay like this.

That the ones that she had chosen to change for, could not be kept like the ground had once been.

Her husband would never be happy moving at the slow pace that she had once lived at. He needed to move with the world around him, at the constant and hectic pace of the creatures that he had learned were alive like he was.

And her child, her darling child, neither bug nor root nor void, but all things and hers to love and hold had not even begun to live. She knew nothing about them, they had not had the freedom to live and explore as a child should. Like their sister had.

The White Lady had been so startled at the energy that the young Hornet had, at the energy she had spent just to run, explore and shout in joy. Nothing at all like how Hollow had been when they had been that size. They had simply stood and watched the world pass, sometimes following behind something that had caught their attention. Herrah having taken much pleasure in explaining to the ancient god of growth that “yes it was normal for a child to move this much, it would be concerning if they didn’t.”

Looking back now, the White Lady felt quite concerned with how little her child had done.
The White Lady had managed to free her husband and child from her grown body, and her husband had immediately begun to constrain her growth. It had taken him a matter of hours to do, familiar with the task, but not having had to do this act for quite a while. She had not lost control of herself like this in so long.

It had taken her gardeners days to put her conservatory to rights, to prune back the unstable growth. And she had not let her child out of the place for the entire time. She couldn’t make herself release her child into the cold places that still saw her child as an empty vessel.

She understood her husband’s reluctance to proclaim that her child was not empty, she knew how the kingdom would respond to the knowledge that their king had not only been wrong, but that there was no plan to contain the infection. Even with the Storyteller’s dreamcatchers holding it at bay, it was still a fear that haunted them all.

So, she had warded her conservatory to allow none but her family and her most trusted gardeners in or out. To create a place for her child to experiment in safety, where they could begin to learn how to live. A place where they would be seen as living and not as a thing.

But she really should have expected the Storyteller to wander in eventually. There was a happy child in the White Palace, of course the Storyteller would be drawn toward the laughter of the princess, who had been over joyed to have so much time to play with her sibling.

The wards that had been drawn should have stopped anyone who did not share the blood of one of her gardeners or the blood of her husband.

But she had heard from her husband and from her gardeners that the Storyteller was not halted by such wards, walking through them as if she as nothing but air, and the wards themselves not even rippling to acknowledge her passing.

It made the White Lady thankful that the Storyteller was not an assassin or a bug who wished for the death of her husband, for no magic could harm her or bar her from her destination.
Though, the White Lady thought as she watched the masked and cloaked bug be easily restrained in her child’s arms and tendrils, a habit that she was overjoyed to suspect might have been taken from her own tendency to wrap branches around her husband, a locked door might still do the trick.

Don’t look up, don’t look up. Mary was doing her damned best to try and ignore the fact that she was being held in the lap of her former shadow. That she was the most emotionally uncomfortable and physically relaxed in the arms that currently clutched her tightly to the thin chest behind her. That Hollow had placed her so easily and perfectly in their lap that she was forced to remember that they had often acted as her seat when she had left the White Palace.

The embarrassment and shame would never end.

But thankfully, now that she was lower on the ground, Hornet was taking advantage of her being at face level. Her little eyes squinting at Mary’s mask and with her hands on her hips. A perfect distraction from her current situation.

“Storyteller, have you been avoiding me?”

Mary sputtered as she flexed her arms against the hold around her, “What? No of course not!”

Hornet just narrowed her eyes even more.

“So, you’ve been avoiding Hollow then!”

Oh god.

“Wh-what?! I- you- Hollow isn’t- Says who!?”

“I KNEW IT! You are avoiding Hollow! Why?! That’s mean and it makes them sad not to see you!”

Oh god, oh god, childlike innocence! Hornet didn’t understand what had been happing to Hollow, what Mary have been doing to them. She had been under the impression that Mary had always been nice to Hollow and had been treating them like a person. Not just paying lip service!

“I- I have been- I was- . . .. I was -mean. To Hollow. I didn’t . . . treat them the way that they deserved to be treated. And I have been ashamed of it. I- if I had been treated like that. I would not have wanted to see the ones who did that to me. And if I did, I would be. Angry. At them.”

The arms around her and the tendrils that wrapped around her seemed to jolt around her, give Mary a hard squeeze, but she was desperately focusing on the little girl in front of her, anything to let her ignore where she was sitting.

Hornet was frowning at Mary, before curtly nodding her head. “I understand. You did a bad thing, and now you think Hollow is mad at you. Have you apologized to them yet? Mother says that’s the first step to being forgiven.”

“I- no. I haven’t.”

Hornet waved her little hands at Mary, seeming to say ‘well?’ with the gesture.

Mary did owe Hollow an apology, had been dreading it actually. But how does one apologize for treating someone like a machine? For invading their personal space and using them like a slave?

“I- . . . Hollow, I have treated you as something less than sapient, and my own ignorance is not an excuse for what you have suffered. I am sorry for what I have done to you.”

Hornet nodded at the storyteller, listening closely to her sibling. Hollow didn’t sound angry. They were still buzzing in happiness at seeing the storyteller, the sad notes having been overtaken completely. But now they sounded like they were confused.

Hornet guessed that maybe Hollow hadn’t realized that they were owed an apology yet. Sometimes that happened, the hurt wasn’t felt yet even though the damage had already been done. It was bad that the Storyteller ran away instead of apologizing, but it was good that she knew that she had to apologize. Hornet had run away when she had been embarrassed too. She understood.

“Good, now you wait for them to forgive you.”

The Storyteller turned her head toward where Hornet stood, “Princess, I don’t think I deserve to be forgiven.”

Hornet frowned at the Storyteller as Hollow began to sound panicked and void began to build at the bottom of their eyes.

“That’s for Hollow to decide and not you.”

The Storyteller seemed to jolt in her sibling’s lap before saying, “That’s- that’s fair.”

Hornet nodded, happy that the Storyteller was being sensible. And now there were more important things to discuss.

“When are you going to stop being busy with father and mama? I want to play with you, but I’m not allowed to interrupt important work.”

“Oh, princess. It will be a while. There is . . . Everyone is trying to figure out how to solve a really big problem. We thought that we had a solution, but now we found out that we were wrong and we have to start all over again to fix it.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Princess, it’s sort of a secret. But, to put it simply, a bad person is making people sick.”

Hornet tilted her head to the side, a habit that she had gotten from watching the Storyteller and her sibling. “The infection? Someone is causing it?”

“Ahh- yes?”

“I thought that your dreamcatchers kept it out of bug’s heads. Are they broken?”

“I- no! The dreamcatchers are absolutely still working! I promise! But, it’s not a good idea to just leave this mean person around. She can get into people’s heads, and it’s bad that she’s doing that.”

Hornet nodded. That was bad. But it seemed like the Storyteller was making it complicated, adults were good about that.

“Can you not catch her when she’s making the bug’s sick?”

“If it were that simple then your father would have taken care of it a long time ago. But we can’t catch her and we can’t keep her out of Hallownest.”

Hornet pondered the problem. How can one defeat someone that you aren’t fast enough to grab and aren’t big enough to scare away?

“Have you tried spinning a web and putting something tasty in it? Is there something that the bad person likes a whole lot? If you put honey in a sticky web then you can catch lots of tik-tiks!”

The Storyteller made a little chirping noise that meant she was amused, laughing at Hornet’s great idea.

“Oh princess, I don’t think that spinning a . . . web. A web. A trap? Have we discussed, no, no, we haven’t. But . . . there are physical elements, things are turning orange, there has to be a physical effect. If, if we all know it’s a trap. Maybe even if she knows it’s a trap. No. Explicitly if she knows it’s a trap. But, then what bait would be good enough?”

The Storyteller began to wiggle in Hollow’s arms again, but this time she addressed the bug holding her close, “Hollow. Hollow please let me go. I- I need to go back to the king. I need to go right now, please?”

Hollow didn’t like it, humming in displeasure, but Hornet knew from the tone of the Storyteller’s voice that she was serious about this. Hollow couldn’t just ignore her request to put her down like they had done so often in the past.

The Storyteller climbed to her feet and cast some words over her shoulder as she began to run out of the conservatory.

“Sorry princess! You gave me an idea! I’ll be sure to visit later.”

Hollow stood once the Storyteller was out of their lap, their head turned to watch her leave. Their hands flexed and spreading as the sound of sadness once more began to buzz from them. They missed her so much already! It was silly.

Hornet tugged on their hand, making them look down at her.

“You have to promise to come back soon, because we were in the middle of a game, but you haven’t seen the Storyteller in as long as I haven’t and you miss her the most. So, you should go after her! You are allowed to do whatever you want now, mother and father said so.”

Hollow looked down at her, before turning their head toward Mother.

Mother looked at Hollow for a long time, but then she sighed and gently tapped their shoulder with one of her tendrils.

“You are alive Hollow. Do what you want to do.”

At her words Hollow turned and began to run after the Storyteller, their long legs eating up the distance much faster than the Storyteller’s had done. They would catch up quickly.

Hornet looked up at her mother.

“We need to work on both of their manners. They were really rude, not even saying goodbye!”

When Mary slammed the door to the Pale King’s office open, she didn’t care in the least bit that she had just broken the seals that should be indestructible.

“I have an idea.” The room went silent as the four bugs inside all snapped to attention, three of them haven’t even realized that she had left the room.

“What if we set a trap? She is no better than a dream in her current state.” Mary marched into the office, her mind spinning with the various different ways this could go, the ground work that would have to be laid in order for there to be enough belief, the ways that rumors would have to be carefully spread.

She didn’t notice the door shut quietly behind her, resetting the seal that she had disrupted by opening the door so wide.

She began to pace around the room waving her arms as she tried to say everything that she would need to, to let them understand her idea without giving away everything at once.

“A dreamcatcher, one even more powerful than a binding catcher, made with items of power and carved with seals. Herrah and her spiders could design it and supply the silk. Lurien would have to supply the hoop, this one would need to be so much bigger than a regular one. Huge! Big enough to have captured her in her original form. Monomon could carve the seals into the hoop. We would need a significant place to hang it, and it will need to be hanging, but as long as it is in a place that could hold a crowd it should work. And we will need some kind of bait to make her try and use her magic near it, but just a sleeping bug would probably be good enough. By this point she must be getting desperate for any new worshipers.”

Mary reached the Pale King’s desk and took the half-finished dreamcatcher that she had left there and turned to thrust it out at the bugs, to underline her words.

“A mere dreamcatcher wouldn’t be able to capture her, she’s too powerful. But a dreamcatcher detailed for her personally? That would work. She doesn’t have a physical body anymore, she’s nothing more than a dream. A dream god, sure, but in her core, she has nothing but her dreams. But! The infection has a physical element, some of her magic is able to affect the world through the minds of the dreamers, and can even infect plants to an extent. That means that her magic has allowed her to have some sort of physical influence. If we manage to pull her out of the dream realm instead of just trap her and for her to embody that single physical element . . .”

Mary spun to look at the bug whose eyes had been watching her, feel giant and elated in this moment.

“If we can cut her off from her power then we can stop the infection at it’s source. We might not be able to kill her, but if we force her from her realm then she will be significantly weakened. With a physical body to work with then we can put seals on her and keep her confined in her own mind and body.”

Mary smiled with all of her teeth at the bugs staring at her. She would have to give the Pale King the other half of her plan in private, all of the rumors that would need to be spread, the stories that would have to be told, all of the bugs that would need to watch it happen to fuel the dreamcatcher’s power. But it should work.

If enough bugs believed it would work, then even a god could get tangled into a dreamcatcher.

Mary had no idea that the main reason that the bugs in the room had been so quiet during her explanation was because the Pale King’s child, the newly named Hollow, had followed her into the room. They had carefully stayed a half step from her back and out of her sight the entire time that she had scurried around the room. It had been a near comical sight to see them so quickly jump back from her when she turned, but all of them wondered at what exactly the Storyteller had been doing before returning.

For what purpose was the Living Vessel here?

Monomon thought that perhaps she had brought them as a way of saying that Hollow agreed with her plan.

Herrah thought perhaps that the Storyteller was throwing her weight around, showing that she could sway the Pale King and White Queen of Hallownest through their child.

Lurien’s mind jumped to the last time he had seen Hollow, and the Storyteller’s words confirming that the Pale King’s child had entered the pleasure house with her, echoing behind his mask. His new knowledge that the Vessel had never been empty causing his eyes to widen in realization.

The Pale King, more aware of the true workings of Mary’s mind, knew that she certainly had no idea that his child was standing behind her.

“Your idea has merit Storyteller. We will discuss if it is possible, and the particulars of your magic in private. But first, Hollow. Is there something you wanted my child?”

Mary turn looked at the Pale King in confusion before looking over her shoulder and nearly falling down for the second time that day with a yelp at the sight of Hollow looming behind her.

How long had they been there?!?

Chapter Text

The new plan to deal with the infection and the Radiance was enacted in secret. Small adjustments to the already existing plans were made and the Dreamers all began to collect and prepare the materials in private.

It was easiest for Herrah and Monomon. Herrah’s orders would not be questioned by her own people, and the archives were always creating and researching seals. Lurien was in the toughest spot in all honesty, needing to find a place to hang a not currently constructed dreamcatcher. But the ‘Black Egg’ that was to be the original sealing grounds was already a mess of construction, and he said that it wouldn’t need more than a few adjustments to change its purpose.

In the meantime, the Pale King and Mary worked on what the rumors to be leaked were going to say. Should that mention the Radiance by name? Should they only allude to a god behind it all? They eventually decided to simply refer to her as a jealous creature called Radiance, leaving the interpretation open to the ones hearing it, but not proclaiming her a god. The name itself should be enough to direct the belief without making the citizens think they should worship her. If she is just regarded as a creature, then maybe even with the bugs learning of her, she wouldn’t get too much power.

The trick would be to make everyone know the rumors, but to not have anyone actually think that they’re real. Like how everyone knows about Santa, but no one thinks that the old fat man is real.

It’s funny. As much as Mary was advocating for the Pale King to share all of his knowledge and to not keep secrets anymore, everyone agreed that it was imperative for Hollow to not be announced to the kingdom yet.

Everyone, from Mary herself to each of the Dreamers all agreed that it would cause major social upheaval if the original plan to seal the infection was admitted to having never been an acceptable plan. That it was always flawed and going to fail.

That their king had been so wrong.

Mary wasn’t sure what the plan would be when the truth had to come out, to explain why there was a giant dreamcatcher being built. But that was a problem for later, first they had to make it common knowledge in the bug world that there was a person behind the infection, that it wasn’t all baseless tragedy.

Which is worse, an enemy causing you pain, or just the world turning and taking you with it? A natural disaster that couldn’t have been stopped or an attack that you can get revenge on?

Whatever, it doesn’t matter right now.

What matters right now is that everyone had agreed that for now we were all going to pretend that nothing and changed, and that Hollow was still . . . hollow.

But what Mary hadn’t understood was that meant that the next time a request for a binding came though she would be sent out with Hollow.

Alone.

And she would be expected to act the same as she always had, which meant having Hollow do literally everything for her and for her to just take it for granted. Where before it had been unconscious, now Mary was vividly aware of every move that Hollow made to help her.

Ever since that day where she had apologized in the garden, Mary had seen Hollow around, and she had tried to be cordial to them.

But well, it was a bit difficult to keep a polite distance when it seemed as though they had decided that it was only natural for them to get as close as they possibly could to her.

The closeness itself wasn’t too bad, Mary figured that she could give them some allowances with her person since she was the one who started it all. But what was a problem is that she would often not know how long they had been there! She’s just be walking down a hall and not even notice when she picked up her giant shadow until someone else would comment on them.

It seemed as though Hollow, now permanently relived of their job of guarding the Pale King, would just gravitate over to where ever Mary was at the moment.

Once they were discovered then Hollow would usually scoop Mary up into their arms and act as if this was completely normal for them to just tote her around.

And well, it used to be. But only outside of the White Palace! She didn’t need to be cared around inside of the palace walls!! She could walk without any issue in there!

But no, she was getting carried around even when she could walk herself, but she didn’t have the balls to give Hollow an order. So, she just ended up pleading up at the chalk white face above her to “please put me down”, but Hollow will always just turn their face away and pretend that they couldn’t hear her.

IT would be funny if it weren’t her own dignity on the line.

And as if to underline that Mary and Hollow desperately needed to actually communicate with each other, a new request for a binding came in. It had been a while since Mary had been needed to do a binding, most of the bugs in Hallownest were already quite experienced at keeping themselves under dreamcatchers.

The place was a bit odd as well. Mary had known intellectually that the bugs had to be getting their metal and glass materials from somewhere, but for some reason she hadn’t realized that there was a mine in Hallownest. It really shouldn’t have surprised her, they were already underground, but the idea of bugs in little carts and chipping away at the walls hadn’t entered her mind.

At least, not until the request came in she hadn’t.

When the Pale King had presented the request to Mary, the same thought had been on their minds.

“What about Hollow?”

Neither of them would demand that Hollow go to the binding, but at the same time it would cause talk to see the Storyteller without the Hollow Knight. The bugs of Hallownest often referred to them as a unit, never speaking of one without mention of the other.

The Pale King had been the one to ask his child if they would escort Mary to the mines, words stilted and awkward as he did his best to suggest the Hollow could refuse, but they hoped that they wouldn’t.

They needn’t have worried. The second that the Pale King suggested that Mary would leave the White Palace without them, Hollow scooped her up in a firm hug and gave a single nod to inform of their agreement.

This is how Mary ended up where she was now, gently tucked into Hollow’s arms, about five feet off the floor and being carried oh so gently to the carriage that will take them both to the crystal Peak.

Hollow tucked Mary into the carriage and walked beside it as it began to travel down the bridge to the tunnels. A single void tendril stayed latched to her arm as Hollow kept pace with the carriage, the small black strand curling in from the window.

She gave a little pat before ideally wondering aloud.

“Why do you like to carry so much anyway? Is it because I’m so slow?”

Squeeze-squeeze.

“Oh. Is it because I’m weak?”

Squeeze-Squeeze.

“. . . because you think I need it?

Squeeze-Squeeze.

“Uhm, shoot. I thought that was why you were always toting me around! If it’s not just to get me around faster, why do you carry me everywhere?”

 . . .

“Do I just feel good to carry?”

 Squeeze.

Mary stared at the little tendril wrapped around her arm before getting up to poke her head out of the window to stare at Hollow full on. They jerked their head back at her appearance and then very purposely looked away. Mary couldn’t help but begin to giggle.

They had just liked to hold her! That’s so cute! She must be something like a stuffed animal to them if she really thinks about it. Warm and soft.

Mary had noticed that Hollow ran at just below room temperature unlike all of the other bugs of Hallownest. They must like to carry her around so much because she warmed them up!

Ha! All of those frantic nights wondering why Hollow kept holding onto her if they disliked her so, and it turns out that she was basically a hot water bottle.

Mary giggled. “Really Hollow? That’s why you’re so clingy nowadays?”

THE tendril gave Mary a single squeeze. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, that’s all well and good, but you need to keep your hands and your void to yourself when we get to the mines. I have an image to uphold!”

Squeeze-Squeeze.

“Yes Hollow. I need you to act like you did before, we have to put on a show for the citizens of Hallownest. That means that I have to pretend that I have dignity, and you have to pretend that you’re not a cuddle bug.”

There was a long pause before the void tendril squeezed Mary once. Mary smiled, happy to have reached a consensus. The rest of the trip was spent teasing Hollow about their grabby tendencies.

“~ah! It’s so nice to have you here Storyteller. You will surely put the miners at ease with your binding.”

The bug who had requested the binding was . . . the sleaziest person that Mary had met since ended up in Hallownest. She was like a used car salesman, but way more uncomfortable. She was a regular bug, more round then Mary was used to seeing, like the bug version of being fat, but they weren’t an exotic species or anything. They wore a very gaudy cloak and had lots of little pieces of glowing jewelry that had to come from the mine they were about to enter. She was wearing an incredibly crystal laden pair of glasses that had to be worn like a helmet just to keep on her face. But bugs had all sorts of weird fashion, so maybe that was just what all the minor bugs wore?

 Just a regular inhabitant of Hallownest, who spoke like they were trying to sale Mary a piece of shit for brand new.

But it was part of the job to not let her personal feelings interrupt the job, so Mary just nodded her head and walked forward.

“I am happy to help. Would you please lead us to the infected?”

“~oh, of course of course! You must be so busy with your bindings! You are so very in demand, and so important! Yes, yes, I will lead you to where we have barricaded the infected! Ah, but we will need to go in a circular route I’m afraid.”

Mary raised her eyebrow at all of the senseless complements come from the bugs mouth only to be immediately followed by a catch. Oh, yeah, just like a used car’s salesmen.

“A roundabout route?”

“~yes! The miners are still working you see, and I am so sorry to tell you that the infected individual was found on the far side of the mining operation~. So, I will need to led you to them around all of the rooms that contain the active machinery. I don’t doubt your ability of course Miss Storyteller, but it would be dangerous for untrained bugs to go near the mining equipment while it is still active! I do apologize, but we need to meet our quotas!”

Ash, yes. Greed, the true motive behind anything at all.

“I see. Well, let us go. We do not want to keep the infected waiting.”

Mary began to follow the bug down the dark tunnels. Mary thought that it was odd that no lights were put in the walls, until the single lantern that the bug leading them carried hit one of the pink crystals. Suddenly the dark tunnel was awash in light, reflecting and refracting from the crystal spreading to other crystals and others until the entire tunnel was awash in light just from the single lantern. Mary was amazed, having stopped walking to gape at the now brightly lit, if entirely pink tunnel. Mary only began to walk again at the gentle nudge of Hollow’s hand to the center of her back. They didn’t remove their hand, pressing on her back to lead her through the rough ground, nudging her to the left or right to steer her around obstacles. Mary didn’t mind their touch as she was still utterly flabbergasted at the way that these crystals interacted with the light around them.

Was, was this more magic? What the hell? Did all crystals act like this? Were these crystals special? Mary had no idea if this was more magic bug nonsense or if this was something that even the crystals back home could do. Before all this she had never gone spelunking before! Hell, before all of this she had never even gone into a cave!

“Ma’am. What exactly are the uses for these crystals?”

“Oh~ they have many uses! They can be ground down and turned to glass to make windows for the city of tears. They are also commonly taken down to the archives to be made into reading vials. And they can be dissolved in certain chemical mixtures to turn into a brilliant pink dye! Of course, one of my favorite uses of them is to make jewelry of course.”

Mary tried to get a word into the cheerful monologue that the bug was doing, but the bug just continued to prattle on, listing all of the ways that the crystal could be used in the kingdom. She had begun to describe the grinding process and all of the machines that were used to do such. Listing off all of the many parts needed to keep the machines moving.

It was boring, but at least it filled the empty silence of the tunnel as Mary followed the bug down the tunnels. 

Mary’s eyes kept getting caught on all of the crystals, her distorted reflection darting past every time she passed a bigger one, like some kind of fun house mirror. But every time that she managed to catch a quick glimpse of her mask in the crystals, her reflection was immediately swallowed up by the shadow of Hallow around her. In fact, as Mary began to look behind her instead of ahead, she notices that while the light traveled quite a distance forward, it seemed to dim behind Hollow. It was . . . it was odd. Their shadow was thick on the ground but it didn’t move or flicker at all with the light of the crystal.

How . . . odd.

Maybe the fact that they were made of void had something to do with it?

Mary was jolted from her musing by the sound of the Overseer’s high-pitched voice.

“~Ah! This is it! The poor dear was locked up in here! Boys, let the Storyteller in won’t you~? ~.” The Overseer was gesturing toward a door with a metal bar across it, keeping it closed. On either side of the door there stood a large bug wearing the same kind of crystal spectacles as the Overseer, though with significantly less dangling pink decorations. Maybe they had some actual use outside of being gaudy?

The large bugs unlatched the door and Hollow rushed forward into the room, there was a sound of brief struggle, but then there was a single loud tap. Hollow had subdued the infected bug and it was safe for Mary to go in.

The room was dark, very little light making its way in to reflect off of the crystals that stabbed through the walls. Hollow was pinning the infected bug to the ground. Their large hands, that were so gentle for her, were harshly containing the struggling bug.

Mary took a single step into the room before pausing.

The floor was covered in crystal shards. It wasn’t quite like glass or else she would have swallowed her pride and made Hollow carry her. It was more like walking on very pretty gravel. Some pokey pieces but nothing that was cutting into her feet.

Mary had to walk very very carefully. Her back straight, her steps slow and quiet, her head tall and perfectly centered and her shoulders pulled back. Mary was trying very hard to not let Hollow realize why she was pulling the full regal act. If they thought that she hurt her feet, she would never be allowed to walk again.

Mary thrust the dreamcatcher out toward the infected bug, it’s body face down in the gravel, Hollow’s hand keeping it pinned. She watched the strings begin to glow, Hollow’s belief in her the only fuel that it needed to flood it with magic.

It made Mary a little uncomfortable, to have such a decisive sign to show how much they still believe in her, at how powerful that they thought that she was. It was a little funny, that the only one who had seen her at her lowest, at her most unguarded and her weakest and knew just how soft and fragile she was, thought that she was powerful enough to command a power like this.

Mary delicately reached out and touched the brightly glowing dreamcatcher to the bug before her. The strings nearly lashed out to begin binding the bug before her, curled over their shell with more speed and strength then Mary was used to. The dreamcatcher was nearly yanked out of her hands with the fervor of the strings racing to bind the bug.

Hollow had to be careful to make sure that their fingers weren’t tied with the strings, inching their grip back as the glowing threads advanced.

This was the second time that Hollow was the only fuel for a binding, and Mary was beginning to wander if they had a vicious streak.

While Mary watched the strings travel over the bug she could safely say that while this binding was nowhere as cruel as the Traitor Mantis Lord, it was still much more vicious than the other bindings she had done.

But with Hollow’s stalwart belief the binding was over quickly. Hollow rose from their crouch and began to move around the body and Mary turned to make her way back to the room’s door.

She made it a single step before the floor suddenly lit up like a flood light beneath her feet. Mary’s arms came up to shield her eyes from the searing light. It was only a heartbeat of fright, only a moment of fear. Mary knew that magic and seals did nothing to her, she couldn’t be touched by whatever it was that had been tripped.

But Hollow. Dear sweet Hollow, who was always so quick to save their Storyteller? They lunged forward, void flaring off of their body as they reached for her, trying to pull her to the safety they could provide.

For a moment, Hollow was lunging toward her, arms outstretched and hands wide, trying to grab her. Their mask lit from below, cape open like a pair of wings that fluttered behind them as they jumped toward her.

Then the seals flung up sigils that slammed into the lunging Hollow. It was almost as if they had been yanked to the floor by the glow. Like they were a piece of metal being thrown past a magnet and their trajectory was changed by the magnets pull. Suddenly Hollow wasn’t lunging through the air, but slamming face down on the floor with sigils floating around their body.

“~Oh my! I hadn’t been sure if that was going to work, but it seems as though he was as good as he proclaimed!”

Mary was too shocked to do anything much as she watched Hollow struggle to remove themselves from the ground, she began to take a step toward them. To do, something, anything! But she had just barely moved forward when something snagged her around the arm. Mary tried to pull away, her entire mind one big buzzing alarm, but whatever had her by the arm, didn’t let go.

Mary turned to see that it was one of the large bugs that the Overseer bug had brought with them to open the door to where the infected had been.

They were touching her.

“What are you-!? UNHAND ME!”

Mary began to struggle, trying to get out of their grip without touching them, her ingrained need to not make contact keeping her only free hand to herself. But this turned out to be a bad decision as it was soon grabbed and pulled to the side by the other large bug.

“Now~ let us go to my office, I’ll send a message that I have acquired what he has requested!”

Mary began to pull on her arms and kick, her mind getting swallowed by panic as she tried to free herself even as they large bugs began to drag her away from the room where Hollow was still pressed to the ground, still, helpless and sealed.

“Let me go! LET ME GO!”

Mary didn’t often have to be angry that she was so weak. Usually the bugs that were with her would pick up the slack, either literally or figuratively, but right now Mary was deeply regretting that she didn’t have the strength that some of these bugs did.

Or at least the height!

Mary dangled by her aching shoulders as the two bugs held her steady above the ground. She had been kicking and screaming, twisting her body to try and wiggle out of their grips, but as she had just hurt herself and tired herself out she had eventually run out of steam to keep going. Now she just hoped that they could feel her rage from her masked face as she had no choice but to simply dangle between them.

A door opened behind her and Mary twitched her head to the side just enough to see the Overseer return from whatever she had been doing.

“~oh! It’s nice to see that you have calmed down!”

The scum had walked with a skip in their step to the front of the room, obviously her own fancy office that was covered in glittering crystal decorations. It was gaudy as hell and was actually beginning to hurt Mary’s eyes.

“Why are you doing this.”

Mary wished she could snarl her question, but it wouldn’t get her anywhere, and if movies, cartoons, and books had taught her anything it was that you wanted to get the villain monologuing about their plan.

The Overseer turned her spectacled face toward Mary, and gave a little smile, mandibles spreading in glee.

“~It’s nothing personal Storyteller! Just good business sense! I can’t have you binding up my employees!”

“What?”

The Overseer shook her head a few times as if what Mary said had more depth, “Now, now, don’t play the fool, I know that you know about the miners. My sources are very good! The poor dears all got infected, such a shame.”

What?

“It can hardly be my fault! How was I supposed to know that mining would make them all get infected? Really now, I had quotas to fill and it’s not like I still don’t send their pay to their families! Or, at least I send their original pay, I can’t afford to pay them for their continuous work! No matter how much more crystals they are mining, really that would be too much!”

Oh my god. Is she serious?

“You’re doing this because of geo? Because of quotas?!”

The Overseer threw her hands wide, “Of course Geo is the most important thing! But if you come here and bind all of my workers, then I will be forced to hire more bugs, and it is always such a hassle to find good workers! It’s much more convenient to just keep the infected workers and just watch the machines to make sure there aren’t too many casualties.”

The Overseer approached where Mary was hanging between the two large bugs.

“It’s actually the most effected the mines have ever been. Infected bugs don’t take breaks, eat or sleep! They just keep swinging their picks and loading crystals into the carts! It’s been wonderful!”

“So, you’re going to kill me and the Hollow Knight then?”

There wasn’t really anything else that could be done with them. Mary would absolutely tell the king about what was going on here, and Hollow would get revenge for her once they got free of that seal.

“~What?! Of course not! I’m no murderer, honestly! No, I’ve got a buyer all set up for you, someone who has wanted to get their hands on you for quite some time! As for the Hollow Knight, well I’ll have it roughed up a bit before returning it back to the Pale king! It will be the simplest thing in the kingdom to just say that there was a cave in. They are quite common in mining operations after all. I’m sure that the Pale King’s Vessel can withstand having a single ceiling collapsed on them!”

The Overseer came even closer, getting right up in Mary’s space as they looked up at her from where she dangled. She began to reach up with one shiny black hand.

“Though I must admit that I am just a tad bit curious at what is hiding underneath that mask. Surely you would forgive me for taking a peak!”

The Overseer had just tucked her hand below the bottom of Mary’s mask, probably planning to flip it up over Mary’s head but Mary’s mind had long sense given up on having any sort of sensible interaction with this crazy bitch.

Is she was going to act like Mary was nothing more than something to be captured and sold, then Mary was going to act like the kind of animal one keeps muzzled.

Mary jerked her head forward, opening her mouth wide to get as much as the bitch’s hand in her mouth as she could. Then she bit down before the Overseer could jerk her hand back.

CRUNCH.

The Overseer screamed, yanking her hand back, but Mary’s head was barely tugged forward, the gross crunchy shell having easily come apart under her teeth. Mary froze, staring at where the Overseer was clutching her hand to her chest. Or what was left of her hand. Most of it was gone, only her thumb and little finger remained, with a big crescent of the palm gone and oozing a thick orange puss from the wound.

Mary stared at the perfect bite mark as something lukewarm and thick began to pool under her tongue, a taste like burnt plastic filling her mouth as it slowly dripped from her lips and down her chin. The hard object in her mouth twitched a little, scratching her tongue and tickling the back of her throat. Mary didn’t realize what she was doing before her throat swallowed, the liquid that had pooled in her mouth sliding down her throat even as the fingers from the hand got lodged into her throat.

Mary immediately gaged and began to cough, to try and forced the hand out of her mouth even as she dangled and swung from the hands of the guards

“TAKE HER AWAY! LOCK HER UP!” The Overseer had bent over, curling around what was left of her hand, screaming away at the statue like bugs who were holding her.

Mary continued to gag and choke, her body doing its best to get rid of the foreign substance in her throat, but it was hard to do while being suspended in the air by her shoulders. It was only when she was tossed bodily to the ground that she was finally able to raise her mask and reach into her own mouth to remove the bitten off part of the hand choking her.

She dropped it to the ground and continued to choke for a bit, her eyes tearing up and streaking down her face as she tried to get her breath back, the events of the last few minutes replaying in her head like hell’s home video.

The feel of the Overseer’s hand giving under her teeth was etched into her mind.
She would never be able to eat a crunchy food ever again without her jaw remembering the feeling of carapace giving so quickly under her teeth.

She hadn’t really thought about what would happen if she bit the hand coming for her, she had thought that at best it would just make her not try for her mask again. She hadn’t thought that she would take the hand with her?!

Mary took a deep breath, and hocked a loogie. The orange tinted mucus was not a pretty sight, but better out than in.

It made sense she supposed, that the Overseer was infected. She said that it was the mining that made all of the other bugs go down, whether or not she was telling the entire truth, and if you were so close to the operation then you would get some of it too.

She didn’t seem aware of her infection, still thinking that she was in control and just taking advantage of it. But she had to already be showing signs of it if she had orange in her blood.

Those gaudy crystal glasses she wore probably disguised her eyes, though if she wore them to hide the infection of if she just has terrible taste is up for debate.

Mary leaned back, her body tired from all of its convulsions to expel the hand. She looked up at the ceiling of the room she was in, and had a moment to admire the crystal stalactites hanging from the ceiling and jolting from the ground.

Hollow was sealed in a room where an infected lunatic was planning to drop a roof on them. Mary was trapped in a cell about to get sold to some other probably infected lunatic. And she had bitten someone’s hand off, which will probably be satisfying later, but was just horrifying now.

Mary turned to look at the rest of her cell, thinking that maybe she could do something to escape, only to go still.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“That maggot sucking whore! She bit my hand off!”

The Overseer was wracked with pain and rage, her hand still sluggishly bleeding even as the Overseer slathered the shell sealing pastes over the wound. She was using an entire jar to just slow the bleeding. Never did she think she would regret on skimping out of the first aid supplies like this! How was she to know that one day she would be the one needing them?!

The Overseer hissed and clicked as she cursed out the Storyteller. Who knew that such a slow and weak creature was a predator?! Not even a Deepnest peon could take a bug's shell off like this!

The Overseer stared at what was left of her hand, only two fingers remained and it hurt to move them! She would be forced to go to a healer at this point. Maybe she could say that she got her hand caught in some machinery? It would be embarrassing but there was nothing else she could say to explain the perfect cut. Not even saying that it was bitten off would be believable! What manner of creature was the Storyteller to have such a clean bite?!

The Overseer finished wrapping up her hand with the rough leaves that were only to have ever been used by the dumb clumsy miners. She would have to get her own personal supplies in her office after this, never again would she stoop to using such low-grade goods.

The Overseer carefully adjusted her crystal spectacles and gathered herself. The Soulmaster was going to be here in a matter of hours and she had to be her best. He was her best benefactor lately, buying so much crystal dust for glass and even buying the infected miners that had stopped working. She wanted to keep up the good business deals! Even though she is absolutely going to add a handling fee to the Storyteller’s price.

The Overseer stomped back down the tunnels, passing infected miners as she went. The dumb bugs had fallen so easily to the sickness of the mind and it had only made her richer. She hoped that it would still be a long time until the pale king sealed the infection, perhaps with the damage she would do to the Hollow Knight he would be forced to start from scratch! That would be best really. And with the soon to be disappearance of the Storyteller it would surely put a stop to all of the bindings, so she would no longer have to worry about her work force being taken from her.

She straightened herself the best she could in front of the door that the Storyteller was locked behind. The small jail in the mines was primarily for thieves, workers who thought that they could make off with her crystals. But today to was serving another purpose, caging a lowly creature that used her teeth instead of her words. What else could you expect from a bug that came from outside of Hallownest, clearly the Storyteller was nothing but a savage.

The Overseer had one of the bugs that she had hired on her personal payroll open the door to the jail. It had been a wonderful idea of hers to hire the large bugs! So many less complaints had come in when she had the two of them standing beside her, and lately they had become even better at following orders! Such a good investment.

The Overseer entered the jail and her eyes immediately zeroed in on the pale mask of the Storyteller. The savage bug seemed to be sitting down, her cloak spread out around her body as still as a statue. She must have realized that there was no way through the metal bars of her cell. A bug’s carapace couldn’t fit though the gaps and the door was kept shut by the heavy lock on the outside. Many bugs had tried to escape their punishments, and not a single one had ever gotten away.

“~Storyteller. What you did to me was very rude. I don’t know what your savage kind does to others, but here in Hallownest biting someone it a sign of a someone being a lower being. And we both know that you have more than enough sense to not be a non-sentient creature. Too much power! That’s why he wants you after all, because you have powers that he does not understand.”

The Overseer settled into her monologue, pleased that the Storyteller wasn’t interrupting or looking away from her while she explained why she had kept the infected mines a secret, how she had seen the beauty of the crystals for herself, and who exactly had tipped her off that the Storyteller had been suspicious of the mines and was willing to create the seal that was currently trapping the Hollow Knight and to buy the Storyteller from her.

She never bothered to wonder why the Storyteller was being so still, safe in the knowledge that the wide spaced bars of the jail cell were enough to keep the Storyteller away from her.

If she had bothered to look around the room when she had first entered, she might have seen the soft pale body of a mysterious wide-eyed creature pressed to the wall behind the opened door.

If she had listened to anything other than her own voice, she might have heard the quiet creak of the door opening behind her as the pale creature escaped into the tunnels.

But no, she was way too cunning to be tricked by such a savage!

Chapter Text

Mary shuffle-jogged down the tunnel with her arms out in front of her as she tried her best not to run into a wall. Everything was dark, she could only see the barest shapes of the pink crystals, while everything else was just darkness. She was desperately hoping that she wasn’t going to alert someone with the sound of her feet crunching in the gravel or, even worse, that she was going the wrong way.

She needed to put distance between her and the Overseer that wanted to sell her to some unknown bastard. She needed to go find Hollow. She needed- to not fucking flip over this crystal holyshit!

Mary righted herself from where she had been bent double over the protruding crystal coming from the wall and continued on her way, though at a slightly slower pace.

Mary was being very uncomfortably reminded of the last time she had been naked and alone in the dark tunnels of Hallownest. At least this time she was fairly certain that nothing in the tunnels were going to eat her?

At the very least not these tunnels. Just kill or enslave her, which like, at least she knows what she’s up against?

A capitalist villain straight out of a Scooby-doo cartoon who fell for a dummy that consisted of Mary just wading up her underwear and to act as a head and impaling it on a crystal sticking out of her cell. Then she had draped her cloak on it and put her mask on the top of it all as a finishing touch.

It was the stupidest cartoon bullshit she had ever done and she still can’t believe it worked. She kept expecting for there to be shouting behind her and for her to begin to be chased down by the Overseer’s lackeys.

But that hadn’t happened yet and she needed to get as much space between her and them before her shitty plan gets discovered.

As Mary went down the tunnel, it began to slowly brighten, light traveling down the crystals until it went from pitch black to simply too dark. But with the lightening of her surroundings also came the sounds of heavy machinery and the sound of picks striking crystals.

She had found the miners. The infected miners.

Mary finally came to the mouth of the tunnel to see at least a hundred bugs all slamming their picks at the walls, loading crystals into carts, or pushing carts towards huge pounding machines that were crushing the crystals into tiny shards.

Their eyes glowed like neon lights, the sick orange color actually lighting up the area around them.

Mary squinted.

Wait, no.

They were wearing hats with little luma flies in them.

Mary knew exactly what the goal was now. She had been planning to just turn around and hope she found her way back, but now that she had a possibility to light her way? She needed one of those hats.

But how to get one. These bugs were all infected, so it’s not like she could wait for one to take a break and yoink it. She might have been able to overpower a single bug, but it was unlikely that she could do it quietly enough not to draw attention.

Mary’s eyes flicked around the room, trying to see if just maybe there was a spare hat just sitting on the ground in an out of place area?

She wasn’t as lucky to find that, but she did see an overturned cart and a bug pinned underneath of it. Their eyes were closed and the looked like they had died, but their hat still shined brightly. If she could get to it, then she would be able to just slip the hat off the dead bug!

But Mary wouldn’t be able to out run all of them, she was a slow runner even when the ground wasn’t made of pink crystal gravel, and if she failed to get a lamp she wouldn’t even see where she was going. She’d run right into a sharp crystal, she just knew it.

Impale herself straight through.

What did she know about the infected? They didn’t move terribly fast, not until they saw prey at least, then they would lunge. They were entirely sight oriented, sound not alerting them no matter how loud it was. They didn’t care for their own lives, or at the very least didn’t recognize danger.

Some of the infected would still use tools or weapons, but only if they were trained in them, no random citizen would just pick up a sword. Though she did remember one story about how one of the City of Tears infected had picked up a tea pot and had menaced others with it.

Mary eyed the picks swinging at the crystal wall.

It was likely that they were attack her with those if they saw her.

Mary fretted for a bit, trying to figure out a plan of attack, any idea at all on what to do next.

She didn’t notice at all that the tunnel was getting brighter behind her, the sound of footsteps crunching in the gravel completely covered by the canopy of noise of the machines and picks.

It was only when the pair of infected bugs stepped next to her that Mary realized that there were others there.

Her instincts told her to run away, but there were only two directions available, one leading her into a giant room full of infected bugs, and the other leading her into a narrow tunnel with two infected bugs. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. She was going to die right here, right now. Bent over, butt naked and alone.

But then the bugs walked past her, apparently not even noticing her very obvious figure next to the wall.

The bugs continued into the busy cavern. And once they were lost in the sea of moving bugs, Mary’s knees buckled and she fell to the gravel, her knees and calves getting scrapped by the crystal shards as she boggled into the cavern.

What the fuck.

What the fuck!

Holy shit, she almost died.

She should have died!

They definitely saw her. Like, they had to. Her ass nearly glows, pale as the moon and twice as bright. Just as wide too, with all the food Hollow gives her.

But absolutely impossible to miss in a mine with nothing but rocks and crystals! How the hell did they walk right past her giant butt without noticing!

The reason struck Mary like a lightning bolt.

They had never seen an ass before.

In their infected state they didn’t recognize her as something sentient, because they had never seen anything like her while they had been awake. At best she was mistaken for an animal, at worst she might be thought to be a weird bundle of maggot meat, but she wasn’t recognized as being alive.

Mary stifled some nervous laughter. It turned out that leaving all of her clothes and mask behind had been a boon! If she had been wearing something that could be recognized as clothing, then she might have been attacked! Because she was naked none of the infected miners knew that she was a target!

Streaking saved her life!

Mary had to nearly swallow her fist to keep her shrieking laughter to a low volume. The infected wouldn’t notice the sounds, but the Overseer might have finally noticed her scam and come looking.

Thoughts of the Overseer made Mary come back down from her manic adrenaline high. She still needed to find Hollow and escape the mines.

But now it was a bit more possible to accomplish step one.

The crystal mines had always been a very loud, chaotic place. Every bug there had a certain weight of crystals that they were responsible for harvesting every day, and only a certain amount of time to do so. The bugs had to work at a constant pace. It had become second nature to just swing their picks at the wall as their minds wandered away.

It wasn’t a very big surprise when the minds just never came back.

The bugs minds were filled with light. Light and the desire to mine for crystals. But they would still be easily distracted with any movement that went against the constant motions of another miner or the repetitive smashing machines.

So, when there were some odd slow motions near one of the tunnel entrances, many infected eyes turned their glow to the motion. 

The object that had been moving froze. It was a strange thing, pale as the ore that was so greatly prized, but polished smooth with odd fractures and impurities. There were pink cracks in some of its bulging areas, and some oddly pink crystal could be seen dotted on it. It shined wetly in some areas, as if the pale stone itself was leaking moisture. There were numerous wires bundled together at the top of the object, and the odd color nudged at something in the miners minds.

It was like a strange thing, but it held no lasting interest to the infected and they all turned away one by one to return to their mining.

Their minds were drowned once more into the light and the greed of crystals, forgetting the world around them.

Until they sensed movement once more.

Red-light!

Mary froze, one foot in the air and her arms at an awkward angle. The machines continued to smash and hum, but the sounds of the picks had all stopped. It was a few seconds before the clack of the picks started up again. Mary kept her balance for one more moment. Trying to be sure that the lights that lit up the area she was balancing had all turned back to the walls.

Green-light!

She leapt forward, throwing herself as far she could and nearly stumbled onto her face. She managed to fling herself a few feet of forward before all of the lights that had been facing the walls all turned and focused on her once more.

Red-light!

She froze in the middle of a lunge, her hands almost touching the hat on the bug that was pinned underneath the overturned cart.

 All of the headlights joining together to nearly blind her, focusing her in the middle of a sticky puddle of light. But as she kept her body still, the streams of light, one by one, all turned back to their task and she was once more blinking the white dots out of her eyes.

If red-light green-light hadn’t been one of Hornet’s favorite games, Mary didn’t know how well she would have fared in this particular high-stake match. But luckily, she was well trained and able to stop on a dime and keep balanced while she waited for her moment to move.

Mary dropped down, shielding the downed bug’s head with her body so that she could work for more than a few seconds without having to pause and wait for the spot light to move away. Her fingers scrabbled over the straps that kept the bug’s helmet on, the little luma fly seeming to wake up at her jolting it.

Mary froze at the sudden brightening of light, her body already trained to freeze as she gets blinded. But after a few seconds she just continued to work the straps loose, sliding the helmet off of the collapsed bug.

The moment that the helmet slid off of the bug, it’s eyes cracked open.

Blazing eyes stared into Mary’s dark white rimmed pair. Mary nearly flinch back, but with the removal of the helmet, she was once more in a circle of light, the picks having all paused as the miners looked toward her. A hundred copies of the same vacant glowing eyes a foot from her own were all staring at her.

If she moved they might attack, but she was already within attacking distance of the bug on the ground.

Mary’s eyes darted around, her pupils pin pricks as she desperately tried to figure out if the infected bug below her was going to attack, if she needed to start running now. But as her eyes kept returning to the blazing eyes of the bug below her, she desperately wished for them to close their eyes, for the light to go out, for them to remain still, for the infected bug to return to their sleep.

Please.

Please.

Slowly, so slowly, the lights in the bug’s eyes dimmed and their body lost the tension that it had gained when it had seen her. The thick film that served as the bug’s eyelid slowly slide back over their sputtering infected eyes.

And as the bug below her closed its eyes, the lights focusing on her began to turn away.

Mary grit her teeth to hold back her gasping breaths, slowly expanding her lungs and exhaling in order to not draw the attention of the infected.

Her fear had made her stop breathing.

Mary moved slowly, inching the helmet from where it had been hovering in the air, the weight of the metal contraption making her arms hurt from their awkward extension. She pressed it to her chest, her heart going a mile a minute, sweat trickling down her neck and over her chest.

She was terrified.

Almost done, you’re almost done. All you have to do is get back into the tunnels and find Hollow and they’ll take care of you. You’re almost done!

The game of red-light green-light was somehow even more tense now that it was the end. She knew that if this was a game or a book then the last bit here would be where the problem would be.

She would trip or the Overseer’s goons would show up, or some crazy infected raging bug would come crashing in.

But no, Mary got to the tunnels and even went far enough away from the cavern that she was no longer able to hear the miners work, or the machines crash.

She shakily settled the helmet on her own head, the device not quite fitting as she had neither antenna nor grooves on her non-existent exoskeleton to keep it centered, but the straps caught on her ears well enough to stay put, even if she had to hold her head at a forward angle to keep it’s light low enough to be useful.

She had done it. She had gotten a light! She had managed to get past all of the infected bugs and now all she had to do was find Hollow!

Mary began to run down the tunnels, now able to clearly see where she was heading. She had a vague idea of where Hollow was, having managed to see some signs while she was being dragged away.

She just needed to head upwards for a bit and try to find similar signage.

She would find Hollow, and when she did then she could relax. Hollow would keep her safe.

They were alone.

They could not move.

 They were pressed to the ground even more firmly than when the Traitor Mantis Lord had brought a tunnel down on their head. The glowing sigils that floated in the air above them keeping them immobile.

They were unable to see the sigils, their face pressed into the crystal shards that made up the floor, but they knew what this magic felt like. They knew what being bound to a room felt like. They knew what being restrained by magic felt like. They were even familiar with these very sigils.

Their Father had needed to test the runes and magic on them before deciding on which ones would be used for the final binding. These sigils had been submitted by the Soul Master but their Father had refused them.

The sigils had damaged their form, and were unable to last long enough to be considered. The sigils were too aggressive and would have burned out too quickly to ever hold the infection for the eternity that they would need to.

But just because they could not last forever, does not mean that the sigils would not hold Hollow for long enough.

The sigils had been judged not strong enough to keep a god trapped. Not strong enough to keep an angry struggling god pinned when they wanted to be free.

But they were strong enough to keep Hollow face down on the ground.

Weak. Powerless. Still.

The Storyteller was gone. She had been dragged away. Hollow had heard her yell to be let go, had heard her struggle against the hold that a bug had on her.

Some lowly bugs had touched their Storyteller.

Hollow had strained to move while the Storyteller was here, had pushed and fought with all of their might to go after her as she had been taken farther and farther away. But they hadn’t managed to even twitch a single finger.

The silence, the quiet that had slammed into Hollow when the Storyteller had finally been taken too far away to hear had been paralyzing, broken only by the breathing of the bound bug that had been the bait of the trap that had lured them here. Hollow had stopped trying to move once they could no longer hear her.

 They had been overcome with the realization that she was lost now. Even if they got out of the bindings, they would not be able to go directly to her. They would have to search the mines, and if someone had ordered this, then they would have to go and find her. They would have to search for her, and for every moment that they could not find her was a moment where she was moved farther away.

Where she could be hurt.

Where she could be killed.

Hollow’s body flinched when that thought crossed their mind. The first move that they had made since the sigils had bound them.

The void inside of them roiled like boiling acid as they realized that the Storyteller might die. That without their protection, without her dreamcatchers, she was at the mercy of any bug that wanted to do her harm, that for as powerful as she was, she was not a fighter, that she was not a predator.  

She would run before she would ever try to fight, and she was already trapped.

That despite how godly she was, the Storyteller was not immortal. That she could die on a blade like any common bug. That her soft body could would be pieced like berry flesh, and her hot blood would flow from her body like water from a fountain.

Hollow’s spiraling thoughts caused them to reach deep inside of them form. Something, anything must be able to help! They searched deeply into the void that they carried within themselves, past all of the baubles that they had pressed inside of themselves as they reached in desperation into the core of their being.

As their mind dove deeply into the very substance they were, their body beginning to lose its definition. The lines that separated their solid body from liquid void blurring as they instinctively reached deep within themselves for a power that they were desperate for.

Their feet were the first to go, the appendages dissolving like sugar in water. They seemed to sink into the vessel’s shadow. Their legs slowly followed, the shadow spreading farther and farther as more of the Vessel’s body collapsed into the void, liquefying in their spiraling distress.

Void filled the room, crawling over the walls and coating the crystals, swallowing the bound infected and plunging the entire room into a thick darkness.

What was once a wide room filled with faintly illuminated crystal shards soon became a void. Nothing could be seen in the room but for the glowing sigils floating in the black nothing.

These sigils were created to seal an angry raging god of light.

But they had been deemed weak, and were disqualified.

As Hollow’s mind reached the deepest part of the void inside of them, their thoughts knocked something free. Ancient instinct arose, a primordial instinct dislodged free from where it had been hiding in the void of their mind. It floated upward to take the place of the being that was called Hollow.

It looked upon the sigils trapping it with eyes that were and were not there.

This will not stop ME.

The darkness got thicker. As if before it had simply been water, now it was syrup. If someone had been watching from the door, it would seem as if the room had become a giant empty expanse with three glowing and hanging sigils the only thing in the void. But the sigils began to sputter like a fire deprived of oxygen, flickering and dimming until the silent but heavy presence consumed the sigils.

Beyond that door, there was nothing but an impenetrable darkness.

But then something slammed to the ground beyond the doorway. It looked like a hand, or to be clearer the dense nothing that was there had the shape of a hand. And it was joined by another.

And another.

Dozens of hands, of tentacles, of spiny centipede feet and of long spider legs clawed their way out of the door. The darkness was rushing out of the room on appendages that it created from the velvety darkness that encompassed it. It wasn’t silent, the sound of it striking the walls, floor and ceiling of the crystal studded tunnels was distinct. There was a canopy of noise, of hands digging into the ground, of the clawed darkness dragging deep groves into the tunnel floor as it dragged itself from the too small room and into the halls of the crystal peaks. But despite the noise of the void appendages striking the surroundings, there was not noise from the void itself.

The darkness flooded out of the room and without pause, began to move down the hall. There was no body, there was nothing beyond shadow and darkness given mass. But if anyone had been in the halls to watch the multi-limbed and withering void make its way from the room, they would all swear that it had to have been a God that had managed to force its way through the door.

The Void seemed to pause outside of the room, the mass of withering darkness not moving from where it has just squeezed out of the door.

Where is the desired thing?

The Void seemed to catch something, a movement or sound and moved quickly. It’s many limbs and frantic scrabbling moving it down the hall, and soon light began to gently return, the void that was left behind seeming to slowly dissipate in the air like smoke.

Soon there was nothing left by the gentle glow of the dreamcatcher. It’s threads still bound securely around the body of the still breathing infected bug.

Mary jogged down the tunnel, hands holding her tits from slapping her in the face as she desperately tried to find a sign that would point her to where Hollow was. She was hopelessly lost.

Mary had apparently forgotten in her victory high that she had no sense for direction. She had been so sure that she knew where Hollow was, but she had only managed to find a giant cavern full of crystals and a dead end. She had been forced to double back. Then to make matters worse, she had run into other miners. Luckily just hiding the helmet behind her back and standing still made them ignore her.

But her luck would run out, and she’s never had much of it to begin with. At some point the Overseer would realize that she was loose in the tunnels, or they would collapse the ceiling on poor trapped Hollow. She had to find them before something terrible happened.

Mary peeked down a different tunnel, this one with a gentle upward incline, and seeing that there wasn’t anyone coming down it, she went ahead and jogged down it.

Mary was starting to get worn out. She had been running around the tunnels for a long time now, and was continuing to undergo some serious emotional upheavals. She was starting to get a stich in her side, and her sweat was beginning to chill her in unpleasant ways.

Her eyes kept flicking side to side, taking in the walls of the caverns desperately watching out for another bright light that would signal her needing to stop, or a sign that might direct her somewhere useful, or even better, the doorway that Hollow had been sealed behind. But all she saw were large pink crystals jutting from the walls in these never-ending twisty tunnels.

Mary had been so focused on being wary of the light, that she didn’t notice when the shadows cast by her lumafly helmet begin to get darker and darker.

She kept moving forward, her eyes glued ahead, so she didn’t see the shadows that crawled out of the gravel and lashed at her ankles. She didn’t look down, so she didn’t see the shadow hands reach out of the darkness and frantically scrabble at her legs, at her arms, her waist and her hair. Nearly there fingers slid over her skin, but shadows and darkness weren’t real enough to touch her. Not without magic to ease the way, and Mary knew that magic didn’t work on her.

But as Mary jogged down the tunnel, her lumafly helmet began to dim and dim until it sputtered out all at once. Mary stumbled to a stop, horrified that her helmet was out, that her hard-earned light was gone.

Had the lumafly died?!? She had gone through so much trouble to get a light, and now it had gone out on her?!

Mary was still in the darkness for a few breaths, desperately trying to hold back the angry exhausted scream that she wanted to let loose.

She was blind in the dark.

She couldn’t tell that darkness was swallowing the tunnel, thousands of nearly there hands and tendrils gripping the walls and winding around her as she tried to think of what to do next.

She didn’t get a chance to decide.

There was a sound behind her, like someone pouring gravel out of a bucket. Like something slapping stone and cleaving rock. The sound of something large coming toward her but not bothering to lift its feet from the ground. Mary turned to look behind her, expecting to see maybe a group of miners walking toward her, but nothing penetrated the darkness.

But then noise got closer, and just as Mary realized that whatever it was, it was headed straight for her, she got lifted off her feet by many somethings wrapping around her body.

Mary was slammed to a hard surface, her arms and legs completely restrained by flexing tendrils and large squeezing hands. A few were over her mouth and eyes, and she could feel some of them curling into her hair. She felt an immense presence curl around her and bend her spine forward as she was utterly and completely restrained by the very darkness itself.

“HmMmph!”

Mary tried to wiggle out of the tight hold on her, but when nothing would give she just began to squeeze what parts she could get in her hands and GENTLY bite on what had wedged into her mouth, pushing at it with her tongue. She managed to get it dislodged from her mouth while her entire body was being squeezed all over.

“Hollow! You got free!”

The tendrils all over her body seemed to pause for a moment before just squeezing her tighter.

But far from being scared, Mary was overcome with relief.

It was Hollow.

Hollow had found her. Hollow was here and they would take care of her, they would be able to fight off the Overseer and the goons and they would keep her safe.

Mary sagged in her bonds, taking a deep shuddering breath, she was no longer afraid of making noise or of being seen. Hollow was fast enough to out run anything and strong enough to fight off anything. The threats that could have easily killed Mary were nothing to Hollow. There was no need to fear anymore.

The knowledge that Hollow was here and that they could handle this for her made Mary nearly sob.

Wait, no.

Yeah, she was sobbing.

Well, shit. Guess it was time for there to be some ugly crying before they escaped the mines.

They had found it. They had found what they had been looking for.

The desired thing that had been stolen from them, dragged away by jealous creatures.

They had what they wanted in their grasp, in their shadows, in their void.

They began to sink the thing into their body, to swallow it within their void so that it would never be taken from them ever again. To consume the thing that they desired so much.

But they couldn’t swallow the desired thing, no matter how they tried. It simply was too much to swallow, too power, too grand, too wonderful. The Void remembered now. The desired thing could not be swallowed, but it can be kept.

They would keep it then. No matter how much it struggled, how it would screamed and hurt them. How it would wither in their grip or claw at the ground as the Void dragged it down into the darkness.

They would take it to a safe place, somewhere safe and quiet and dark, where no other would disturb them.

The thing shifted in their hold and then said, “Hollow! You got free!”

?

The Void’s desired thing sagged in their hold. All of the tension leaving it’s body as it relaxed in their arms and began to shudder. It took deep breaths like it had just been running for its life, like it had been fighting and now had the time to rest.

But. The fight wasn’t over? It wasn’t asleep yet? Why was the desired thing shuddering like this? Why was it becoming soft and docile in the Void’s grip?

Why was . . .  why was she crying?!

The Void felt a disruption inside of themselves as they pulled more of itself closer to the desired thing. As she began to sob in their hold, the taste of salt permeating the air as she shuddered in the void’s hold they felt more and more unbalanced. Liquid trailed down the desired thing’s skin to touch the void’s arms and they shuddered at the taste of her tears.

“I- I’m sorry! I’m so-hic-rry Hollow. I was just -hic- so scared! The Overseer was going to drop a -hic- ceiling on you and she was going to sell me, and I -hic- bit her hand off! I -hic- I had to go and find a light and I -hic- had to play red light green light with a -hic- entire cavern of infected miners and I -hic- I’m so happy you’re here!”

They felt the desired one clutch at their limbs, trying to get closer to the Void. To them.

What was?

Why was?

The desired thing was trying to get closer to the Void. Trying to burrow deeper into their barely there body and pressing it’s soft warmth into the Void.

She was pressing closer to . . . me?

The darkness in the tunnel began to dissolved, the shadows retracting back to the center from where they sprung coiling amongst each other to finally begin to be more than barely there. The Void pulled and pulled at itself, something frantic and new rising within it and pulling it down. Their body was and consolidating itself to simply have one pair of arms and two legs. The darkness that made it up let itself once more harden into a shell, so that the world would not disrupt it’s shape.

The darkness drained out of the tunnel, swirling together and from the solidifying blackness slowly surfaced the white mask of The Hollow Knight, The Pure Vessel, the Storyteller’s Protector.

Of Hollow.

Hollow was . . . confused. They felt as though they had just come from far away, as if they had just surfaced from water. As if they had finally found an exit in an unknown tunnel system.

They were unsure of what they had just been doing.

But that didn’t matter.

The Storyteller was uncloaked and in their arms. She was crying and wrapped tightly in their arms and tendrils. She was wearing nothing but a miner’s lumafly helmet, though it looked as though the lumafly had perished at some point, rattling around in the bulb.

They immediately went to cover her, only to realize that their own cloak wasn’t on their outside. Befuddled for a moment, Hollow then reached within themselves to pull out their cloak and sword belt, and immediately armed themselves while also bundling up the Storyteller.

She squawked a little as they wrapped her up, but soon they held a Storyteller burrito as they immediately headed for the exit of the mines, their sword out and ready to cut through anything that would dare stand in their way.

They had their senses spread as far as they could, but they were also vividly aware of the Storyteller’s slowing breath.

She did have a habit of falling asleep once she thought she was safe.

Hollow’s grip on her tightened as their pace quickened.

They would make it so.

Chapter Text

Mary woke suddenly.

She was laying on her side with her legs dangling off of a hard-flat surface.

She was also . . . very confused.

The last thing she remembered was being quite firmly in Hollow’s grip and moving very quickly. And if she knew anything about Hollow, it was that they hated to put her down before they had to.

Waking up on, what was this? A Bench? Yeah. Waking up on a bench did not seem like something that would happen.

Mary opened her eyes, half expecting to see either Hollow’s face in front of her, or maybe for the Pale King to be panicking with hands full of soul again.

Bob Miller’s Hardware! A hammer for every nail!

Mary sat up so quickly she nearly flung herself off of the bench she was on.

She looked around wildly, her cloak flaring as she tried to figure how she was seeing the old hardware stone from downtown.

She was on a street corner. She was one a familiar street corner with three- or four-story buildings rising up around her, and on each sign, she read a familiar name. There was the hairdresser that only had elderly clients. There was the sandwich shop that only opened for two hours at a time. There was the leather goods store that Mary had never actually seen anyone enter.

For a few breaths Mary was shocked to think that she was home. That whatever had brought her to Hallownest had taken her back home just as suddenly.

But then a dreamcatcher the size of a car floated down the street and Mary realized that she was dreaming again.

But . . . this was odd. It was incredibly lucid, and she had memories of what she had been doing right before this. Had she passed out? Fainted from relief? Holy shit, what was she? a toddler?

Mary wondered over to one of stores and looked in the window. There was nothing on the inside, just an empty unadorned room.

Mary got close to the window, trying to see if maybe there was something deep inside, and clicked her mask on the glass. She reached up to feel her mask, refocusing her eyes to look at herself.

She was clad in a purple robe, and once more masked even in her dreams. She really couldn’t go anywhere without them huh?

“You dream of the strangest places little one.”

Mary whipped around and slammed herself to the window, surprised and panicked that someone had come up behind her in this quiet empty street.

Behind her, siting perched like a bird on the two-story building behind her, was a giant fluffy moth.

A familiar giant fluffy moth?

Had she . . .. Had she dreamed this before?

“Your mind continues to evade me, but you do not sleep behind the things sealing away all of the other creatures.”

The moth creature hopped off of the edge of the building and began to slowly float downward until her long pointed legs taped gently to the top of a street light and she looked down at Mary.

“Tell me little one. What makes you different from the other lowly creatures.”

Mary stared at the legs on the fluffy moth, suddenly remembering where she had seen them before.

The sex dream that never got off the ground! She remembered now.

The moth’s voice was something amazing. Like, flutes and chimes, instruments that made one think of freedom and wind. But it also had a buttery hum, something very sexy to be honest.

“Tell me little one, what I can give you. What it is that you need. I can offer much.”

Yeah, that is a super sexy voice. But like, even if Mary was into fluffy moth ladies, which like, listen it had been a while, her standards are weird now, but she wasn’t in a good position to have a sex dream last she remembered.

Being held in Hollow’s arms was not a good place to cream her currently non-existent panties.

“Power? Fame? Knowledge? Everything you could ever dream of is within your grasp if you worship me. If you bow to me. If you let me consume you. If you give yourself to the Radiance.”

Though the idea of having some bdsm experience wasn’t all bad but- wait a fucking second!

“Give myself to the WHAT.”

Mary’s sharp flat voice cut into the moth’s monologue seeming to startle the moth. The dark little face with bright white eyes blinked down at Mary before she visibly fluffed herself and regained her conversational footing.

“Ah, of course. The usurper had crushed all mentions of my name, of my glory. Strangled my presence from the waking minds of the creatures of Hallownest, but he could not reach into my own realm. View my light and rejoice, for I am the Radiance, Goddess of dreams!”

The moth said all of this with lots of fanfare and grand gestures, curling her wings in before flaring them wide with the shut of her name. The low light that had been really unnoticeable before now shined bright enough to make Mary blink away spots as the moth briefly shined like a light bulb filament.

But as the Radiance lowered her wings, her light dimmed to all that was left of it was the odd halo that she had.

“Now then small one, feeble creature, kneel before me and worship me, and I will gift you your dreams.”

Now. Mary had realized a few things during the Radiance’s dramatic introduction.

Number one. This was the one who has been infecting bugs. The one who had been causing all of her (exempting suddenly in bug kingdom) problems. The bitch that was at the root of it all.

Number two. This was a god. A dangerous god whose whole shtick was getting inside of a bug’s head and making them turn into glow stick zombies.

Number three. The Radiance was currently inside of Mary’s head.

BUT!

Number four. Mary had survived this before. She had dreamed of the Radiance before. She had gotten through the infectious touch of the Radiance before and come out well enough to not even know that she had brushed up next to the source of the illness. So, it stood to reason that she would survive again as long as she like, didn’t make any deals or something with the floating moth bitch.

Number five. MARY HAD FUCKING PROPOSTIONED THE RADIANCE – not dealing with that one right now.

There were a variety of things that Mary could do now.

She could pretend that she didn’t know what the moth was talking about. She could run away and hide. She could pretend to think about it and get the fluffy bitch talking. She could fish for more information.

Mary could have done a lot of very smart and intelligent things when she had realized that she was face to face with an angry god who was trying to trick her into become a zombie.

There were rather a lot of smart, tactically sound decisions that would both keep her safe and allow her to gather intelligence and survive this encounter safely and without giving up her identity.

But what Mary did was-

“GET DOWN HERE SO I CAN BITE YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF YOU FLUFFY WHORE!”

The moth reared back, both startled and affronted at what the small lesser creature had just yelled at her.

“Wha- “

“I’VE GOT THE POWER OF DENTISRY AND SEXUAL FRUSTRATION ON MY SIDE. I WILL KNAW YOUR FUCKIGN LEGS OFF YOU FUZZY CUNT. GET DOWN HERE AND FIGHT ME!”

Mary placed herself the below the moth and began to jump fruitlessly, screaming threats and profanities as she tried to reach the fluffy god above her. The Radiance looked down at her first in confusion, then in anger, but as Mary didn’t manage to actually get anywhere with her useless jumping, she seemed to settle on amusement.

“Oh, poor little creature. Has the Pale Light really twisted your mind so much that you would try and fight a god? Do you really think you have the power to do anything to me?”

Mary glowered up at the Radiance, wishing that the moth could tell just how angry she was at the moth god above her. She fisted her cloak in her hands and snarled a response up at the bitch sitting over her head.

“I’ve not had my mind twisted at all, that’s more your scene you heinous bitch. I am no worshiper of the Pale Light or of any god in Hallownest. I have fought the Pale King and brought him to the ground. I have bound the traitors of the citizens of Hallownest and left them to hang and drip as a monument to their folly. I have bitten off the greedy hands of the cruel. And I will make you pay for all of the pain and suffering that you have caused. I will rip off your wings and bite off your head, God or no god.”

The moth made a little trill, her wings ruffling and resettling as if she had no cause to be concerned. “Such words from a small and dim thing. I can sense no power from you. You hold no magic and siphon no soul. Your only power comes from the lies that spill from your mouth and the volume that your useless screeching reaches. Who are you to threaten a god?”

Mary had more than enough with this fluffy cunt’s sass. She began to try and climb the light pole even as she screamed in rage.

“I AM THE ONE TITLED STORYTELLER. I am the binder of your infectious dreams! I will come for your head and I will drink your blood!”

At this point Mary had barely managed to shimmy up three feet of the pole, but something that she said finally caused the Radiance to take flight.

The moth god jumping off of the light pole caused Mary to lose her grip and fall flat on her back, knocking the air out of her lungs. She was there for less than a second before the

Radiance’s long pointy legs slammed into the ground on either side of her.

“YOU! You are the reason that I can no longer get any dreamers?! The one who perverted my people’s culture to be used as a weapon!?!? Against ME!?”

Mary would have had a response to this, if she was still not trying to get the air back into her lungs. So instead of continuing to insulting the Radiance, she just wheezed.

The Radiance bent in half to get her face closer to the bug below her, to more effectively scream in her masked face, the sad eyes looking more patronizing than mournful.

“The Ojibwe were meant to ward off spider webs! To warn a flyer that there was a trap in front of them! But you have changed them to not a protection but a snare! You keep the bugs who use them locked away from me, tied to the realm that the Pale Light rules! You would keep them from my lead! From my brother’s chase! You will doom them to stagnation and misery!”

Mary managed to cough out a question, her mind having latched onto many confusing words there, but one in particular stood out.

“Your brother?”

The Radiance bent even lower, her shriek turning into a snarl as she corrected the false knowledge that must have been fed to this troublesome creature. Perhaps once she came face to face with a true god’s wrath, she would abandon the usurper and cut the strings that were binding the bugs of Hallownest.

“Yes, my brother. I was the Dream to chase and he was the Nightmare to flee. I led and he hounded our people across the dangerous lands of the world together. But when we found this land, this Hallownest, we found a great slumbering power. It was a never wakening power that had dreams and nightmares all at once, it fed me and my brother, made us strong and more able to protect our people.”

The Radiance’s rage cooled as she thought back to those years, where she was a pair with her brother, the both of them traveling with the moth clan that had been all of their believers. They had been young and simple back then, always arguing about where to go next and who would visit the dreams of the moths.

They had been so young . . .

“. . . I did not wish to leave, not until I had eaten all that I could. But my brother was anticipating the continued our travel, the high of the chase more important than the power that was so readily available. We fought, and our clan split. The fearful went with him and the content stayed with me, and I feasted. My power grew until I could lure lesser creatures into the hands of my people so that they would never need to work or hunt ever again. And we were content.”

The heat retuned to the Radiance’s eyes as she remembered what happened after that, “But then, one day the entirety of my lands were hit by the Pale Wyrm’s curse. Suddenly all of the creatures had the intelligence to fight and attack my believers and they banded behind the Pale Wyrm to give him enough power to rip me from the physical realm and confine me in my dreams. He is a cruel concurring who is willing to give weapons to lesser beasts in order to strike down the ones who are above them.”

“Cough~ Cough~ That’s a load of ~cough~ shit.”

Mary lashed out with her leg, kicking the Radiance’s weird peg leg, and causing the entire god to topped onto her with a squeal.

Mary slapped her hand out, a dreamcatcher in her palm.

During the Radiance’s weird reminiscing, Mary had been frantically trying to figure out what she could do, and after searching her cloak and finding nothing, she had remembered that this was a dream. She could have a dreamcatcher if she wanted to have a dreamcatcher.

She had focused so hard on the sense memory of what a dreamcatcher felt like, the feeling of the cool metal hoop and the cutting silk, that when she had flexed her hand one had been there.

And now, as the silk strings glowed and began to crawl over the god’s fluffy body, she thought that just maybe everything could be over and done with.

But Mary was not that lucky.

The Radiance fucking teleported away in a flash of bright light.

She reappeared a few feet away in the sky, no worse for wear and absolutely pissed enough to fill the ocean. The Radiance began to shine just a touch brighter.

Suddenly, all around Mary, the ground glowed.

Mary rolled away out of reflex, and not a moment too soon. Fucking SPEARS shot out of the ground where she had been laying, and just like that Mary was scrambling to her feet and running away from the fluffy moth god.

More spears shot out of the ground, and Mary had to dodge from side to side as she could hear the moth god scream wordlessly behind her. But Mary wasn’t a very fast runner, and she didn’t know what other tricks the moth had up her fluff, so it’s not very surprising that this chase didn’t last terribly long. Mary turned a corner, hoping to have the moth loose sight of her, and felt something hit her in the back.

But what was more concerning was the fact that something also burst out of her CHEST.

Mary instinctively grabbed the sharp spear end that was sticking out of her chest, her mind awash in horror.

OH FUCK! OH SHIT! OH . . .. damn?

It, uh, it didn’t hurt?

Mary had a few heartbeats to look down at the mess of her chest, at the red blood that was seeping into her cloak’s fabric, and was astounded to realize that it didn’t hurt in the least bit?

She couldn’t even really feel it inside of her, it was like it began and ended at her skin despite going all of the way through.

But falling to the ground earlier had hurt?

. . . maybe only things that she knew how they felt could even be felt here. If this was still ultimately a dream, then it was only working off of what she actually knew.

She knew what it felt like to fall, but she didn’t know what if felt like to get stabbed, so her mind doesn’t know how to recreate the feeling.

Wait! Mary could use this! It wouldn’t matter how many spears the Radiance used! Mary didn’t know what being stabbed felt like so she could just shake them off!

Alright! Fight a god round two let’s go!

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

Thunk!

Mary felt like a pin cushion, blood oozing from every place that the giant spears stabbed into her. It still didn’t hurt, but it was impossible to move with all of these damn things sticking out of her. And for every one that she managed to shake free of her flesh, the damn moth would just summon another group to fling at her.

The worst part of it, honestly was that she could have avoided them! They moved slowly and without much force, but after she had been shanked by the first one and been handicapped by it’s cumbersome size, the rest all managed to catch up with her.

So now Mary was pinned to a building like a butterfly on a board.

How ironic that it was the one without wings that ended up splayed out like this.

But well, even if Mary wasn’t able to attack or defend, at least she could still insult.

“Oh, are you really such a coward? To stay from my reach and fling spears at me? Are you really so afraid of what this ‘Little One’ can do to a god?”

The Radiance seemed to be . . . worn out. She wasn’t exactly huffing and puffing like a human would in exhaustion, but her halo had dimmed significantly and her fluff had wilted. The radiance seemed to think that Mary was too pinned to move, and she was right in that assumption, and lowered herself to the street. Her wings seemed to droop to the sides as the radiance rested for a moment.

“What- what manner of creature are you? You bleed in my brother’s color and are not stopped by a hundred wounds. You feel no pain and fear no god.”

Mary hissed at the Radiance and felt so much satisfaction when the moth flinched back from her.

Their surroundings were crumbling faster now, the downtown area reduced to nothing more than a single block, parts of buildings slowly tumbling down into the void below, and soon the building that Mary was pinned to would go as well. But before that, she had more that she wanted to say.

“What I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that you have made me your enemy, that you are so greedy for power that you have forsaken everyone as worthless if they do not worship you.”

Mary shifted as much as she could in her pinned position, one of the spears falling out of her stomach as she arched her back as much as she could.

“I am going to destroy you, because here’s what you don’t seem to have noticed. It doesn’t matter how much power you have here. It doesn’t matter here. Dreams don’t last, and they don’t influence my actions. It doesn’t matter how many times you skewer me, or how many times you try and kill me here. Because at some point I’ll wake up in the world that matters, and you’ll be left here in this place, where you are a god with no lasting or useful power. Barely a memory and fading like mist in sunlight.”

The Radiance took offence to this, puffing herself up to once more shout at the Storyteller or to maybe throw more spears. But the concrete had been crumbling, and unbeknownst to the god, she was much closer to the edge than she had been moments before.

Close enough to be within reach of what she was afraid of.

Black tendrils lashed out and slammed the moth to the ground. Pressing her flat to the crumbling concrete as she screamed in surprise and horror. She struggled like a fish on a hook, wiggling like the wyrm she despised as she beat the ground with the one wing that she still had free.

Mary had a moment of wild vicious hope that whatever had grabbed the god was going to drag her down into the abyss and eat her. But as the moth wildly struggled, she managed to loosen and escape the grip of whatever had grabbed her.

The god fled after that, flying away from the crumbling platform and disappearing into the twilight.

Mary blinked up at where the god disappeared to.

“Are you just going to LEAVE ME LIKE THIS?!”

Mary snarled and struggled against the spears pinning her to the damn barber shop, but no matter how hard she struggled, she was too firmly stabbed through to dislodge her body from the wall.

Mary eventually gave up. It wasn’t like she would have been able to follow the fleeing moth and she had just spent a useless hour or so trying to kill her. Might as well just wait pinned to the wall to wake up.

Mary watched the black void tentacle slap around on what was left of the street, searching for the moth that it had lost.

She calmly watched it get closer and closer. Maybe she would have been afraid of it earlier, but after being stabbed about a thousand times, she doubted that whatever this thing was, that it would be able to hurt her.

Besides, it reminded her of Hollow.

The void had been noting but mildly confused and kind to her, no reason to fear it.

The void tentacle finally slapped it’s way to where Mary was pinned. It tapped into the spears keeping her to the wall and then touched her cloaked body.

The tentacle seemed to pause for a moment, as if surprised to find something fleshy and warm, but it didn’t stay that way for long. It immediately began to slide over her skin and twine up around her leg.

Mary sighed as once more the void got a bit too familiar with her.

As the tentacle was joined by others that began to twine around her and with each other, the void managed to dislodge some of the spears.  Soon Mary was pinned, not by sharp metal through her body, but by lots of little black void tentacle.

And honestly? It was an upgrade.

Mary relaxed as the void slowly began to encompass the remains of the downtown area, now only about a ten-foot circle around Mary, and just acknowledged the fact that she was probably about to get consumed by the void.

But that was fine. It was just a dream. She had survived this before, and she would again.

As the void dragged the concrete circle down, down, down, the light began to fade but Mary could still just barely see when she saw . . . it.

It was the color of void, but there was still enough light to see it against the back drop of the concrete. It looked like-, it looked like Hornet? If Hornet had horns with curved tips, bright glowing white eyes, and the lower body of an octopus. But, the size was right.

It was the size and shape of a child.

“He- Hello?”

The little creature continued to stare at Mary, and as she was dragged deeper into the abyss, more eyes seemed to just appear, pair after pair until Mary was surrounded by nearly as much white as she was darkness.

“Uh, are you- are you the vessels? Hollow and Hornet’s siblings? Are- no, Mary. This is a dream. And even if they’re really here they probably can’t talk. If Hollow can’t then they probably can’t.”

Mary twisted in the grasp of the void, the tentacles allowing her to look around, but not letting go of her.

She, wasn’t sure what to do? She needed to wake up, but it was unlikely that it would happen anytime soon, or she supposed that it could happen at any time but she probably couldn’t wake herself up.

So, Mary was just left staring into the unblinking eyes of what had to be thousands of possibly dead ghost children.

“. . . I am the Storyteller. And I am going to tell you all a story.”

Mary searched her mind for . . . for anything to tell to these kids, something bright and happy and good.

And when in doubt go with Aladdin and the Genie’s Lamp.

“Once upon a time, in a land far far away, where it’s so dry that the entire world is turned to golden sand . . . “

Mary woke slowly, and in pain.

So, this time she suspected that she was actually awake.

She was vividly aware of the tight loops around her and the slightly muffled quality of the world. She was absolutely bundled up in Hollow’s cloak, and judging by the sound of wind passing her by and the steady up and down movement, they were running.

“Hollow?” Mary croaked out, her throat dry and tacky with things that she was not going to think about.

The loops around her squeezed her tighter once and she could feel hollow pick up speed.

“Are we out of the caverns?”

Squeeze.

“Oh, that’s good. I- I’m sorry that I fell asleep on you. I don’t know what came over me.”

Squeeze.

“I . . . oh man. I can’t just ask you how far away we are from the castle, can I? Umm, are we in the stag-ways?”

Squeeze.

“Oh, that’s good. You’re taking us to the Palace, right?”

Squeeze.

“Mmm. We’re going to have one hell of a workload. I don’t know if I even have enough dreamcatchers to even take down all of the miners. Would it be a better idea to wait until I’ve made extra dreamcatchers? Or should I just go with what we have and retreat and return as need be?”

Squeeze-Squeeze.

“No? No, I shouldn’t wait to go to the mines?”

Squeeze-squeeze.

“Oh, you think I would return immediately?”

Squeeze-Squeeze.

“. . . Hollow, I am the only one able to bind the infected. We can’t just leave them to their fates, it would be cruel.”

 . . . squeeze-squeeze-squeeze.

“It would be, Hollow. Those bugs have families and friends and lovers that haven’t heard from them for who knows how long. They need to be kept safe, and not work in dangerous conditions while their minds are blinded by the Radiance’s light. Would you want me doing something like that while I wasn’t in my right mind?”

SQUEEZE-SQUEEZE.

“Yeah, see? Other bugs feel like you do. So, we can’t just leave them to their fate. We have the tools to help, so we will. But we also shouldn’t hurt ourselves in out efforts. So, that’s why I was asking to go now or later? I do think we should go now though, if only to get the Overseer. She’s infected as well, but she also seemed entirely too fine with letting all of those bugs work themselves to death, and I doubt that came from nowhere.”

Mary was shaken out of her planning by a sudden jolt and a brightening of light. Judging by the new sounds filtering in from the outside, the sounds of crowds and bustling, then Hollow had jumped out of the stag-ways and was now heading toward the castle halls.

Mary shifted in Hollow’s grip, trying to tug the cloak away from her face so that she could at least see a little more than just white fabric. But Hollow’s hands shifted to restrain her hands, keeping her from pulling their cloak away from her face.

Mary huffed at them, but let herself be held. She didn’t really want for others to see her face anyway, but she did want to peek.

Mary listened to the squawks of surprise and the clatter and thumps of bugs throwing themselves out of Hollow break neck pace. It was only a few more minutes of Hollow running quickly down the brightly lit halls before they came to a sudden stop.

Mary had an idea about why Hollow had been stopped.

She once more began to wiggle in Hollows arms, and this time they let her tuck some of the cloak out of her way.

Sure enough, the pale king was in his office, with the doors shut and the sigils up.

Mary began to wiggle a single arm from the cloak, but in her effort to reach out with a single limb from within the cloak, the cloak began to unwind around her.

Mary had a heart stopping paralyzing moment where she was uncovered. Her face and naked body out in the open for any bug to see, before hollow immediately recovered her with the cloak, void dripping from their eyes.

Mary didn’t waste any more time, now needing to be somewhere safe and tucked away from the eyes of the retainers. She lashed out with her bare-naked hand, and ripped open the doors to the king’s office, cracking open the seal.

Hollow immediately dashed in, and slammed shut the door behind them.

The Pale King jerked back with a chitter when the door suddenly slammed, heralding the entrance of Hollow. The king yanked his gaze to where his child was standing, clutching their wadded-up cloak in their arms like it was something that might jump out of their arms at any moment. His child’s form was . . . loose. Small bits of void rising up from their shell like smoke, and long tendrils branching from their arms and legs to lick at the air.

The sudden appearance of Hollow silenced Herrah and Lurien’s argument about how the silk would be mounted to the hoop. Lurien insisting that it must be wound, and Herrah proclaiming the necessity of it being sticky. But while the sight of an uncloaked Hollow was strange, it certainly was the sight of the pale squishy arm being pulled back into the bundle of fabric that the vessel was holding that made them swallow their words.

It was one thing to know that the Storyteller couldn’t be anything like a bug, and something else entirely to see exactly how she was so different.

The king could still remember his shock at seeing her in her full glory, her body had been as pale as his own. Her eyes had been white and black, the color of her blood detailing her face, and the heat that had radiated out of her had made him think that she retained a fire within her stomach. She had been so soft, yet he had felt first-hand the steel beneath her soft flesh.

She was not a bug. She was something else entirely.

And she had looked upon him at his lowest, and offered him her name and her hand.

And now she was once more clutched in the arms of his child, but this time stripped of her cloak and mask.

“Storyteller, what happened?!”

The bundle shifted in Hollow’s grip, and a single fold was parted to allow the Pale King to once more see the Storyteller’s strange white and black eyes.

“Ahh, Pale King, there are a number of problems in the mines.”

The story of the attack on Crystal Peak would be wildly exaggerated. There would be plays and operas and stories told next to fires. They would include brave bugs who stormed the tunnels and had pitched battles with infected miners whose pick axes could shatter walls with a single swing. Of the giant mining robots glowing with the infection as they battled the knights of Hallownest. There would be stories of the Storyteller whose face was stolen by the evil and corrupt Overseer being carried into battle by the Hollow Knight. About how the Storyteller had saved every infected with her Dreamcatchers and how the Hollow Knight had torn the mining robots apart with its bare hands. They would spin tales of a dramatic confrontation between the evil Overseer and the Storyteller and how it all came down to a battle of wills and thread.

But sadly, reality is rarely as exciting as fantasy.

What really happened was that all of the entrances and exits of the mines were sealed and a small group of bugs, including the Mary, Hollow, and the King himself, all went in to apprehend Overseer.

The Pale King placed barriers around the entrances to the giant cavern where most of the infected were and Mary bound any that they came across on their way to the Overseer’s office.

There was very little battle, and very little excitement. Hollow remembered the way to the Overseer’s office, and the pale king himself had been there before, but admittedly not for a very long time.

It wasn’t spread around how they found the office, it had been decided to be too gruesome.

The place had been trashed, the metal desk twisted into something like modern art and the entire contents of the room either shattered into shards or smashed beyond recognition.

And that was to say nothing of the cell where Mary had been kept.

Mary’s cloak was still wrapped around the crystal protruding from the floor, but it must have been jostled because when they arrived, the cell door was open and her mask had fallen to the floor.

Just outside of the cell, was . . . you couldn’t really call them corpses.

They were completely flattened, the hard exoskeleton of the bugs cracked and shattered as if someone had crushed them under a shoe’s heel.

They were all nearly unrecognizable. The only reason that they were sure that it was the Overseer and the pair of Hench bugs was because of the different amounts of twisted metal and crystal in the mess.

It was almost comical, in a horrible sort of way. The Overseer, who had considered the miners as below and as worthless as the dirt underfoot, had been crushed like the bug she was.

 . . .

Wow, ok, that was a bit racist.

Mary was laying on her back on the Pale King’s sofa, her mask in her hands above her face. The sad slits that had become more familiar than her own eyes gazed down at her.

She had needed to clean it after retrieving it. The orange of the infected blood from the murdered bugs had splattered it.

But it was perfectly white and polished once more.

Mary was oddly reluctant to put it on. While she needed it to even interact with the citizens of Hallownest, it had been nice to actually see everything and feel the air on her face.

But at the same time, she felt more naked in a cloak and no mask than when she had been running naked through the tunnels. She desperately wanted to slot the last piece of her disguise into place and cover up the hole that it left.

Mary’s attention was attracted by a deep sigh.

Mary looked over to see the Pale King slumped over his desk, a slate dangling from his hand. Mary could just make out the words on it.

It was a slate with the number of miners in the tunnels on it, broken up into who was still infected, who was bound, who was confirmed dead and who was missing altogether.

Mary did not envy him his position. He had to figure out how this massive oversight had happened, where the other miners were, who the Overseer was involved with, and his own personal guilt at not noticing such a thing happening in his kingdom.

Mary was beginning to understand why he had been blind to Hollow’s sentience for so long. When you have so many responsibilities and tragedies happening all at once, and all of them are your problem. You start to try and ignore the little inconsistences just to save your own mind.

Yeah, Mary did not envy the king in the least bit.

And now that she finally got him alone and he had finally read all of his paper work, it was time to drop another weight on his shoulders.

Mary sat up, but didn’t put on her mask. She felt that letting him see her eyes would help hold off the panic he would surely have.

“Pale king, I have found new information about the infection, the radiance, and the measures that will need to be taken to subduing her.”

The Pale King looked up from where he had slumped over. Mary tried to let him see that she was very determined to talk about this now, and not later. His shoulders slumped, before he also sat up to meet her head on. He gave her a regal nod and motioned for her to continue.

“The reason that the Radiance refuses to leave Hallownest, is because she’s feeding off of something here. It might be the reason that she’s still alive despite being mostly forgotten. She was originally a significantly weaker god with a small worshipper base and a . . . brother who made up her pair. They were a pair of migrating gods who followed and led a band of migratory moths. But when they came across Hallownest, the two of them apparently sensed a great ‘unawakening’ power. They both fed off of this power, but when the time to leave came the brother left with half of the clan while the Radiance stayed behind. If she is to be believed, over the years she consumed more and more of this sleeping power until she became the power. But I have some doubt that she has eaten it in its entirety.”

Mary leaned forward, “I suspect that the sleeping power that she was eating was the ‘Life’ god from the Arcane Egg’s story. She seems to fear the Void, completely and mindlessly. I think that she must have either been hurt by it before, or perhaps that the ‘Life’ that she has been feeding off of might have colored her own mind. But I suspect that she believes that the only thing that can hurt her in the dream realm is void. I think our plan as it is will fail because the Radiance has such steadfast belief in her own abilities. But if we incorporate void into it somehow, I suggest by soaking the silk in the liquid void you have shown me, then we will be able to but a crack in her confidence and win through that. As long as she has doubt, then we will win.”

The Pale King and Mary stared at one another.

“. . . how did you get this information?”

Mary’s eyes immediately darted away, not wanting to look the king in the eye while she told him this next bit.

“Well, you see . . .  it turns out that I am a little bit susceptible to the infection if I swallow some of it.”

The Pale King jolted forward, desperately looking at into her eyes for any hint of the poisonous orange.

 “WHAT?”

Mary waved her hands, trying to calm him down,

“It’s fine! I’m fine! It doesn’t last long, and I am totally aware of myself the entire time! I don’t think she can really do anything to me, but like, I do end up in her realm. But it’s ok, it’s not like I’m biting bug’s hands off often or anything!”

“YOU DID WHAT!?”

Chapter Text

The door was smaller than she thought it was going to be.

Mary had noticed over the course of her living in Hallownest, and the White palace in particular, that things were made big here. Whether it was just in case an incredibly large bug made their way into Hallownest, or it was just because the Pale King had a skewed sense of size from once having been a colossal wyrm, Mary had no clue.

But the door to the Abyss, the door that the Pale King had apparently sealed shut in order to serve as a graveyard for his children, was . . .  small.

To get through it, Hollow was going to have to stoop over. Their horns were too tall to fit through while standing. They would have to go through bent at the waist and with their head down, like they were trying to head butt someone on the other side.

It was as gilded as any other door in Hallownest, silver arches and the like, but it truly was small, a door that could have been in a hallway not the only entrance and exit to a place of power.

The prep to go in had been . . . weird to say the least. Herrah had taken the news that they were going to dunk her had made silk into Void . . . not badly honestly. At first, she had been confused, “Hollow wears silk all of the time?” but once everything had been explained to her in enough detail, she had gone quiet.

The Void eats through nearly everything it touches, not like acid, but like erosion on fast forward. If it is allowed to sit then it oozes into the most miniscule of cracks and makes the surrounds crumble.

The only material that can hold it is perfectly smooth glass with round bottoms. the smooth surface and tilted bottom not letting it ever truly settle.

The only reason that it’s not an instant death sentence for any bug who touches it, is because Void LIKES to move. It swirls and swishes around, and if introduced to water, will easily let itself be swept away.

It was unlikely that ordinary silk would be able to withstand the Void’s touch, especially if it was going to need to be soaked in it. Herrah had left that day, and they hadn’t seen her for about a week.

To be perfectly honest, Mary hadn’t really noticed the Deepnest Queen’s absence. She had been entirely too busy weaving the more complex binding-type dreamcatchers. Every time she made a decent pile she would be ferried over to the mines by Hollow and a few other bugs.

Mary would go the magic barriers by herself and just press the dreamcatchers to the nearest infected miner and then drag them through the barrier.

It had been one hell of a surprise that Mary could take a bound bug through a magic barrier. Mostly because Mary hadn’t meant to do it, the bound bug had been falling and there had been a pickaxe right where they were going to land, and like, she wasn’t doing this just to have the bug die because they fell on something pointy ok?!

So, she had reached out and dragged the bug toward her, at the very least expecting the trajectory to change, but Mary learned something very important that day.

The common bugs of Hallownest are top heavy and don’t actually weight that much!

Mary had overbalanced and fell on her ass with a shriek, the bound bug landing in her lap, and Hollow’s hands keeping her from slamming her head into the gravel.

The guards who had witnessed this, who had already been a bit high-strung to be working so closely with the infected, had been unable to keep from trilling in laughter. Though they had very quickly shut up when Hollow’s head had turned toward them. The empty eyes of the Hollow Knight being so obviously focused on them had made them release the smell of fear into the air.

But when the Storyteller had begun to make an odd honking noise that meant she was finding amusement in her own predicament, and the Hollow Knight’s empty eyes went back to the laughing creature in its hands.

After that, the Storyteller had tugged each of the bound miners through the magical barriers and the guards had gotten to work transporting the bodies out of the mines to be identified and delivered to their families and friends. A few of the bound bugs hadn’t been identified, and were taken to the white palace to be kept with the other bound individuals that had ended up in the Pale King’s hands. They were mostly the bodies of travelers who didn’t have anyone to claim them.

But, anyway, Mary had been very busy emptying out the mines, so when Herrah had stormed into the King’s office one day, her cloak stained and uneven with her mask tilted at an odd angle, she hadn’t noticed that Herrah had been absent from the castle for quite a few days.

Herrah had slammed a small skein of silk onto the Pale King’s desk with a triumphant noise and had demanded that he test it immediately.

Apparently Herrah had been busy creating an entirely new kind of weave style, and what she had come up with was a twisting clumpy looking silk that curled into itself and out of itself in a messy tangle.

It didn’t look pretty, but it was impressive. Mary had touched it with one of the bare hands, and the damn thing had nearly come alive to tangle her fingers, each little twist in the silk catching and winding into every single slight catch in her skin.

Hollow had been needed to untangle her and the Pale King after he had tried to get her free. Herrah had watched from the side, incredibly proud of herself.

It turns out that her idea had been to create a silk that would respond to the Void, to not be still as the ever-moving liquid traveled over it, but for it to move with the liquid. The sight of the small bit of silk soaking up the Void that the Pale King brought out of his workshop had been . . . disquieting.

The silk didn’t thrash or anything. It didn’t twist in the Pale King’s delicate grip as it was slowly dyed by the Void, but it seemed to pulse. The small little curls of silk would clench as they traded the Void between them, letting the darkness travel down and around the silk, never stopping long enough to erode the silk itself.

Herrah had done it.

She had created something that could hold the essence of the Void itself. Within a few days of acquiring the task.

She was truly a master of her craft, a true Queen of Spiders.

She had laughed loudly, hisses and trills mixed in at the sight of her victory. She had proclaimed that she already had her weavers working on making more skeins. That she was already a fifth of the way done to making enough silk to thread the dreamcatcher.

Then she tilted over on her side and immediately fell asleep.

Both Mary and the Pale King had a moment of panic, thinking that the Queen of Deepnest had passed out, but then when they were both hovering over her she let out a hearty snore.

A few days later brought them here, a large group about to see the Pale King and Hollow off to the deep dark Abyss.

The other dreamers were here, along with some of the workers who had worked so hard to finally create enough of the silk that was about to be dipped into the Void. Mary was thankful that apparently Herrah’s large size was mostly uncommon and that other spiders of Deepnest were actually a little smaller than the average bug size. Still entirely too fucking big, but not like, eat you in one go big.

So, you know, small favors.

But it seemed as though every Dreamer brought along someone to see the event. There were a group of bugs behind Monomon taking notes, seeming determined to describe the opening of the Abyss in real time to keep track of and note down in history. Mary had heard that ever since Mary’s visit that Monomon had advocated for a way to keep track of time. Though in an admittedly simpler and more useful ten hours in a day with ten days in a week and ten weeks in a month and ten months in a year. It was both a little short and a little long, but hey, maybe Mary will get used to it.

Lurien had brought a small group of nobles. Apparently the particularly devout and chill ones. The nobles who were actually involved with the kingdom and not just rich. They seemed to be regarding the door opening with an air of watching an important event happening and seemed to take pride in being dragged to the very bottom of the kingdom to watch their king enter a hole.

But like. Ok. You do you.

Even Mary seemed to have accidentally brought a group with herself. She had just mentioned that she was going to see the Pale King and Hollow off and before she knew it half of the workshop was trailing behind her and Tinsy was fussing at her cloak to straighten it up, acting like she didn’t see the Pale King basically every few hours.

So, there was a generous group there to watch the next step being taken to defeat an infectiousness god of dreams.

The Pale King and Hollow both cut a dashing figure, both of them dressed in cloaks cut more for movement rather than show, but seeming to look more serious for the effort put into their preparation for the climb into the Abyss.

There was a device that was built into the ground of the tunnel, basically just a large wench and chain to allow them to climb straight down or get pulled up in case of an emergency. It was more of a just in case thing, both of them having the ability to simply fly or jump out, but . . . the Pale King thought that it would be a better plan to have an easier way to get out.

Just in case.

Mary was close to the door, wanting to get a glimpse of the insides, to see this Abyss that was spoken of in both fear and awe, but by all accounts, she wouldn’t be able to see much more than just a dark hole.

The sendoff had been going on for a while now. Mary hadn’t expected it to take this long actually. When she had been brought down by Hollow, she had expected for the Pale King to make a short little speech and then be on his way, but it seemed as though he was finding every excuse that he could to put this off.

But eventually the Pale King was standing before the small gilded door. He raised his hands and with a quick flash of soul the door itself flashed with a magic rune before just . . . ceasing to exist.

God! Magic drove Mary up the wall. It was all so dramatic! Surely just putting a damn hinge on it would have worked just a well?

Mary took her chance to poke her head through the door and she was correct. It was pitch black in there, with the only thing she could see being a small metal walkway that she was sure was basically just a diving board into the darkness.

It made her shiver just to think about. And speaking of shiver, the door must have been more magic than Mary thought, because she could feel the chill coming from the dark. As if someone had opened a door into a winter night. Mary wouldn’t be surprised to see her breath fog up in the cold air.

Mary looked back toward the king, expecting to see the bug giving her a look. The regal bug silently telling her to get out of the way so that they expedition to continue.

What she saw was pure blind terror.

Mary had never thought of what a hundred-yard stare would look like on a bug, but that certainly was it. The Pale King’s eyes were as wide as they could possibly go, and his mandibles were loose, hanging below his face. He looked sort of like he had been slapped in the face, or punched in the gut.

He looked like he was about to crest into a fucking panic attack.

Oh god, oh fuck. The Pale King could not have a panic attack in front of all of these bugs. Mary was sure that them seeing the Pale King, a GOD, have a breakdown would not fucking bode well. Like if it was just the Dreamers then it might not be that bad, though Herrah might pull some shit later, but if he had a breakdown in front of his citizens, and the citizens of a mildly antagonistic other kingdom!?

That would be super fucking bad. Everyone needed to believe that the Pale King was unshakeable. That he was the pillar in the storm. They could not see him crumble.

But there was no way in hell that Mary could send him into the Abyss like this! There was a very strong possibility that he would not be able to move on his own, and that he would possibly run out screaming. It could damage his mind farther, and it would have just been cruel.

Shit. Shit. Shit! Why didn’t he talk to her about this?

Well, maybe he hadn’t realized how badly he would respond? But, fuck! He’s definably traumatized by the events of Hollow’s birth, and like who wouldn’t be?

What was Mary going to do?!

Hollow was standing on the other side of the door, their cloaked bulk mostly hiding the Pale King from view, or at least hiding his face from view. Mary had a very small window of possibility, how the fuck was she going to do this without letting anyone know that the Pale King was about to crumble?

By being as dramatic and loud as possible to steal the show.

“Oh, my King! I had not realized that the Abyss was so . . . cold! I had thought that it would be the same temperature as the tunnels, but alas it is cold enough to cause my breath to go white! That is far too cold for my magic to last without a constant upkeep! I must go in your place! Tinsy! Tinsy come here!”

The fluffy antennae retainer came toward Mary, very visibly confused at what was going on. But when she saw the Pale King’s face her own eyes bulged out of her face and she nearly stumbled.

But Mary just crowded Tinsy closer to the Pale King, trying her best to nod toward him and then back to Tinsy. Trying to get the bug to understand that she needed to look after the King and help disguise his fragility.

Tinsy’s antenna seemed to fluff out as she tucked her mandibles in tighter, but then she gave a single nod and rushed at the Pale King, the god still frozen looking into the darkness of the Void. She nabbed the small pack that had been latched to the Pale King’s hip and had then quickly cinched it around Mary’s own waist, just barely brushing the human’s soft sides with her hands.

Mary made sure to keep up a loud and quick commentary, apologizing over and over again about her own oversight and how she was so sorry to have to take the Pale King’s spot on the expedition as her retainer stripped the Pale King of his tools and then strapped them to her own body. They shape of her body suddenly becoming more obvious as the various small packs of glass vials and strange thermometer like things were strapped to her arms and waist.

Mary continued to talk loudly, and vibrantly declaring that she would be sure to take whatever measurements and samples that the Pale King needed, trying to draw all of the attention off of her retainer gently taking the Pale King and drawing him away from the door and into a corner, the Dreamer’s having picked up on something being wrong and Lurien and Monomon going over to see him while Herrah placed herself between the small group and the rest of the bugs who were still currently focused on Mary’s dramatics.

Hollow, who had been quietly watching, and had obviously picked up on something going on had gently taken Mary by the shoulder and had been leading her backwards toward the door. They had already grabbed then end of the chain and had dropped it over the edge, getting them ready for the climb down. The wench making a racket as it unspun the chain that had just added another layer of noise to Mary’s show.

And so, with Hollow’s help, Mary walked backward into the doorway of the Abyss, her cloaked body fading into the darkness until all that the bugs outside the door could see were her mask.

“So, I, the one titled Storyteller, will descend into the Abyss to assure that my magic is kept alive in the cold, and obviously we cannot both go down, so surely you will await my return. Up here. Out of the Abyss. I assure you that I will be able to take care of Hollow- Knight. Of the Hollow Knight.”

The more Mary talked the more nervous she became. This was a bad lie, and now she was going to go and plunge into the Abyss. She has breathing a little heavy and was already feeling her skin get clammy from her nervous sweat and the cold.

She had no idea how no one had already interrupted her. Why no one had called her on her bullshit.

The truth was, unbeknownst to her, it really was cold enough to make her breath turn white. And with every word that she said, fog would curl from behind her mask, and ooze from her eyes. It was almost as if she was overflowing with soul.

To see the white mist so vividly contrasted against the darkness of the Void, power flowing out of her without any concern.

It gave all of the bugs pause.

They had all known that she was powerful, but until that moment, many of them had not seen her power for themselves. To be constantly hemorrhaging that much soul? All of the time?

What kind of God was she to have so much power flowing out of her with every breath?

And so, they watched the mystical Storyteller’s mask disappear into the darkness, unconditionally trusting the Hollow Knight to keep her safe in the Abyss as they all waited for their return.

Mary fucking hated this.

She clung has hard as she physically could to Hollow’s back as they slowly lowered themselves into the literal actual Abyss. Mary had thought that she would be ok with the dark, she thought that she would be ok with heights! She had not factored in the combination of both heights and dark.

Like, listen, when someone tells you that it’s going to be dark, then you think, oh! I just won’t be able to see well! And even if it gets to be like, pitch black, you still think that, oh! I can see a little bit, right?

NO. No you can’t.

Mary couldn’t even see the slightest hint of a shape out in the darkness, and the farther down that Hollow went, the dimmer and dimmer their own horned head became. Mary was dreading the moment that she could no longer make out Hollow’s porcelain head in the Abyss, cause when that happened the darkness would have truly sucked all of the light out of this place.

Not to mention the absolute bone chilling cold. Mary was always a little chilly in Hallownest, but right now it was as if she was outside on a freezing January night and was only waiting for the frost to start to crystalize on her mask. The only good thing about the cold was that because the Abyss was underground here was no wind to strip the warmth from her bones.

And as if the darkness and cold weren’t enough, it was so fucking quiet. The only other sound other than Mary’s own breathing was the gentle clink of the chain as Hollow lowered the both of them into the Abyss.

Mary felt like the sound of her breathing was loud enough to echo in this place, but instead it got swallowed up. It was like the darkness was a thick curtain that cushioned everything from light to sound.

Mary somehow managed to tighten her grip on Hollow, thankful that she was touching them or else she would surely have lost them in the darkness. They body didn’t help keep her warm nor could she feel a heart beat in their chest. But at the very least she could feel the way that their body shifted and twisted as they climbed down the dangling chain, the constant movement a comfort.

When the pair finally reached the bottom of the chain, Mary didn’t realize that they had gotten there until Hollow had straightened up. The sudden shift of Hollow’s body had nearly made her slide down their back.

Mary had yelped, the sound uncomfortably loud in the silent darkness as she scrabbled at their shoulders to keep herself up. She didn’t quite manage to get a grip before Hollow once more came to her rescue, adjusting their body to allow them to put their hands behind themselves and hold Mary up.

Hollow ended up tucking their hands under the Storyteller’s butt as they began to walk. Their own eyes were not affected by the Void. The darkness inexistent to them.  They were made of the same cloth as darkness, but they knew that the Storyteller surely couldn’t see in such a place.

They could not help but think it was a good thing, her blindness in this place, as they delicately maneuvered their way over the cracked and broken heads that made up the entire floor of the Abyss.

She wouldn’t have wanted to see the remains of their siblings.

Hollow themselves didn’t have many memories of this place, their earliest memory consisting of chasing the light and dodging the dangers that were in the way. They hadn’t been aware of their siblings outside of considering them to just be a part of the terrain, anther obstacle to climb, another danger to aVoid.

It was odd to look back and realize that everyone had been alive. That, unlike Hollow, they had just that they had been less lucky.

Hollow finally managed to get over the remains of their siblings and their footsteps began to click on the metal of the structure that had been built into the Abyss.

Their Father had told them about the folly of the construction in the Abyss. About how bugs had kept getting sick, but that the symptoms had been so slow that no one had realized the core of the problem. At least not until the light house had been completed and the bugs who had turned it on had died near instantly. The light had caused the Void that had seeped into the bugs to suddenly go still, and erode away at the insides of the ones who had been in the direct light.

After that, their Father had removed all of the bugs from the Abyss, leaving the plans unfinished and struggling to treat the ones who had already been Void poisoned.

That had been the first time that the Abyss had been sealed. It hadn’t been disturbed again until Hollow and their siblings had been born.

And now it was opened again, to allow the only creature that had ever been able to escape the Void to wade back in.

Hollow eyed the dark liquid of the Void. The Storyteller was immune to the effects of the Void, having been encased in their limbs and touched their tears without any fear or pain. She could swim in water, but it was likely that the Void itself might try to swallow her if she got near it.

As loath as they were to set her down, it would be safer for her to be far away from the edge while Hollow soaked the silk in the Void. They were fairly confident that they were similar enough to the Void to not attract it’s interest.

When Hollow began to crouch in order to lower the Storyteller to the ground, she squeaked and gripped them harder.

“Hollow? Are you putting me down?”

Squeeze.

“Oh. Ah- Ok.”

The Storyteller delicately wiggled one of her legs free and put one of her feet to the metal below. Hollow jolted a little when she suddenly yanked it back up with a hiss.

“Cold! Ahh, the floor is freezing! Fucking hell, why am I always bare foot?!?!”

The Storyteller took a deep breath, her chest inflating against Hollow’s back, before she let her feet touch the floor. Hollow kept a hand on her shoulder as they turned to watch her do an awkward shimmy, crouching down and tucking her cloak underneath her feet. She continued to mutter quietly, but in the silence, they could hear her every word.

“Aaahhhh! Cold, cold, cold! Is this metal? What the fuck? Oh my god, it knew it was freezing in here, but I did not think it would be frozen metal freezing! Shit, why is it metal? What’s wrong with dirt? Dirt’s fine! Dirt was already here! You had to bring the metal in! Fucking shit!”

Hollow watched the Storyteller curl into a small ball, bending over some to keep a grip on her shoulder. The shape of her arms and legs disappearing into the cloak and her mask tucking down as if she was trying to hide in a shell.

She looked so cute as she shivered and whined on the cold ground. Hollow wanted to pick her up and tuck her close.

But they had a job to do, and the faster it was done, the sooner she would clutch their back as they climbed.

Hollow turned away from the temptation that the Storyteller made and began to walk to the edge of the metal platform. Their steps echoed in the darkness and they were just about to begin soaking the silk when-

“Hollow? Where-, where did you go?”

Hollow looked back to see the Storyteller had stood up and had her hands out in front of her. She wasn’t quite facing them as she took a cautious step forward. Toward the edge of the platform.

Hollow immediately went back to her and drew her a large step backwards. The Storyteller latched onto their wrists with both of her hands, her grip tight and bare, having shook off her cloak in order to more firmly grip them.

Hollow dragged her another step back for good measure and began squeezing her in a pattern over and over again.

Squeeze-Squeeze! Squeeze-Squeeze!

“No? No what?”

Hollow gently pressed down on the Storyteller, trying to get her to understand that they wanted her to stay in place. That it would be dangerous for her to move around down here.

“You want me to . . . sit down?”

 . . . close enough.

Squeeze.

“Ok? Oh! You want me to sit down and stay!”

The Storyteller did not start to sit.

“. . . It’s really dark here Hollow. And you can’t really make any noise. I . . . when you’re not touching me it’s like you’re not there at all. Like I’m down here alone in the cold and dark with no way out.”

The Storyteller shifted her grip, her mask tilting side to side, obviously trying to see anything to signal where Hollow was so that she could focus on them. She eventually settled on somewhere a little to the left of their face.

“Can- can I really not come with you?”

The Storyteller was scared. Her hold was tight and her words were unsure. In this place of darkness, ice and quiet, she was asking for comfort from the one creature that embodied all of these traits.

The Storyteller was asking for comfort from Hollow. This creature that could do amazing things, who had fought their Father and come out unscathed, was asking so softly for them to stay with her so that she would know where they were.

. . . but they couldn’t. It would be dangerous for them to bring her near the edge. If Hollow could barely restrain themselves from scooping her up, then the Void itself would grab her, no question. They had to keep her there, but they also had to do something to settle her nerves and make her feel better.

They could do nothing about the cold and quiet, but they had something to ward off her fear of the dark.

Hollow wiggled one hand from the Storyteller’s grip and reached into the space that they carried with them and took out their Nightlight. The little ball of fluff that had proved that they were something more than just ‘Hollow’.

The glow barely cut thorough the darkness, less illuminating an area and more just reflecting off of the white of the Storyteller’s mask and Hollow’s face.

They gently tucked the small ball into the Storyteller’s soft hands, the pale flesh nearly glowing with the light from the Nightlight.

“Thank you.”

The Storyteller’s voice had a strange warble to it, but Hollow could tell that she meant her words.

The Nightlight didn’t allow the Storyteller to see far, but it would at the very least let her see something in the darkness. The area around her at the very least, so that she was in less danger of falling off of the metal platform.

The Storyteller cupped the Nightlight in her hands, and some of the tension left her body.

Hollow gave her one last squeeze, happy to have helped in some way, and then walked a step backwards toward the edge of the platform, keeping their eyes on the Storyteller and the way that she held the nightlight in front of her. Her mask was turned toward them, watching where they melted back into the darkness.

She still seemed nervous but she stayed in place as they began to take the many skeins that Herrah had given them out of their space and leaned down to thrust skein after skein into the Void.

The black liquid seamlessly flowed over their hand, and began sinking into the silk in their hand. Even to Hollow’s eyes, it appeared as though the Void was simply a part of their arm, the two surfaces meeting seamlessly, without a ripple or a shudder to even signify that Hollow had disturbed the surface.

The Void recognized its own.

From behind Hollow, the Storyteller’s voice rose once more.

“I- I am going to keep talking. I know that you can’t respond, but like. I need to distract myself, ok? So, I’m just going to . . .  talk.”

The Storyteller took a deep breath in before letting it out. The odd steam that billowed out of her mask drawing Hollow’s eyes once more, their gaze following it as it slowly dispersed in the air.

The white breath didn’t taste of soul, didn’t taste of anything by the Storyteller, but now they had another idea of why the Storyteller needed so much water. Her very breathing used up her supply of the liquid.

“No offense Hollow, but the place you were born is scary as hell. Like, it’s not even doing anything to be scary, but the darkness that eats the light, and the all-encompassing silence that makes me feel like I’m screaming in a library with every single word I say. Is just so unsettling? I keep expecting something to come out of the darkness and like, tell me to be quiet. Or just eat me, that is still an option on the table here. I have never been afraid to be eaten before I ended up in Hallownest. Like, back where I come from, being eaten is super rare, and you like have to basically try to get eaten. Like you have to leave the city and go deep into the wilderness, but here you just might be unlucky on the regular roads.”

The Storyteller’s voice began to fill Hollow’s head with a pleasant hum. As long as she was talking, as long as her voice was calm and even, then the Storyteller was safe.

Hollow dunked another of the skeins into the Void, the silk absorbing the darkness quickly, swallowing the darkness like a spider slurping up the fluids of a meal.

Once the silk was the pure Void black that matched Hollow’s own body they retuned it into their space and brought out another, a constant and nearly mindless task. There were many skeins inside of them.

But a supply that they were steadily working through, with the Storyteller’s constant chatter a pleasant distraction in the back ground.

“-don’t know why that is. I mean, I know they Hallownest mostly just has shelled bugs in it, but like surely there must be a significant population of softer bugs? I know that I have heard the retainers refer to maggots, slugs and snails! So, is it really so odd that I’m soft fleshed?”

?????

“I mean, are cloaks really the only option for clothing? Does no one wear pants? Skirts at least! But no! All clothing stops at the chest.”

sound-in-the-Void?

“And don’t get me started on the feet, like, I know that most bugs have hard chitin hands and feet and like the ones who don’t need them to climb the walls and . . .  alright, so my argument holds no water at all.”

!!!!!

sound-in-the-Void!!!!!

“But like, I really want shoes! I just can’t decide if I should try weaving them myself out of some of the softer plants, or if I should just make some socks out of silk. Both with would be a pain to make, but I think I would be work it just to not have my feet be cold all of the time.”

go-to-sound.

“But then what if someone saw them? Which would be worse, someone seeing my weird fleshy soft feet or them seeing my weird shoe? Cause like, I think the embarrassment of them seeing a badly made shoe on the mystical ‘Storyteller’ would actually be worse than them just seeing my actual skin.”

go-to-sound.

“Because I have a certain image to protect as the mystical Storyteller figure that I project. I don’t think that the bugs of Hallownest would be in awe of me if they saw me in little fluffy booties. I mean, I wouldn’t think someone who wore booties could be someone to be in awe of.”

!?!

light!-light-in-the-Void!

“But . . . I guess since Hallownest doesn’t know what shoes even are I might be able to get away with it. Maybe I should try to sew again? But there aren’t any freaking sewing needles in Hallownest! Anytime I mention them they bring me a freaking LANCE. A huge freaking lance! What the fuck, right??”

light-light-light

“Yeah, I am totally going to make myself some shoes when we get back, and I will figure out how to work around the needle problem. I- what was that.”

light-light-light

“Hollow. I heard something from the opposite direct- oh my fucking god!”

light-light-light

When Mary saw the little white face just appear out of the gloom, she had the shit startled out of her. At first all of her human upbringing insisted that it had to be a ghost. Pure white and appearing out of the darkness? And not tall enough to be her usual specter? Has to be a ghost.

And once that passed she had a wild moment she wondered how the hell Hornet had managed to follow them down into the Abyss.

But then Mary had seen the complete lack of shine in their eyes and she had realized that this was something- someone like Hollow.

This was a vessel.

A vessel that was small and tiny and- walking toward her.

It was coming right for her.

Where it would touch her.

And then die.

“Oh FUCK!”

Mary took a step back, and then another, and eventually she just turned and began to run. But even that was cut off by the sudden sight of a soggy looking Hollow dragging themselves up onto the edge of what was apparently a metal dock.

She hadn’t heard them fall in, but seeing as how they fell into what looked like an ocean of Void, she could understand that.

So, Mary made a sharp turn and basically did a wide circle around the little vessel who thankfully wasn’t gaining on her. They followed her at a surprisingly sedate pace on tiny little legs.

“Hollow! Hollow don’t touch them! That’s- the Pale King- your father said that when he touched your siblings they died on contact!”

Mary made another lap around the dock, but then had to dodge to the side. How had they gotten in front of her?

Wait, no.

This one’s horns were different. More swoopy than the other’s more upward ones.

Mary managed to dodge them, but just as she was trying to get over the shock of two little vessels in the Abyss a third little face came out of the gloom.

As the third vessel joined the slow chase going on behind Mary, she began to have a mounting horror.

Just how many babies had been left down here?!!?

Chapter Text

Mary was trying not to waste her breath on cursing. She desperately wanted to keep screaming Fuck! into the silent abyss, but she did not have the lung capacity to keep up a decent jog and yell at the same time.

But she figured that Hollow knew exactly what she was thinking, and was probably repeating some alliteration of it in their own head.

Every time she passed them, her little bubble of light managing to reflect off of their white head when she was near enough to the edge of the dock, she saw them frozen on their knees. Their head following her as she jogged in a wide circle, but she suspected they were more focused on the little gaggle of babies that trailed behind her.

Hell. She was way more focused on the gaggle of soap bubble babies that trailed behind her.

Mary was not going to risk walking backwards, but it was just safer to throw some looks over her shoulder every now and then, nightlight held high to see behind her. She needed to know if any of the babies had suddenly put on a burst of speed and were gaining.

It was unlikely but she was not going to take any chances.

She was pretty sure that there were four vessels behind her now, all of them trading who was in the lead each time she made another wide turn.

At the moment a particularly odd horned vessel was in the lead. They had three curly horns asymmetrically sprouting from their head. One short horn on the right side of their head, and two long wavy ones on the left.

Mary had never really seen the influence of the Queen in Hollow, but this one defiantly leaned more towards their mother than their father.

As Mary once more made a large loop, another vessel took the lead. This one sported four horns, less on the top of their head and more on the sides. The horns sort of looked like a crab’s shell, all flared out and pointy.

But on the next turn it was overtaken by the vessel with downward pointed horns. They looked like they were the beginning of curled horns that would resembled a ram’s.

The last vessel Mary didn’t see often. It was apparently a slightly slower walker than the others, but Mary suspected that it was the first vessel she had seen, as it was the only one with horns that resembled Hornet’s and Hollow’s.

She thought that it might be shorter than the others.

Mary continued to keep up a stream of stupid, distrancting thoughts in order to keep from acknowledging that she had been jogging for about ten minutes now and had a serious stich in her side.

She had been entirely too lazy to suddenly have a high-stake jogging marathon!

And holy shit were the stakes high. If one of those babies touched her, then they would die, and she would probably never recover from the horror and guilt. Just thinking about her own physical weakness causing the death of a baby made her find a little more strength to put another foot of distance between her and them.

It would actually be less stressful if she was the one who would die! Cause at least then she wouldn’t be responsible for infant death!

 . . . she had been entirely too dismissive of the Pale King’s trauma.

Mary thought she had understood, but now faced with the exact same circumstances, she realized that the Pale King was a lot stronger than she had given him credit for. He might have suppressed most of this experience and ignored some of the evidence that had been looking him in the face, but the mere fact that he had managed to continue on after seeing the deaths of these little kids? Of his own children?

 . . .

Mary ran a little faster. She knew she was nowhere as strong. If one of these kids died on her, she would break.

Hopefully Hollow was thinking of a way to help her out.

Hollow’s head was filled with fuzzy static. They couldn’t think. They couldn’t move. All they could do was watch their siblings chase after the Storyteller and the dim little Nightlight that she carried.

When she had first shouted, they had tried to lunge at her. To protect her from whatever it was that they abyss had tossed out to capture her. To take her from them.

But instead they had slipped from the edge of the metal platform and had fallen into the void. For a moment they had been swallowed in that deep dark and they had become something other than Hollow.

Had returned to being something other than themselves.

They had been the entire liquid void. They had reached deeper than the stone did. They had reached wider than the tunnels could ever go.

They had been the beginning of all and the inevitable end of all.

They had been waiting. Waiting patiently and with anticipation for Life to burst into being. For the dark and still nest they had made to wait in to be torn apart by the bright starburst and screaming of the being that they loved.

That they craved.

That they would hound and chase until they caught Life once more and dragged it tired and struggling back to the nest to once more rest before the chase began anew.

The Void had no real concept of passing time, a second the same as an eternity to it.

It was only with the addition of it’s missing drop that it even had an inkling that perhaps this wait was different than all of the others.

The void was aware dimly, and without much attention, that something was coming near the edge of itself. But the light was too dim to be what it craved, it didn’t care about this lesser creature.

Except that it did.

A tiny, miniscule part of it had a thought of its own. A thought that the void had had many times, but never aimed at anything other than Life.

Mine.

This small part of the void began to separate itself from the whole. It cut itself off of the mass of what it was. Removing it’s thoughts, it’s experiences, its entirety away from the rest of the void.

The sliver of the void reached with a newly formed hand, and then pulled the fraction it was out of the body of what it had been.

And Hollow dragged themselves out of the Void, away from the unified eternity of what they had been and now no longer wanted to be.

Hollow was suddenly, achingly aware of how small they were.

And now they had to deal with an emergency.

They saw the Storyteller dodge one of their siblings and then run shouting in a large circle to keep out of the reach of tiny hands.

The only thing that managed to break through their silent and contained panic, was the sight of the Storyteller tripping, and falling flat on her face. Of the cracking noise of her mask slamming into the floor.

They lunged forward, their entire body springing into motion. They only just managed to snag the soft body of the Storyteller and drag her into their arms before one of their siblings managed to grab onto her body.

They then began to follow the Storyteller’s former path, their legs quickly putting space between them and their siblings.

Hollow’s mind began to hyper focus on the feeling of the Storyteller’s warmth and the sound of her gasping breath. She was loud, warm, and soft.

Everything that the Void was not.

She was something separate from the Void.

She was something to focus on, something other than the feeling of being too small and too shallow.

Of having once been vast and deep.

Of being a teaspoon rather than an ocean.

Mary felt like she had just seen her life flash before her eyes. The moment that her foot had touched something other than the hard and cold metal, she had known she was fucked. Whatever she had stepped on immediately shifted under her foot and caused her to topple forward, her momentum and jogging position doing nothing to save herself.

She hadn’t even managed to catch herself in her fall, her masked forehead smacking into the metal with enough force to knock the sense right out of her.

Mary was dazed, and didn’t even notice when she was scooped off of the ground and pulled up into a familiar pair of arms. She didn’t know how long it took her to come to, but she eventually realized that she was rocking to a gentle THUMP THUMP THUMP of Hollow running in the same circuit that she had been.

“Ow . . . Oh, man. I really smacked my head there. It’s a good thing you were there to get me Hollow.” Mary didn’t wait for Hollow to respond, she just looked over their shoulder. She had to hold the Nightlight out, but she managed to catch the slightest glimpse of the bone white faces of the little babies.

Their heads were tilted up to look at her as they continued to follow behind. Their little legs invisible in the darkness, but the little cloaks that they wore were just a shade off from the pitch black.

Little cloaks?

“How the fuck did they get cloaks? Were they- Hollow were you born with clothing on?” Mary leaned back to look in Hollow’s face, sure that they would be able to keep their grip on her. And they did, but there was no answer.

“Hollow?”

No response.

Mary raised the light closer to Hollow’s face, and cursed internally about how they literally could not move any part of their face! Forget a mask, it was like they were wearing a pot on their head, the pot just happened to have eye holes!

Mary reached up with her free hand to gently touch Hollow’s face. The shell of their face cold as ice to the palm of her hand.

Hollow didn’t respond to her touch.

Mary had a sudden horrible thought, of Hollow being unresponsive and of her being stranded at the bottom of the abyss, eventually dying of exposure or starvation. Of Hollow finally shaking themselves out of their trance, only to find her a cold corpse in their arms.

And she would die in their arms before she let the children kill themselves on her.

Mary slid her hand down their head, to where their black neck and their white head met.

The joint felt strange, the change from black to white not a slow granite or a fuzzy meeting but a sudden cut. Like someone had switched the heads on a pair of dolls and hadn’t even tried to match the skin colors.

She gave a gentle squeeze.

“Hollow, can you hear me? Please, I need you to respond.”

Mary nearly held her breath as she waited, hoping for some response from Hollow.

Anything at all.

So, when there was a gentle squeeze on her left ass cheek, she had never been so relived to get goosed.

“Ok, ok. Thank you for responding to me Hollow. You’re doing good! Can you- can you- Just! Keep running, just keep running. I’ll think of something, ok?”

Mary did her best to keep her tone chipper as she could.  She was very obviously lying to Hollow, and the mere fact that they didn’t give her a look that managed to convey how little they believed her just underlined the fact that they were in much worse shape than Mary could even guess at.

Mary wasn’t sure why seeing their siblings caused this response, but obviously Hollow was not in the right state of mind to try and communicate with her about it and they were not in a good place to have this conversation.

Mary took a deep breath, a hand instinctively coming up to her face to cradle it while the weight of the world finally settled on her shoulders.

There were four babies that could not be touched, could not be communicated with, and would try to reach the little light that Mary held. Hollow was having some kind of tightly contained episode and wasn’t going to be much help.

What was she going to do?

As Mary rubbed her hand over her mask in a substitute for pinching the bridge of her nose, her finger nails caught in a crack, and that last little detail, the realization that her mask had apparently been cracked by her fall almost made her break down in tears, the stress getting to be too much for her.

If it wasn’t for the quiet little “thump” noise that came from behind her, dragging her attention away from the straw that was just about to break her back.

Mary looked back over Hollow’s shoulders, Nightlight held high, allowing her to see a just a bit farther back, but she didn’t see anything in the darkness accept for the pale faces of the babies.

The three pale faces of the babies.

  . . . WHERE WAS THE FOURTH BABY??!!?

Mary’s fear was put to rest quickly, but in an odd way. The baby with the swoopy horns was laying on the ground. Hollow having to step over the baby and the others just going around them.

Mary boggled at the baby, trying to get a better look at them with each circuit that Hollow did, and it was after a fourth pass that she finally managed to see what was keeping the baby on the ground.

They had gotten tangled up in a skein of Void stained silk.

Mary jolted, realizing all at once that the skein must have been what she had stepped on, what had made her fall.

Mary stared into the darkness for a moment, a little shocked that it could be that simple. That a solution to their problem was just so readily at hand.

Then she was trying to get Hollow’s attention again, nearly climbing onto their shoulders, her knees on their chest and her hands on their horns as she angled their head down a little so that they would look at her.

“Hollow! Hollow, I have an idea. Drop the Void stained skeins in the way of your siblings. The silk won’t hurt them, and if they get tangled in it then they’ll stop moving! One of them is already tangled in it, so it shouldn’t be impossible to get the others!”

Hollow’s blank face didn’t change, but their body got all . . . malleable. She felt her knees sink into them a little bit, but before she could panic about that, dozens of skeins of lumpy black silk began to clatter to the ground. They were just falling out of Hollow’s stomach, as if there was a hole there.

But eventually the skeins stopped falling and Mary looked back to see that there was no longer a small group of babies following them. And on the next circuit around she saw that there were four little bodies lying on the ground, still and unmoving.

But alive. Gloriously, thankfully alive!

Mary began to laugh, giddy with victory and relief as she began to shimmy down from Hollow’s hold.

“Hollow! Hollow, we did it! They’re not going to be able to hurt themselves on us anymore! Stop- stop running. We need to plan. Come, come here and sit down. I need to brain storm and you need to calm down. Everything will be fine Hollow. We are all going to be just fine.”

Mary would damn well make it so.

Cannot-move

“Ok, we’re going to need to be really careful here. I won’t be able to help much because I can’t see exactly wear the strings are, and if I get the light too close to them they’re going to move toward it.”

Cannot-move.

“Hollow, I know that you’re not at your best right now, but do you think that you can follow my directions?”

Cannot-move

“. . . ok. Good, so what I want you to do is just to try and find the skein that each of your siblings are wrapped up in, and to collect the others up. You’re doing so good Hollow. I’m so proud of you.”

Movement-close-by.

Large-danger-nearby.

Cannot-move.

Large-danger-moving-self.

Self-is-being-moved-toward-light.

“Yes! Good Hollow! You’re doing so good! You’ve already gotten one of them! We’re just going to need the other three and then we can move to the next step of the plan!”

Light-over-self.

“Hello little one.”

Light-is-making-sound?

“You sure gave me a scare when you just appeared out of the darkness.”

Light-is-speaking-to-self.

“You looked like a ghost!”

Self-is-ghost?

“Oh, Hollow! Good, just lay them next to each other, we’ll just make a line and then tie them all together. I think that as long as we don’t drop them or anything that we’ll be able to just hang onto the strings and tow them up the chain. You carry me, and I’ll hold on to them. Or, well, I’ll be tied to you, and they’re be tied to me. I probably don’t have the arm strength to actually lift them for long.”

Light-will-carry-Ghost?

“Just a little more Hollow, then we can all leave and get your siblings safe. We’ll make it so the world won’t harm them. But first we have to get them out of the Abyss.”

Light-is-taking-Ghost-with-them?

Ghost-is-leaving-the-Void?

Ghost-go-with-light.

The Pale King had regained his sense in the time that the Storyteller and Hollow had been in the Abyss. He had slowly come back to himself with the Storyteller’s personal retainer fussing over him while Lurien had spoken loudly about a minor construction problem that the Black Egg reconstruction team was having. Pretending that they were in a meeting about a boring but private detail to keep the others away.

Monomon was nearby and was having a heated debate with her favorite student about the effects that temperature could have on soul, many experiments being planned out.

Herrah was simply standing between him and the other bugs who had joined them, her arms crossed and her mask staring down anyone who even looked like they might decide to come talk to him.

The Pale King was unsure what to do with such assistance. He appreciated it, but he couldn’t help but feel that he had failed them to have even needed to begin with. It was different with the Storyteller, with Mary.

To her he was an equal, not a god and only barely a king. It is not that she understood him, but that she was not blinded by his light. She saw his power, and instead of being in awe, of wanting to understand it, of taking it as a threat, she just brushed it off. To her, what he is was unimportant, only what he was doing held any weight to her.

And now that same Storyteller who could brush off the power of a god had descended into the Abyss with his child.

She had told a nearly unbelievable lie as she had rushed his panic numb body into a corner and had distracted his citizens with her dramatics. She had saved his reputation while also throwing herself into the abyss, a place that many a bug considered to be as close to a death that you can reach while living.

But now the chain was shuddering, heralding the return of the Storyteller and of his child, and the Pale King once more stood in front of the door that held his biggest fear and greatest regret.

Waiting for the return of his child and his . . . friend.

The chain began to shudder more violently, showing that they were almost at the top, and from the dark doorway the Storyteller’s voice could be heard.

“. . . careful! Oh man, we have to be so careful. Ahh! Stop swinging around! Yes, I know the light is very exciting, but I would very much so love if you would please stop- Spinning! Why are you spinning!”

What on earth was going on? Was Hollow alright?

“We’re almost at the top! Hollow You’re going to have to lift me up really high to keep them off of the ground.”

The Pale King almost went through the door to see what under earth was going on, but he couldn’t make himself enter the darkness.

And he didn’t have to.

From the darkness came Hollow, standing tall and for some reason once more missing their cloak. But more importantly, there was the Storyteller, in their hands, held high over their head and just the smallest bit in front of them.

She was being held by her bottom, her legs kicking gently to keep her balanced as her own arms were held out at her own sides.

And dangling from dark silk were four vessels, two from each arm. Their small white heads and dark cloaked bodies drawing the eyes of everyone.

The Pale King felt as though the breath was stolen from within him, his eyes focused on the specters of his past failure alive and whole before him.

“How . . .”

The Storyteller laughed, her voice pitched high as she sounded like she just barely had enough air within herself to speak.

“Oh, you know, I was already down there, and I like Hollow- The Hollow Knight so much that I figured that it wouldn’t hurt to keep a few more vessels around. Hope you don’t mind! But, ahh, enough questions, we need to get these little ones up to the palace to finish them up! They’re still soft you know.”

The Pale King’s eyes widened. Soft. They were still soft.

“Monomon, Lurien. Hurry back to the palace and get as much soul as you can ready, and get started on the runes. Herrah, I hope you do not mind me asking, but would you be willing to escort us back to the Palace? I do not what to take any chances with my chi- my vessels.”

Monomon and Lurien immediately left, and Herrah flicked a look between the Storyteller’s burden and the Pale King.

“I suppose I could spare the time Wyrm.”

The White Palace had finally calmed down.

It had been hectic to say the least, begining with the two dreamers; Monomon the Teacher and Lurien the Watcher storming the gates, demanding that all of the soul from the King’s workshop and from the first aid center be brought to the front hall. They had invoked the name of the Pale King, and though dubious, the retainers had complied.

Only half of the soul tanks and vials had been gathered when the front hall’s doors had been blasted open by soul magic.

The Pale King had been a bug possessed, spears floating around his body and his wings spread as far as they would go. He had looked like he was descending on the world to wreak vengeance for an unforgivable slight.

Many retainers fell to their knees at the sight, and whoever managed to stay on their feet after seeing their God, did not manage it when the Hollow Knight and the Storyteller entered.

The Hollow Knight was right behind the Pale King, but instead of wielding their sword or magic, they held the Storyteller high above their head. Their long fingers cinched tight around her body, their grip strong enough to let every bug their see the way their fingers sank into the Storyteller’s flesh, showcasing either her soft body, or a grip so powerful it could crumple a bug’s shell.

The Storyteller was a strange sight to see. Bound in dark silk that made her figure beneath her cloak all too obvious with how it crisscrossed around the strange protrusions on her chest and tangled down her arms. But what drew attention was the large crack down the top of her mask, ending just between her eyes.

But while riveting to see the Storyteller looking so rumpled, everyone’s eyes were quickly drawn to what dangled from her outstretched arms.

Four little vessels. Each as small as the Hollow Knight had been when the Pale King had led it into the castle.

The retainers didn’t have long to stare, Herrah the Beast, Queen of Deepnest, soon bought up the rear with a shell rattling hiss and demand that the soul be prepared, and all of the retainers immediately got back to work with a new-found haste.

It had been an ordeal, the Pale King flying around like an angry Squit brandishing his magic every time a retainer went closer than ten feet to the Hollow Knight and the Storyteller.

 The two dreamers carving runes into the floor around the large pot that had been taken from the kitchen, absolutely ruining the floors. Herrah prowling around the corners of the front hall, weaving webs in her anxiousness and snarling at anyone who came too close.

And if that wasn’t enough, someone told the White Lady that the Pale King was back with more vessels and she had rushed to the front hall, vines and flowers crawling over the White Palace halls in her wake. And when she had arrived she had just joined the Pale King in warding everyone away from the vessels dangling from the Storyteller, her thorns joining the blades being tossed around.

It had taken hours to collect enough soul, the Pale King and White Lady themselves dripping what they could into the pot, but eventually if the calculations of the two bugs who were slumped on the floor in exhaustion, the chisels in their hands and tentacles blunted from the constant use, were correct, then the amount of soul in the pot would be enough to solidify the four vessels.

The Storyteller, who far before this point had requested that her arms be tied to a pole to keep them straight, had been carefully held over the pot by the Hollow Knight and lowered just enough to dip the four vessels into the soul.

The soul was sucked up by the little vessels as if their small bodies were sponges, leaving nothing in the pot but for the four little creatures. And once all of the collected soul had been absorbed,  Monomon’s student came forward brandishing a single stick.

Everyone stopped breathing as the bug gently poked each of the vessels, the little creatures jolting slightly with each touch, and then the White Lady had descended upon the pot with her many branches and wrapped all of the nearby bugs in her hold.

Eventually the retainers managed to move all of the important bugs away from the front hall and back into the deeper areas of the castle. They had made an odd sight as they had been carted off, some of the bugs having to be carried away.

An exhausted Monomon having been scrapped off the floor and shoved into her mobile vial by her student. An asleep Lurien having been picked up by Herrah as the rest of her arms fiddled with the skeins that had been cut and unwrapped from the vessels and the Storyteller. The White Lady being rolled away by one of her gardeners as her attention was focused on the Vessels and the Pale King that were piled in her lap.

Of the Hollow Knight holding a sleeping Storyteller as it trailed behind.

There was rather a lot of gossip that spread that day.

About why the King and Queen were so emotional about the new vessels. About how the vessels had even been found.

About what it would mean for the Storyteller to enter the Abyss, and to leave damaged but with four new little creatures.

About what else the Storyteller could do.

Chapter Text

Mary was warm and only slightly uncomfortable.

Her bed was just a bit too hard and her blanket had tangled around her, but one of her cousins had come for a cuddle so she was perfectly happy to continue with her nap.

Mary shifted her hold on her cousin a little bit, clutching them closer and ducking her head some to nuzzle into their hair.

Clonk.

Mary was puzzled. Had her cousin left a bike helmet on? Had she left a bike helmet on? Why was . . .

Mary finally opened her eyes to look at dirt scuffed porcelain. Mary blinked a few times before pulling back some in order to figure out which of the vessels she was currently snuggling, but she was pretty sure that she knew. And with the different perspective, sure enough it was the ram horned vessel.

Mary patted the little cuddly vessel on top of their head.

“Hello there Curly.”

The little vessel tilted it’s head up to meet her eyes with their own empty ones for a moment before once more burying it’s head into her chest.

Mary snorted before tucking them close and sitting up. The little vessel’s weight was negligible even after they had been ‘hardened’. They weighed no more than the average cat, and were all too happy to be tucked more firmly into her arms.

After all of the vessels had been ‘hardened’ and carried away to be kept in the Queen’s Conservatory, everyone had been worried that the vessels would act the way that Hollow had as a child. Quiet and empty with no desire to even move unless there was a light to follow.

And in the beginning their fears had been met in full. The vessels would respond to outside influence but did nothing on their own, always just standing still and staring at the brightest thing in the room.

Though when Hollow was around they would lower themselves to eye level, having to nearly lay on their stomach in order to get that low, and have staring contests with the little vessels, but nothing ever seemed to come of it.

 It drove the Pale King and White Lady mad, and likely it would have taken quite a while before the vessels would have been able to understand how to be . . . well . . .alive?

But thankfully, like many of the things that Mary had heard Herrah liked to do, the Deepnest Queen made an executive decision without checking with anyone else and found a way to solve the problem.

She sent for her daughter to be escorted to the White Palace.

Hornet had arrived in the middle of another of Hollow’s and the Vessel’s staring contests, and had been utterly dumbfounded to discover that she now had some new siblings.

But it had only lasted for all but a second, as the very next thing she did after seeing them was to fling herself upon them and introduce herself as their older sister.

Within moments, Hornet was teaching all of the little vessels how to play hide and seek.
And even more interestingly, the vessels actually went and hid! Not well, they seemed to be completely unaware of their horns, but they certainly went and stood behind benches and leaves!

In just a few seconds of seeing these vessel Hornet had somehow accomplished what the rest of them had been struggling to do for hours!

And everyone had been entirely too relived to be bitter.

Monomon and Lurien returned to their homes to continue with the preparation, while Herrah had retired to one of the rooms made special for her stay. Everyone was thankful to go and rest.

The biggest concern about their minds had been dealt with. It seemed that with an example who looked like them and was there size to show them the way, the vessels were able to grasp the concept that they could do things other than just chase light.

But then we couldn’t get them to STOP.

They got into everything and seemed to be entirely impossible to contain! They would just wiggle out of all restraints, disappear if you turned your back, and it’s not like you could just listen for them, their steps were as light as a cat’s!

If you put them in a room, then you had better make sure that there were no holes in the walls or floors, because at one point we lost the littlest one down the fucking pipes! The White Lady had nearly torn apart the White Palace’s walls looking for them with her roots before they popped out of a damned drain grate in the training yard.

Each of the children seemed to have taken a single moment from that first day of meeting Hornet and decided to build their entire personality off of it.

The multi horned vessel, now named Sprout because at the time we didn’t know that the first time you referred to them they would take that as their NAME, had the stickiest fingers Mary had ever seen.  It didn’t matter what it was, if they could pick it up then it was going to disappear inside of them. There were now no longer any fallen leaves or small rocks in the Queen’s

Conservatory, and if you set down a chisel, plate or god forbid something shiny and then turned your attention away? Then all of those small little things were going to find their way inside of Sprout and you were never ever going to get them back. Not without having to sort through their entire hoard of stolen items at least.

The greedy little thing.

The only reliable way to get something really important back was to have Hornet demand it for you, but it was hard to convince her. Apparently Deepnest has a bit of a finder’s keeper’s sort out look on owning things.

And the flared horned one, named Vlad by the Pale King once he realized that it was the last chance to name one of his children, was so aggressive! They kept bull rushing everyone they met as a greeting! They weren’t particularly fast, heavy, or strong so it didn’t hurt and barely shook anyone who saw it coming, but every now and then the silent little bugger would manage to get someone in the back of their knees and have the bug fall on them.  

And that was without even mentioning all of the times that they would manage to get a hold of a stick and brandish it at anyone new that they came across. It would be worrisome, that this little nugget was particularly aggressive to all strangers, if it wasn’t for the fact that the one time they managed to make contact with one of the retainers soft parts with their stick, and made the bug cry out in pain they went stock still and began to cry black tears.

Vlad had hovered over the hurt bug and kept fluttering their hands in a way that reminded Mary of both the Pale King and Hornet. They had obviously never expected to do any actual harm.

What is really funny is that this didn’t change their actions much at all! But now they make sure not to get close to a bug while they swing their little stick around like a sword.

And then there was the littlest one whose name Mary was still apologizing to the Pale King and White Lady for.

Ghost was a little wanderer. They never ever stayed in one place unless they were actively involved with a game or task. Mary swore that at this point they had managed to bother every single bug in the entire White Palace! Everyone from a maid to a knight had led the little vessel by hand back to the Pale King and White Lady when they had once more wandered out of the Conservatory.

 Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was a standing order to stop any small vessel from leaving the White Palace they probably would have managed to wander all of the way out to the Cross Roads by now.

Ghost really had a case of wander lust, and it was a very good thing that they couldn’t seem to walk by a single bug without wandering up close to look at them with their big old eye holes. Really, Mary couldn’t tell if it was just them or the void that made them crave the attention from everyone that they set their eyes on.

And then there was Curly, so named by Hornet herself.

Mary wasn’t sure if it was just because she was so soft or so warm but every chance that Curly got, they climbed up and snuggled up with her.

They had all learned together that while the vessels did not need sleep, they apparently did something close to it. Maybe it could be considered meditation? Either way, the vessels seemed to enjoy piling themselves upon someone and staying there for however long they could, or until something more interesting drew their attention. All of them seemed to treat this “sleep” as the same as any other activity, but for Curly, it seemed to be a favored one. Whenever Hornet or one of the other siblings weren’t there to encourage them to play, Curly liked to snuggle up with whoever was staying still long enough to make climbing them worth it. They were often found on the White Lady’s lap, or even tucked underneath the edge of Pale King’s desk wrapped in the many legs of their father.

But if Mary was available? Then they would quickly switch perches.

Nosing their way into her lap until they were practically melting over her legs. But, sort of literally. This little vessel had a habit of allowing their legs to split into long tendrils and wrap around whatever they were snuggling into.

And here they were once again, forgoing playing with their siblings in order to snuggle up in her hold.

In fact, . . .

“When did I fall asleep?”

Mary startled a bit as something moved near her, but calmed when she saw that it was just the White Lady. Mary had either fallen asleep at her feet, or the White lady had moved herself over to Mary’s sleeping body.

“Oh, not too terribly long ago. The children have only managed to play a few games of tag, though Vlad was ‘It’ for quite a while on their turn.”

Mary looked up at the White Lady, feeling embarrassed that she had fallen asleep during what had to be one of the many minor meetings about how Mary wanted the “Ceremony” set up.

Mary had known that “The Binding of the Dream” would be a whole production, but she hadn’t actually put much thought into the pageantry until the White Lady herself had asked what Mary was going to need. And then Mary had been nearly struck dumb by the thought that she ACTAULLY HAD TO PLAN SOMETHING.

She had to make up a performance that was good enough to make bugs believe that she could overpower a god.

How the hell was she going to pull that off? The bugs in the castle didn’t think she could walk to her room unescorted! The common bugs of Hallownest had seen her trip and get carried around like a child by Hollow! The only bugs that still had respect for her were the ones who had never met her before. Once they saw her, who could think she was more powerful than a god?!

Mary’s many panic filled nights had made her lose a lot of sleep, and she had accidentally fallen into the habit of dozing off anytime she sat down for longer than a few minutes. She basically felt like she was wearing a blanket all of the time anyway, and with how her mask covered up her face so no one knew that her eyes were closed?

There had been a few incidents where bugs had apparently had entire conversations with her and have eventually been driven to tears under her silent and unmoving masked gaze. And then Hollow would show up and just scoop up her sleeping body and take her back to her room.

Or so Tinsy says.

Honestly Mary figured it probably did happen. Her life was way beyond those paltry levels of weird shit.

Just as Mary was about to try and apologize for her behavior, something slammed into her from the side, knocking her over as she instinctively curled around the vessel in her arms.

Mary had a moment where she was trying to figure out what hit her, looking up and around to see what had knocked her over and had nearly reared back at the sight of the little vessel Vlad running at her in a full tilt. She closed her eyes and braced herself for impact before a high-pitched little voice rang out.

“Vlad! NO!”

Vlad screeched to a stop, a little divot in the dirt being drawn as their momentum dragged them forward a foot, stopping just a few inches from her face.

Hornet caught up to her wayward siblings and planted her hands on her hips as she looked down those bare inches at them.

“You can’t aim for the face!”

Oh, that is much more considerate than I expected Hornet to be about getting others hurt!

“The Storyteller’s mask was cracked recently and it takes a long time to repair them! You’ll get yelled at by the Mask Maker for breaking his creations! And he’s really really scary! If you break the mask any more than it will have to go and be fixed by a pro-fresh-in-all instead of just patched up with glue!”

 . . . yeah that fits a bit more with her character.

Mary self-consciously lifted a hand up to her mask, her fingers sliding over the crack that she could still feel there.

Tinsy had managed to wrestle it off of her hands to have the crack filled with glue and painted over. From a distance you couldn’t see anything, and from close up you had to know it was there to see. But Mary could feel the line in the mask, and if felt so very much like a scar on her face. She felt like bugs were always staring at it, but she knew that they weren’t.

Probably.

“Storyteller! You woke up! That means that Curly has to come play with us!”

Ghost, the one who had slammed into her first, climbed on top of Mary’s hip to get at their sibling still nestled in her arms. Their little feet dug into her body as they levered themselves up, trying to drag their sibling out of her hold, but Curly had already gripped her tightly around the middle and refused to be moved. Vlad quickly joined in on the effort to detach their sibling from Mary, grabbing one of Curly’s horns leaning at an angle to try and pry them off of her.

 Hornet went for the more direct route went around to pull Curly’s tendrils off of Mary one by one.

She was still careful to not touch Mary too much, but after the little vessels had been hardened and begun to run around Mary had gotten up the courage to invite Hornet to touch her.

The little girl had grabbed Mary’s hand, and had loudly proclaimed in the excited tone that only a child could reach, that Mary ‘felt really weird!’

But it was apparently seen as respectful to not touch others too much in Deepnest.

It probably had something to do with the webs or the cloaks, honestly.

The little princess had taken to being an older sibling with much enthusiasm. She would order the little vessels about, but would also ask them questions and seem to divine some sort of response from their still and silent staring.

And now, if Mary was to guess, she wanted for everyone to play together. But with Curly practically adhered to her chest Mary was in no position to even get up, much less release the vessel to go and play.

But like always, Hollow came to her rescue.

The tall vessel appeared from where they had been left behind in the Conservatory, their little siblings having the attention spans of mayflies and running away the moment that they heard the Storyteller speak.

They were not as fast as their little siblings.

Or differently fast would be a better way to describe it.

Their sibling named Sprout was able to manifest the wings of their father to allow them to jump higher than the rest of their siblings. Their sibling named Vlad was able to fling themselves forward at a great speed without dissolving into void like Hollow did. The sibling named Ghost was able to fall from any distance without coming to harm.

And, the tall vessel thought with just a hint of unkindness as they lifted the Storyteller off of the ground, their sibling named Curly simply could not be moved without their wanting to be. Their little ram horned sibling stayed tucked into the Storyteller’s soft chest, their lower body having dissolved into tentacles to keep a grip on her even as they feigned sleep tucked away into the softness of her body.

Hollow had never known what it was like to feel jealous of another. But they had soon learned that it was a bitter and petty emotion. They weren’t even sure that they would have minded sharing their Storyteller’s time, if it weren’t for the fact that their sibling hadn’t been so smug to be carried around in her arms.

Hollow held the Storyteller up, their hands tucking underneath of her legs as they stared at their sibling clinging on to her.

Their sibling stared back, the tendrils they were using to latch onto the Storyteller seeming to thicken.

“Hey! No fighting! Curly, you got to nap with the Storyteller, and that means that you have to play with us! It’s Hollow’s turn to have the Storyteller!”

Mary just sat in Hollow’s grip, wondering how her life had come to this. Being fought over like a favorite toy by two creatures of darkness while their sister sections out her time.

If it wasn’t so cute, she might have been offended.

But she looked down at the little vessel who was still clinging to her with a half dozen tentacles of darkness and made her excuses, “I’m sorry Curly, but I need to go and see your farther. I have to have a private meeting with him about the ceremony I’m going to do soon. You should go play with your siblings.”

The little curly horned vessel stared at her for a heartbeat more before their lower body condensed into legs and they allowed themselves to fall to the ground. They landed with a little thump to the ground and were soon dragged off by their siblings to take Hollow’s place in a game of tag.

Hollow seemed to almost preen as they tucked Mary into the crook of their arm. They dipped heir head low to gently tap to their mother’s forehead with their own.

A vessel’s kiss.

The White Lady gave them a gentle caress on their horns and then they were both on their way through the White Palace’s halls to see the Pale King.

Mary looked up at the curve of Hollow’s face as she was once more carried through the White

Palace.

Hollow had been odd after their return from the depths of the abyss, though it was not particularly hard to guess on why. They suddenly had three new, or old really, siblings when they themselves had only just been acknowledged as being a person.

In the beginning Hollow had done their best to keep Mary as close at hand as possible while also keeping their siblings in sight at all times.

It had been simple in the beginning. Mary had been entirely too exhausted to do more than sleep in their arms while they stood guard over their new siblings, but once the children began to be children? Mary could tell that it nearly drove them mad.

There had been many days where they had tried to keep tabs on everyone, but not even Hollow could keep track of all of the vessels at once. They had eventually collapsed, their form softening like jelly as they finally got run down by trying to keep tabs on their siblings.

Mary had been the one to hold them, their head nuzzled into her stomach as she shushed them and told them all sorts of little stories about how she had run herself ragged trying to keep her cousins in line.

But she had insisted that it would be fine and that there was always someone nearby to help the vessels, even if it wasn’t them personally.

They were still jumpy sometimes, but they seemed to relax some when they left the care of their siblings with one of their parents.

It made her outrageously happy that they were now showing the regular signs aggravation about being the oldest sibling.

The first time that Curly and Hollow had a stare down confused Mary greatly, but now it was basically how they always interacted, either Curly sitting with a place of honor on her lap, or with Hollow holding Mary firmly out of Curly’s reach.

Hollow gently shifted Mary some as they opened the side door to the Pale King’s office. Mary hadn’t actually known about this door, it was so perfectly carved with the rest of the wall that she had never known it was there, but during one meeting where Ghost had wandered in during the discussions about how to move a large item, such as the giant hoop to be threaded, through the tunnels, she had been using it ever since. It was so much more convenient to take the little hall from the Queen’s Conservatory to the Pale King’s office.

But, without a retainer standing guard outside of the door, sometimes she would cause interruptions.

Like now.

Hollow and Mary both froze as they suddenly had the attention of not only the Pale King but a small group of noble looking bugs.

Mary wasn’t able to recognize any of them personally, but she had finally gotten familiar with the way nobles dressed and how they generally looked.

Bug’s wearing colorful clothes were always some flavor of rich. And these bugs were all wearing at least three different colors each, denoting them of not only a high status, but of also being the type to try and flaunt their wealth. To the Pale King.

Or, actually it was more likely that they were trying to show off to each other and the Pale King’s office was just the battle ground.

Yeah, that makes way more sense.

But either way Mary had accidentally become a new player in whatever game was going on in this office, and she might still have time to escape.

“Ah, I apologize. I was unaware that you still had a meeting going on. I will return later.”

Hollow only managed to take one step back before one of the noble bugs realized who exactly had interrupted them and managed to jump to their feet.

“Nonsense! It would be an honor to have the acclaimed Storyteller to chime in. Surely you would have a few wise words to help settle our disagreements?”

All of the other nobles immediately agreed, though they each tried to make it sound like they weren’t agreeing with each other, and had all individually orchestrated her wandering into the meeting at this time.

During the nobles all talking over each other Mary cast a panicked glance toward the Pale King and saw from his blank eyed look that showed he had already given up on anything being done with this group. He had probably been just waiting for the next appointment to come and force them out.

Though, as Mary counted the nobles, the Pale King didn’t usually have more than two or three bugs in a group at once and this group was at seven! Mary’s own face paled as she realized that this must be a combination of at the very least three groups who might have all planned this.

They had to be up to something.

Mary took a deep breath, reminded herself that only the Pale King himself could fire her and that Hollow could take all of these bugs in a fight, and channeled her inner Herrah.

She pointed at one of the bugs, her sleeves fluttering as she swung her arm.

“Be quiet. You. Tell me for what reason you are all here.”

The bug that she pointed at seemed to jump, shocked that they were the one called to speak when they had been at the back of the group. Their clothing was one of the more garish combinations, outing them as either young money or being purposely mislead into thinking that that shade of purple actually looked good with those shades of green.

They looked like a moldy plum.

And by looking that bad, they were obviously not supposed to be one of the speakers of this ambush, making them more likely to drop a hint or heavy-handed request for whatever these bugs really wanted.

When the bug stuttered out a few sounds, but hadn’t managed to find his words Mary carefully changed her position. No long lounging in Hollow’s arms, but kneeling on their splayed hand, leaning down to get just that much closer to the bugs as one arm stayed back to keep a firm grip on Hollow’s fingers to keep her balanced.

Mary put a growl in her voice, “Do you not know why you are here? Did you really come here just to waste the Pale King’s time?”

Her harsh words seemed to snap the bug out of their shock. They smoothed their cloak down, adjusted their posture and very purposely looked into Mary’s masked face, their eyes meeting her sad down turned slits.

“Storyteller, my associates and I have come to the Pale King to request that a decision to be made on how much to charge entry to the Black Egg Temple on the day of the ‘Binding of the Dream’. For the small number of seats that can fit in the temple, and for the honor of witnessing such an event, it would have to be quite a high price.”

The bug seemed to have gained enough courage to take a step closer to where she was doing her best to keep her balance on Hollow’s fingers. She had begun to regret the position almost instantly. Hollow’s palms were soft, but they were still not the best thing to balance on while she tried to menace some nobles.

“Surely a bug as powerful and regale as you would prefer the sealing event to be kept to the most civilized of bugs? If the price to enter is too low then any sort of riffraff could come flooding in.”

One of the other bugs, this one actually managing to dress more tastefully in a few different shades of blue, pressed forward to stand in front of the bug wearing the moldy plum.

“But if the price is too high, then while you would get the best, you would not be able to fill the seats. I have taken the liberty to write up a chart so that the seats closest to the center will be the more expensive. The farther from the center you go, the less expensive the seats will be. This way we will be able to place bugs according to their means and allow many of Hallownest’s to watch you free us all from this infection.”

Mary tilted herself down just a bit more, her shoulder complaining but she had to see this act all of the way through.

No half measures for her dramatic weird shit.

Mary let her arm lower and brought her hand back to her mask, as if to cup her own cheek. Mary sweetened her tone as she tilted her head.

“Well, this is a dilemma~.”

The bugs all visibly perked up at her softened tone. They all had their antenna’s pointed at her. Surely, they thought that she was going to let them make the decisions about this.

“It is so strange, surely when bugs attempt to subvert my magic they wouldn’t be so blatant about it.”

At her sickeningly sweet toned accusation, the bugs all froze. Their antenna’s seemed to curl back in fear before one of them shook off the shock to defend themselves.

“I- We- Storyteller! We are surely not trying to subvert your magic! What- What action have we taken to make you think this falsehood!?”

Mary carefully leaned back, her body straight once more in Hollow’s hand as she very very carefully began to stand up on Hollow’s outstretched palm. She felt a little bad about putting her dirty feet in Hollow’s hand but, well, the drama was needed.

Soon Mary was standing straight and tall on Hollow’s palm, her hand having traded her grip on their fingers to their horn. She stood tall and regale and only a little bit afraid of falling down if Hollow moved even an inch.

“A bug cannot pay for my magic, or else it will not have any effect. You are trying to sell the sight of my ceremony. You are attempting to undermine my power with your greed. You are trying to keep the many bugs of Hallownest in the thrall of the dream, sickened by the infection, just so that you can line your shells with geo? You ask me to decide the price of my mercy, and so you ask me to curse the bugs of Hallownest!”

Mary turned her head away from the bugs, so obviously dismissing them that she might as well of told them that they were to leave, and spoke directly to the Pale King.

“Was there not supposed to be only standing space available in the Black Egg Temple. Did the construction plans change?”

The Pale King had raised a hand to rub at his forehead. Mary supposed that the argument about the cost of seating had been a meeting that had been going on for quite a while. And while the Pale King had the God given right to do as he wished, he put a lot of effort into not making the bugs of Hallownest fear him. He had to be accommodating and polite no matter what bullshit they were spewing.

Mary had to applaud his effort to be a king and not a tyrant, especially when idiots like these tried to gang up on him.

“They have not. Duke Cark and Duke Vole were trying to petition me to add seating to the floor plans. Dukes Crept, Biul and Gruda were the ones who wished to restrict the crowd to just the bugs who ‘deserved’ to witness the spectacle while Dukes Fiq and Zumil were the ones who all wanted to charge an admittance fee. They seemed to have combined all of their plans quite nicely.”

The Pale King turned his gaze from Mary to the now cowering nobles whose names Mary was definitely not going to be able to remember. His eyes narrowed as he said his next words, “This is quite impressive since they had not had the time to actually speak to one another about it in between arguing with one another.”

Mary snorted and gave Hollow a significant look, and they obligingly lowered her to the ground, being a bro and ignoring her death grip on their horn. Hollow bent down, getting to their knees so that Mary was low enough to just step off of their palm. Once she was on the ground she walked with all of the confidence she could muster through the bugs who all took a step back away from her until she stood in front of the Pale King’s desk. She turned and once more faced the small group of greedy nobles.

“The answer to your argument is quite simple. There will be no seating, there will be no charging admittance, and there will be no restricting entry. The Black Egg Temple should be able to hold a few thousand bugs, and all that wish to watch me will be allowed as long as there is space for them.”

The bug wearing blue tried once more to argue, “But Storyteller- “

Mary cut off his words with a harsh voice, “Are you doubting me and my abilities?”

Mary tried to embody every single disappointed teacher and librarian that she had ever come across in her life. She tried to just put out an aura of disappointment and distain.

If there was even a single crack in her grand façade about her ceremony, then it would all crumble. There would be no way for her to have her web of lies hold up under the weight of the imprisonment of a damned god if there was even a hint of doubt. If the bugs watching had even a taste of disbelief then that might be enough for the damned fluffy cunt to wiggle out of the bindings.

Really, why the hell would they even be trying to make money off of the cure for the kingdom? That just seems like “How to be caught being evil 101.”

They weren’t even trying to disguise the fact that it was for themselves. They didn’t even try to pretend that it was to make up the salaries of the working bugs or anything.

Mary stopped moving as a revelation suddenly overcame her.

It was because their story culture was still young.

Mary kept forgetting, because they had managed to achieve so many wild technological advancements, but Hallownest was a young civilization. It was maybe three or four generations deep. They have been working so hard on their advancement that their culture hadn’t really flourished at all. Mary had managed to read through more than half of all of their fictional stories in one sitting, and most of them had been for children.

They simply hadn’t become familiar with the more stereotypical clichés that announced evil behavior.

Mary had a moment where she just relived basically all of her interactions with all of the bugs that had been so heavy handed with their manipulations. It wasn’t because they were being obvious on purpose as a way to intimidate her. They had literally been trying to be sneaky, and they just . . .

It wasn’t that they were doing it badly, it’s just that their culture was still in it’s childish point.

Mary was mired in politics where everyone was probably going to be as heavy handed with their manipulation as a damned cartoon villain.

Because even though they have been doing this for a while, they haven’t been spreading the tropes around to the populace. Bugs are still taking their words at face value because not enough of them know what it looks like when they are getting the wool pulled over their eyes.

And she did not know how to deal with that.

Mary took a deep breath. She was already sick of these low-grade villains and wanted them gone. Mary looked over her shoulder, knowing that Hollow would have followed as closely as possible while she did her dramatics and played her ace in the hole.

“Hollow Knight. I have an appointment with the Pale King. Remove these degenerates from my sight.”

Hollow took a single step forward, their head tilted at a threatening angle as they reached a hand out toward the closest bug.

The bugs as a group made a high-pitched noise, tuned tail and scurried out of the office, leaving their stone tablets behind. The room was cleared in seconds and the moment that they shut the door behind them, Mary heard a heavy thunk from behind her.

A quick look confirmed that the Pale King had let his head drop to his desk.

Mary huffed a laugh as she circled the desk to stand beside of the tired bug. His wings were drooping and his long body was on its back with his legs curling in the air, mimicking a bug’s death throes.

Mary flicked one of his waving legs and laughed as his whole body flinched away from her touch. The Pale King rolled his large horned head just far enough over to glare at her as his body instinctively curled to put his belly once more toward the ground.

Mary leaned on the desk next to him, and pulled her mask up over her head to wiggle her eyebrows at him.

“Quite the crowd you had in today, huh?”

The Pale King, who had had enough interactions with an unmasked Mary by now knew that when she fluttered her facial fluff like that at him she was teasing him, so he just gave her a halfhearted hiss in return. He had been so tied up with the rude nobles that he hadn’t been able to make them drop the topic, so when the next group had come in he hadn’t managed to make them leave. Before he knew it he was vastly outnumbered by many arguing nobles who couldn’t agree amongst themselves.

But Mary showed up and instantly took control of the situation. She cut through their scheming with a few harsh words.

Her unique place in Hallownest allowed her to shake off the rules of polite society. Any insult she gave is placed solely on herself, and explained away as her being from a far-off land with different rules. And any bug that try to make themselves her enemy would have to battle the families of everyone she has ever saved, forcing them to swallow their anger at these slights.

She is perfect for cutting through the falsehoods and plans of those that would cripple the healing of his kingdom, without allowing them the grounds to retaliate. She is loved by the public of Hallownest, and only those that do not need her services would ever try to control her for their own gain.

But her power would only be so solid as long as the infection plagued his kingdom.

The Pale King knew that he needed to begin to make plans on how to protect her once she was no longer too valuable to attack. The moment that the bugs of Hallownest no longer needed her, he knew that the opinion of her would begin to change.

It was only a generation back that the Mantis were considered to be a respected and noble race that protected them from the horrors of Deepnest, but the moment that trade opened up between the spiders and the rest of the Kingdom? The moment that bugs were no longer so mindlessly afraid of the denizens of Deepnest? The Mantis tribe was no longer respected for their protection, but looked down upon for their violent ways.

The Pale King was unsure of how the constructed image of ‘The Storyteller’ would be twisted to be reviled instead of rejoiced, but he was sure it would happen.

But that was a problem for the future, and for now he had to first save his kingdom before he can manipulate it.

“The construction of the Black Egg Temple will be finished in four days. You will be expected to do your ceremony on the fifth.”

The Pale King’s quiet words made Mary’s smile shrink. She knew that the date was close, she knew that the construction was almost finished. But to have such a time set in stone and fast approaching?

She was terrified.

But, she was ready. She had decided on a ‘ritual’ and had practiced it in the privacy of her room. She had memorized everything she had planned to say, and had chosen what she was going to wear. She had studied the platform she would be doing the ritual on and had spoken with Monomon on what would need to be done to make her voice loud enough to be heard throughout the entire structure.

She felt like there was more that she should have done, but she had done all she could.

Mary bite her lip as she felt Hollow place a hand on her back, their hand spanning across her shoulders and down her spine. Her heart beat, which she hadn’t noticed speeding up, began to calm. The pressure a much-needed comfort.

“Pale King. I am as prepared as I can be. I will be able to complete the ritual.”

The Pale King looked up at the strange creature that had done so much for his kingdom.

They both knew that all that was saving the bugs of Hallownest was a carefully balanced tower of lies.

And yet, in that moment, he could have sworn that this was the most honest creature that had ever stepped under the earth.

Chapter Text

A group of bugs were all walking together down the dimly lit paths of the Cross Roads.

They were a fairly average group of bugs, mostly young adults. Two of them were holding hands as they all gossiped about what they were setting out to see.

“-can’t believe that it’s all finally going to be over! The worst tragedy to happen in Hallownest and we get to see it’s source finally be defeated!”

One of the bugs holding hands, the taller one, huffed in disgust. “If it really even works. I still don’t understand the motives of this ‘Storyteller’.”

The three female bugs walking in the group all groaned in unison, knowing exactly what the paranoid bug was going to start going on about again.

“Oh, shut up! I just think that it’s weird! This mysterious foreign bug pops up in some little no-name gruz settlement and just magically has exactly what we need to protect ourselves! That’s just too convenient! It reeks of ulterior motives!”

The tallest female bug rolled her eyes so hard she rolled her entire head, antennas nearly batting her friend’s own, “Oh come on Slone! The Pale King himself confirmed that she was the real deal! And I bet that you have dreamcatchers hanging over your bed.” Her eyes narrowed and turned sly as they darted toward the other smaller boy, “I’m sure that Toun can confirm.”

The smaller boy’s antenna’s curled in embarrassment before Slone raised his voice, as if attempting to gloss over what Velm said with volume alone.

“I’m not saying that they don’t work, I’m saying that I don’t know what the bug is getting out of this! Nobody just shows up to save the day! Not without the ones being saved having something that they want! And she’s not even making any money off of it! Selling the dreamcatchers would at least make sense!”

The smaller boy tugged on his boyfriend’s hand to get his attention, his voice was quiet and soft even as he spoke with a solemn expression on his face, “I think she just saw we needed help, and decided to do what she could.”

The taller bug got all misty eyed for a moment at how wonderful and sweet his boyfriend was before shaking himself out of it. “Toun, not everyone is as wonderful as you. I’m not saying that she’s evil or anything, but what’s going to happen once we don’t need her dreamcatchers anymore? When all of the bound bugs wake up and she loses her one piece of leverage over the kingdom?”

Velm butted in again, “She’ll probably be an advisor or something! She’s not going to like, pull out a bill and make the Pale King owe her or anything! I mean everyone that meets her says that she’s really nice!”

The other girls all chimed in with their own opinions about the Storyteller, how she had to be a wrongfully exiled princess from far away, or that she was a magical creature that had been summoned by the Pale King to help them.

Slone just huffed and focused on the way that his boyfriend’s antennas curled as he listened to the girls all prattle.

He just couldn’t believe that there was a bug so selfless as to save an entire kingdom from ruin, and ask for nothing in return.

It might not be evil, or even a price that anyone minded to pay, but there had to be an ulterior motive behind the Storyteller’s help.

Slone refused to believe otherwise.

“It’s true! I saw it with my own eyes! The Storyteller herself, dripping wet from the tears of the city and held gently aloft in the arms of the Hollow Knight. I, of course, treated her with all of the courtesy that I could! I was able to tell from her regal barring, so obvious even when she was disheveled, that she was a bug that would save the kingdom! So of course, I offered for her to use the hot springs free of charge, but she, in her graciousness, insisted on paying.”

Marissa sighed quietly as she lagged even farther behind the crowd of noble bugs all trailing behind the short bug who was nearly shouting to be heard above the noise of the many bugs in the Cross Roads.

 She was doing her best to be forgotten by the crowd of rich pleasure house regulars that were all being strung along by the clerk’s exaggerated story. He had been asked to repeat it so many times by now that he had perfected the entire tale! He no longer stuttered on the various lies he had added in to make it more interesting. To make it something more than just checking in any other customer that came near their desk.
Marissa herself barely remembered the day that she had passed so close to the famed Storyteller, and then only because of how unusual it was for a masked bug to even be allowed into the pleasure house.

It was no well-kept secret that the workers at the front desk purposely raise prices and act rudely to run off the masked subtypes of bugs that pass through the City of Tears.

It is rare for a bug born without a face to have the social standing to easily mingle with the other clientele of the pleasure house. So even if they would normally have the geo to come in and listen to her sing while they took a soak in the hot springs, they still might be barred from the premises for the crime of being born without a face.

Marissa knew without a doubt that it was the King’s Seal alone that allowed the Storyteller to be permitted to enter the pleasure house with so little fuss from the desk worker. But now that they know who it was that they almost turned away, they tried to twist the tale to make themselves look better.

Marissa smiled kindly as one of the many regulars, and as such the biggest spenders, turned to look back at her. Their antenna’s curled in pleasure before turning back to listen to the story. The moment she was no longer being watched, the sweet look dropped off of her face.

Marissa didn’t really know why she was here. She wanted Hallownest free of the infection as much as any other bug, but at the same time she didn’t want to be with these bugs when it happened.

They were all so shallow. They believed the first story they heard, never thinking about who was telling it, and if would be told differently from the other side. Just eager to hear about something, anything at all, that scandalized or titillated them. Anything that would entertain them as they grew fat and sedentary in their excess.

Marissa wondered if one day they would ever learn that people like her, the desk attendant, and even the Storyteller, are all just performers trying to sell them something and that there is always a very different face behind the smile.

Or, Marissa thought, passing one of the stylized posters publicizing the event, the Storyteller’s painted visage seeming to gaze out pleadingly, a motive behind the mourning eyes.

What was she getting out of this!?

This one question plagued Duke Amor’s mind as he smiled and laughed along with the other bugs in his group.

He had been invited along to join a group of other nobles as they all traveled on foot with the common bugs to see the greatly lauded “Binding of the Dream” that would take place in the Cross Roads. It was a first come first serve venture that would force them all to come in person and not just send a servant ahead to hold their spot.

The sides of the tunnels were lined with small stalls set up to sell anything from food to supplies to make a dreamcatcher, bugs hocking their wares to the many that passed by on their way to the temple. There was a festive air about the place and while the nobles he was traveling with had begun this trip with an air of longsuffering frustration, most of them had gotten caught up in the happy mood of the place.

Or, like Duke Amor, had pretended to be caught up.

While his face was certainly smiling, his mind was whirling with questions.

Duke Amor suspected that the Storyteller had the cure to this infection in her soft little hands since the moment that she had walked into Hallownest. The only reason that she had waited this long to disperse with it was to build up a large enough base of power. To have the bugs of the kingdom beholden to her!

And how she had succeeded!

Instead of going straight for the Pale King and giving him the cure he needed, she had pretended to be a no name bug from some no name village and had slowly put out her inventions, making the bugs of Hallownest seek her out! What a smart move!

The Storyteller had the antenna of the Pale King! She lived in the White palace, not as a servant or retainer but as a resident! She was guarded by the Hollow Knight, the Pale King’s Shadow itself!

A new thought crept into the back of Duke Amor’s mind as he winked at one of his companions, sharing in the joke that she had been telling him even as his mind continued to spin around why the Storyteller was choosing now to stop the infection.

Did she get offered a title? Would she be proclaimed a Lady? A Duchess?

There had even been some noise that perhaps the reason that there were four new vessels running about could be blamed on another dalliance of the Pale King’s! That another deal had been stuck with another female bug who had wanted to leave behind a legacy that would far outlast any mortal offspring.  

The little creatures were rumored to look just like the Pale King and that when she had first emerged from the abyss with them in tow, that there were concerns with them being too ‘soft’.

In the Duke’s opinion that was enough to give the rumor some credence, and from what stories had leaked out of the White Palace about how lively the little creatures were? It seemed impossible that they were from the same stock as the Hollow Knight, as the official story said.

A small, often over looked little voice in the back of the Duke’s head spoke up, Are you sure? The Hollow Knight seemed very lively the last time you saw it. Maybe these are just creatures that met the Storyteller sooner.

The voice was once more ignored, the opinion it had not working with the Duke’s current world view or plans.

He continued to question her motives.

Was she to be enfolded into the royal family as a mistress to the Pale King!? Was she powerful enough to wrestle the title of queen from the White Lady?!

Just what exactly was the Storyteller getting out of this whole charade of a binding?!

It had to be something far grander than the kingdom in her hand, for with this they would be released from her strings.

But what could top that?!

These questions spun in Duke Amor’s mind as he waited in the line that would allow him into the black egg temple, the grand structure just ahead of him and yawning open like a great beast to swallow all of the bugs impatiently waiting to walk into its stomach.

Surrounded by the mobs of lowly bugs that had filtered into the Black egg temple, the soulmaster was not happy with the way that events had played out.

His plans to influence the nobles under his sway into limiting the crowds at the binding of the dream had not survived contact with the Storyteller. She had suddenly appeared during the haggling with the Pale King. She had torn their arguments to shreds and had nearly had them arrested for trying to sabotage the binding.

The Storyteller was acquiring more and more power in the White Palace if she was able to walk into private meetings and wrestle the final say away from the Pale King. The Soulmaster could only imagine what other decisions she was making for the kingdom from her place at the Pale King’s side. Surely she was abusing her power for her own gain, much like how she had taken the Kingdom’s most powerful tool and turned it into her own personal stag.

The indignity of watching one of the Pale King’s greatest creations carry around this half-baked mystic was nearly too much for the Soulmaster to stomach some days. But he had enough control over himself to never confront her about it less she turn her eyes upon him.

Despite her dubious soul work, and her unknown origins, the Soulmaster could not deny the Storyteller’s power.

Her ability to squirm out of all of his attempts to either kill or capture her spoke of her ability. His first halfhearted attempt to have her stabbed and thrown into the canal had been thwarted by her aquatic nature.

When he had attempted to drop and infected bug atop her, she had showcased her newest ability to bind infected bugs.

Then he had orchestrated the Storyteller’s capture in the mines, whispering poison into the antenna of the Overseer to drive her to a suicidal plan to fake the Storyteller’s death and sell her to him. The light blinded idiot never realizing that she would never be able to hide the fact that all of her miners were infected from any sort of investigation, that she had only been able to hide so far by the unrest in the Kingdom and from all of the bugs who would be in charge of watching for such malpractice having been some of the first to fall to the infection.

He had always been planning to kill the Overseer, she had been too far gone in the light to last for much longer and knew too many of his secrets. But when one of his disciplines had approached the Storyteller in the cell and the empty mask had fallen to the floor, the storyteller having managed to escape into the tunnels at some point, he had let his rage get the best of him.

He had crushed the bug, smashed into her and savored the shattering of her shell and the crunch of her gaudy jewelry. Then he had crushed her guards just to feel it again.

The Soulmaster had made sure to distance himself during the investigation of the event. For this reason, the Soulmaster had been avoiding the White Palace himself, but he had been constantly sending in his disciplines to gather intel. Retainers are impossible to bribe, too proud to be working for the Pale King, but all it took was one or two hidden disciplines eavsedroping on hushed conversations to get a peek at what was going on in the White Palace’s halls.

The Storyteller had dragged four more vessels out of the void’s grasp, a feat only accomplished by the Pale King, and then only with a single vessel. And if the words of common bugs could be believed, then the things were all far from ‘empty’.

The Soulmaster had managed to get the tale out of one of the witnesses.

Lord Harington was a loyal believer who knew to keep his mouth shut, but plied with enough honey and even he would drop some hints about what happened deep under the kingdom at the mouth to the abyss.

Apparently, the Storyteller had been frantic to enter the abyss the moment that the door had opened, physically stripping the Pale King of his instruments and stealing away the Hollow knight all before the Pale King could raise a wing.

But while interesting and certainly cause to look deeper into the vessels themselves, what truly caught the Soulmaster’s attention was the way that Harington had described the glimpse that he had caught of the Storyteller’s use of soul.

Harington had been nearly reverent, an emotion usually reserved for his Pale King and god, when he had described the way that the Storyteller had looked before she had descended into the abyss. The way that soul had poured from behind her mask, not dripping to the floor but swirling toward the ceiling.

Harrington said that the Storyteller hadn’t done anything different, had made no sigils, no gestures, no chants. Harrington had said that he thought that perhaps the storyteller was always excluding so much soul, but it was only when backdropped against the abyss that he was able to see it.

 The Soulmaster needed to have the Storyteller.

At first, he had thought to have her killed so that he would have enough time to unlock the secrets of the infection. But now? He needed to have her in his labs, under his eye. Rumors that the Soulmaster had discarded as fiction now seemed that they might hold a grain of truth.

From the archives in particular had come some odd tales about the Storyteller’s ability to read vials freehanded, and for how a discussion with her had caused the Teacher to desire a system to count time.

A whisper of a question that had caught the Soulmaster’s attention like no else.

“Which was older? Hallownest or the Storyteller?”

The Storyteller, either through the nature of her species type, or through her own power had a lifespan long enough to rival a god’s.

The Soulmaster would learn which it was and find a way to achieve the same feat.

No matter what he had to do to any number of lesser bugs.

“How do you think she did it?”

The weaver’s whisper only just managed to make its way across the space between the two spiders hanging from the ceiling. They were sitting in the small web they had created for their own comfort, hung high above the bugs collecting to watch the ceremony that they would be a part of.

Gossiping was a well-practiced pastime of a weaver, and every spider always knew how to make themselves heard, either through a whisper, scream or the strumming of silk

“Did what?”

The weaver who asked the first question tilted her entire body to the side as a way of showing that she wasn’t going to go along with her sister playing coy.

“You know what. Filled the Hollow Knight to make it a bug. How do you think she did it?”

The other weaver was silent, already tired of this conversation. They had surely sucked it dry of any interest over the long periods of studying the void thread and learning to weave the pattern needed for this great pageant of a binding.

But well, being called a weaver was the same as being called a gossip. And the Storyteller was often brought up as a sticking point in most weaving circles. There were many theories constantly going around about her and her actions.

She couldn’t be a spider. Ignoring her body entirely, no self-respecting spider would let those shoddy knotted hoops ever see the light of day.

The weavers can recognize a lesser legged bug’s attempt at a spider’s teachings. Only a spider would think to catch dreams in a web, no matter the unimaginative name given to it. She had to have been taught by one of their kind.

They all privately thought that whichever spider had taught the storyteller how to make these dreamcatchers had focused too much on the magic and not enough on the actual products. The dreamcatchers that the Storyteller personally made were not passible webs at all, even if they did the job.

But they had long since learned that the bugs in Hallownest had lower standards than spiders did when it came to their creations.

Even if they were imbued with soul for catching dreams, there were entirely too many holes and loose threads! The tension was all wrong for hanging webs, and the silk was so thick that any bug would see it long before they were ever close to being caught.

Dreams had to be blind, for them to always be so easily caught.

And the spiders knew that they were being caught.

The mind-numbing dreams of light and a sickly-sweet voice crooning at them had all cut off with the ugly little things hanging over their nests. And while they had been quickly joined by far superior dreamcatchers, woven as fine as any web, none from the distant village in Deepnest would be too harsh with the Storyteller’s flimsy gifts.

She had done her best, and succeeded.

Every spider had learned in their youth that done was better than perfect.

Shaking off these thoughts the weaver pressed a few of her legs to her mouth, politely hiding the smile that bared her fangs, as she glanced at her sister.

“You know that she ruined the Hollow Knight. Not even the princess could get so much from it! You remember how it looked and responded back when it visited the village. Less of a bug and more of a tamed corpse crawler! It never reacted with more than a dodge when the younglings ambushed it! A cold and pristine creation of the Pale King’s in its entirety, all precise movements and clinical grace.”

The weaver crept closer and closer to her sister, her whispered words curling into the space between the two, hiding her poisonous words between the pair.

“Oh, but to look at it now? Whatever she did to it stole all of the chill from its body. It’s as silent as before, but now it’s so loud with its thoughts! It worries after her like she’s gravid with its first clutch.”

It had not escaped the notice of the spiders that the general populace of Hallownest had not yet learned the reason behind why their Pale King had been so rushed for the dreamcatcher plan to be enacted.

That the Hollow Knight had been filled quite full by the Storyteller, leaving no space for the infection inside of it.

The weaver smirked, “If the princess didn’t so viciously claim that the newest little vessels were her siblings, I would have to insist that the Storyteller was the one who laid it’s eggs that day in the abyss.”

At that the weaver’s sister finally broke her silence. “Oh, come now, not even a god can make an egg hatch within such a short time.”

The first weaver was ecstatic, her sister had given into her plucking! “Oh? Then how do you think that those little vessels came to be?”

Her sister flexes her legs at her, angry that she had once more given into the stupid and repetitive arguments that were so common between them but still willing to gossip on this topic once she had begun. “Well, obviously it was the Hollow Knight who laid them! There have been no tales of the Storyteller becoming larger, so she was not the one that had been egg heavy. But you have to have seen the Hollow Knight take objects from within itself, so it would have been able to hide them. It had to have been the one who was carrying the eggs!”

The other weaver gasped, such an idea never having been considered.

The sister preened, happy to have made the other shut up and once started she couldn’t stop from sharing her ideas. “I think that the Storyteller must have been put through a breeding season! Just remember the rumors about how the Hollow Knight would dote on her and take care of her every possible comfort? She had to have been put into a season! Who wouldn’t with such care! Not even my own husband had been able to take such care with me when he was trying to seduce me.”

The weavers hunched closer together as the gossip began to truly get out of hand, “You know how the Storyteller acts around the Hollow Knight, she treats it like any other bug! And while that might be true now, it wasn’t before. She must have been pushed into season by it! And copulating with someone as powerful as the Storyteller must have had some effect on it! That must had been heightened by the Hollow Knight getting egg heavy! The Hollow Knight was ruined because the Storyteller quite literally filled it!”

The excited whispers of the weavers continued on, getting lost in the noise of the crowd below them as the temple was steadily filled with bugs and the time to do the binding drew closer and closer with every single body that entered.

When the Black Egg Temple was filled to capacity, or when there were simply no more bugs in line, was when the ceremony would begin.

The Pale King wasn’t sure that it had been a good idea to bring the newest members of the family.

“Vlad! No, do not attack them! Sprout, what do you have?! Put it back! Where is Ghost?!”

The small vessels wandered off the moment that he turned his gaze away. Either to immediately begin attacking the legs of the bugs around them, stealing anything small enough to fit in their hands, or disappearing altogether.

The Pale King had to keep grabbing his brood by their horns and pulling them away from whatever or whomever they were reaching out for while his long body was wrapped around the one who was mostly likely to vanish if he ever lost physical contact. If the Pale King had any less length or fewer arms then surely, he would have lost one of them by now.

The Pale King couldn’t help but be entirely thankful that his status as a god king had allowed him to be given a private and secluded seat for this binding, the only private seating made for the entire temple event. It hid him away from the gaze of his people while he underwent the trials of fatherhood.

He was unsure if he would be able to get his energetic brood settled in time to make an appearance before the binding, to show his people that he was here to witness and support the Storyteller.

As Vlad once more tried to dash toward the curtain that separated the back of the small room from the eyes of the crowd, having assuredly caught a glimpse of some bug’s feet, the Pale King wasn’t sure he’d be able to settle his children at all.

The Pale King’s attention was shaken from his children by the sound of his wife’s laughter.

She was sitting in the chair he had designed for her, lounging with all of the unhurried grace and contentment that had drawn him to her from the very beginning. In her lap laid the least active of their children.

Curly reclined on their mother, appearing to be asleep even with their never shutting eyes. Docile and calm.

The Pale King readjusted his body’s grip on Ghost, feeling them nearly slip away with all of their wiggling.

“My Darling, do you require help? Surely you could give one of them to me. It would be no great trouble to keep hold of another of my children.”

The Pale King nodded at his wife even as he refused her offer of help. “No, my Root. I will keep them to myself for now.”

As much as he loved his dear wife, as much as she loved their children, it would be a bad idea to put them in her care in public. The fact of the matter was that while their children always bent to her whims and followed her orders, they were still children and easily distracted.

They would stay in her hold for a few moments, at least until Sprout saw the glitter of a shined charm, or Vlad once more glimpsed the fluttering cloak of a stranger. They would dart away, and while she might be able to snatch up one of them before they got too far, the moment that her attention was shifted from Ghost, they would disappear.

While this was usually no great problem in the safety of their home, out in the Kingdom?

The Pale King knew that if he released his hold on one of his children it was likely that the entire guard would have to chase them through the tunnels from the Cross Roads to Deepnest.

He would keep them in hand. At least until the Storyteller began the ceremony.

The Pale King was sure that her soothing voice would attract and settle his children’s attention onto her story. That she would draw them under her influence like she would the rest of the bugs that had come to see the binding.

Mary had a habit of drawing all of the attention in a room when she began to speak, and they were all counting on that happening once again.

The Storyteller appeared to be worried.

No, that was too tame of a description.

The Storyteller was mad with panic and anxiety.

She paced the floor, taking three steps from one edge of the tent to the other. She was flapping her sleeves as she swung her arms in odd motions and muttered a rhythmic chant over and over again.

But she would stop every now and then to drop down and curl into a little ball. She would give a high pitched but muffled scream, her sleeved hands tucking under her mask to muffle the noise.

But after each short fit, she would stand up once more and continue her pacing of the tent before repeating it once more. A constant cycle of side to side and up and down.

This would have concerned a regular bug. Any regular bug that saw the savior of the kingdom pacing back and forth in the small tent that had been given to her would have been worried right along with the Storyteller.

They would have doubted her ability or her power right along with the Storyteller.

But Tinsy felt comfortable in calling herself no longer a regular bug.

She had been a normal retainer until the Pale King himself had called for her by name, to take care of the newest guest of the White Palace. And after taking that burden, after agreeing with the duties that were offered to her, she had been given no choice but to become something more than she had been before.

Tinsy’s first glimpse of the Storyteller was much like her current view. The bug had been pacing back and forth in the much larger room she had been left to wait in, the only difference being in the quality and make of cloak that she wore.

And of course, the fact that the Storyteller had not acquired her tall and foreboding shadow yet.

It was almost ghoulish to see. The long and spindly body of the Hollow Knight all folded into itself in order to fit in the small tent, looking like a bundle of spider legs just waiting flex out and pounce on prey.

The Hollow Knight’s white cloak was spread wide to show the darkness that made up their body as they were forced to sit on the ground to keep their horns from piercing the fabric of the low tent roof.

Their white horned head slowly moved from side to side in order to keep the pacing Storyteller in view at all times, their huge and thin fingered hands twitching and curling every time she buckled over to scream. They were obviously desiring to take her into their embrace but respecting her need for movement, their embrace having already been rejected once.

They were a fright to behold, their void black body nearly being lost in what shadow the tent provided. A creature of nightmares and death sitting close enough to touch and tracking the pacing Storyteller like a hungry predator.
Not that Tinsy could really see Hollow as anything foreboding anymore. Not after witnessing them flutter over the Storyteller like a mother with their first clutch.

There were only so many times that you could see the physical manifestation of the void go out of their way to cuddle a struggling and complaining bug before you realized that they were not something to fear.

Well, not if you were on their side anyway.

Tinsy had seen many impossible things in her time at the White Palace, had found new devotion to her Pale King as she had caught glimpses of his power in the building she resided in.

But Tinsy rather suspected that she would have never have felt as much long-suffering affection for her Pale King as she does for her Storyteller.

The flutter brained idiot that had to be reminded to eat and sleep, and always said thank you no matter how small the task done for her. The whimsical fool who got lost in the White Palace no matter how many times she walked the halls and had to be led out by any bug who came across her.

The savior of the kingdom, who gave only one truth for ten lies.

Oh, a regular bug wouldn’t be able to figure it out.  Even someone from the White Palace, who came across her often, wouldn’t be able to tell. Even the bugs who worked closely with her in her workshop probably hadn’t noticed.

But the Storyteller was a liar. She was never all the way sure if what she was endorsing would even work.

It was her soft body that gave her away. The way her fear made her rise in height and put on her regal tones. She was always so tense and strict while she tried out anything new, always so anxious every time she sent off the dreamcatchers to be given away.

It was fascinating how her body could look hard, held so stiffly that one could think that she had a carapace like any other. But the moment that she succeeded with her soul work, she would relax. Her entire body shrinking down and turning soft as she no longer held the tension of possible failure to her heart.

Putting on the mask of a great and powerful bug, of a mysterious individual who knew exactly what they were doing, only to discard the charade and reveal the bug skidding on their shell. Always so relieved to have succeeded once more.

Tinsy had pieced together the picture through casual conversation, and listening to the what the Storyteller said when she forgot that others could hear.

The Storyteller’s power relied solely on her actions being witnessed. She needed others to see what she was doing in order for her power to influence the world around her. She could never act alone or else her actions would not have any effect.

Tinsy rather suspected that the Storyteller had spent a long time alone and powerless in order for her to be so nervous about her abilities. To be so unsure about whether or not the things she did would fail or succeed.

As if a creature that can go head to head with the Pale King had cause to be concerned about whether or not she had enough powerful.

Tinsy believed in the Storyteller’s ability to keep everyone’s eyes on her through this entire binding. To have the crowd witness her abilities and enforce her will on this world.

To save them all.

And besides, with Hollow here, the Storyteller would be in no danger at all.

Mary was nearly out of her mind with nerves. She was ready to claw out of her skin and scream. In fact, she had already given into the urge multiple times, coving her mouth with handfuls of balled fabric and shrieking into them until her lungs ran out of air, before pacing around what little room that she had in the tent prepared for her.

Hollow watched her from one corner, all tucked up to fit, while Tinsy watched her from the folds that signified the door, having put herself there to keep everyone else out.

The two bugs had been the only ones who had seen that she desperately needed to have some time to herself and had managed to shoo out all of the others who had managed to come and see the Mystic Storyteller backstage before the event.

The crowd had really just been Lurien and some other nobles more concerned with last minute details than to meet her, but even the small compliments and comments that had given had made her loose what little cool she ever had.

She was sure that they were expecting her to do some finishing touches on herself in order to complete the ceremony, but what was actually happening was the dumbest pep talk in history.

“Who’s good? I’m good! Who’s great? I’m great! Who’s gonna kick ass? I’m gonna kick ass!”

Mary was walking to the beat and muttering to herself as she tried to calm the swirling in her stomach. Trying to march away the adrenaline flooding her veins ever since she took a peek at the crowd gathering outside of the temple she was going to perform in.

She was trying, trying, trying to chill herself out, but it was not working.

Mary screamed into her hands one last time before she gave up and walked straight for the corner that Hollow had folded themselves up in. She climbed right into their lap, straddled their thin hips and pulled up her mask in order to bury her face directly into the soft part of their neck joint. She let loose a high-pitched whine of distress as she wound her arms around their neck, her arms resting on their shoulders as her fingers curled uselessly against the smooth porcelain of the back of their head.

Mary felt Hollow’s arms and legs fold around her, slowly encasing her. She sort of felt like she had willingly walked into a venus fly trap and gotten comfortable, but as Hollow’s slightly pointed fingers began to gently scratch down her back she felt her muscles begin to unwind.

Mary had been trying to avoid using Hollow as a comfort object. They were a person who has had their personal space intruded upon for their entire lives, and just because they have come to not mind it or even enjoy it doesn’t mean that she was allowed to just use them!

One of Hollow’s hands slid under her hood and gently ran their fingers over her scalp, causing her to shiver before she truly became nothing but a lump of pudding in their grasp.

Mary gave a moan of contentment as she settled herself more comfortably in Hollow’s grasp. As much as she really shouldn’t be doing this, they had really learned exactly what to do to make her calm down.

She always felt so safe when she was with them.

But she also felt like she was going to hurt them.

They were so strong, but so emotionally delicate. Strung so tight and with so many burdens on their shoulders. They kept cracking under the weight, and then instead of being able to get help or to heal, the weight just gets readjusted on their shoulders to allow them to drag it forward until their next breakdown.

Mary hoped that with this one last performance she would be able to take the largest of their burdens from their shoulders.

All she had to do was go up on that stage and signal for the weaver volunteers to begin weaving the void-soaked thread. Tell a slightly altered story of the creation myth from the void egg and explain how the goddess of dreams had gotten greedy and eaten the sleeping Life. After that she had to explain that the goddess was angry that she had been forgotten and that no one, not even the Pale King who had killed her physically, made her madder than herself, the Storyteller. She would tell them that the void in the thread would be able to tangle up even a god, and that she would be the bait to draw her attention.

Then she had to slam down a vial of orange goo that had been taken from some infected plants (they can dream? What the fuck?) and do a dead drop after her wrists had been knotted by the loose threads of the giant dreamcatcher. At which point the crowd would expect to see something happen, and it should happen.

Right?

Shit, maybe she should tell them that the string would like, glow or something? To influence the events?

Hollow’s grip on Mary tightened for a moment before she heard the flutter of cloth behind her. Tinsy who had been in the corner of the room, respecting Mary’s need to have a panic attack without comment, intercepted this bug before they could get too close and catch a glimpse of Mary’s face, even if it was buried in Hollow’s collar.

“This place is off limits, what are you- Oh!”

Mary slid her mask back over her face, gently extracting Hollow’s hand from her hood before turning around to see who entered into the tent.

The short body and cloak made her blink in confusion before she realized that it was a weaver.

One of the volunteers.

“Are you ready to begin?”

Mary’s voice was quiet, she nearly sounded like she was hoping for the answer to be no. For there to be some sort of emergency that would delay the binding for another few hours at least.

But no. The weaver gave a low bowing motion, their many legs splaying wide in order to lower their head without bending their nonexistent neck. Mary had learned this was a spider’s nod from Herrah when she had been introduced to the two sisters who would be making the dreamcatcher with the void thread.

Mary took a deep breath before moving to climb out of Hollow’s lap.

While getting into their hold was easy as walking, getting out involved gently nudging their arms and legs out of the cage they had formed around her. Wiggling and struggling and getting no help from Hollow as they pretended to be blind, deaf and dumb as they kept their limbs in the worst position possible.

Mary had no chance for an elegant dismount from their lap.

When Mary had finally gotten out of the beartrap of Hollow’s hold, Tinsy rushed over to help straighten up her cloak and mask.

The fluffy antennae bug had perfected the art of keeping her fingers away from Mary’s body even when pulling the fabric this way and that to make her presentable.

Finally put to rights, Mary stood tall and nodded at the weaver.

It was time for the show to begin.

Chapter Text

The signal that the ritual was beginning, was the shutting of the large doors of the Black Egg Temple.

The sudden diming of light made many of the bugs stutter in their conversations, and a wave of silence swept over the crowd until the only sounds were the uncontrollable noise of a great mass creatures simply being alive.

They were all waiting for something to happen.

And something did.

There was a balcony carved into the side of the Black Egg Temple. It was decorated in the Pale King’s sigils and gilded in silver. And from behind the thick white curtain that shielded the royal family from the eyes of the bugs of Hallownest came the Pale King, his natural glow drawing the eyes of every bug in the dark.

He stood straight, his small stature meaningless in the eyes of his subjects. His physical presence overwhelmed by the presence of the power he held in his body.

The Pale King’s power was something that every bug could feel tickling at their senses, filling them with a sense of both awe and apprehension. Letting them know that this was a greater being, who had simply decided not to harm them, the bugs who so foolishly wandered across his path.

It was a humbling feeling even as it inspired. Every bug that saw a greater being always had to think through the immediate urge to bow before them and offer them everything.

Or run away in fear of such a great predator before them.

Nothing could be greater than their god king who gave them minds to experience the world like a greater being. Whether or not they worshiped him, no bug could deny the awe one felt at his presence.

The same could not be said of beings that were not quite bugs.

No one could see from the angle of the balcony the way that his hands clenched around the horns of the troublesome struggling vessels, how his long body was still wrapped around a third.

The Pale King’s children felt no awe or fear at the presence of their father and continued to try and wiggle away from his grasp to explore this new area. He had to use all the physical strength in his small body to keep himself standing straight and not jerked about by the struggles of the rowdy vessels.

He would have to do his speech quickly, unsure how long he could keep the façade up.

“Denizens of Hallownest. Today I have asked you to gather. In order to bear witness to the Binding of the Dream. Our great kingdom of Hallownest has been plagued with an infection that has preyed on you as you slept and has stolen away the minds and wills of your family and companions.”

The Pale King could not help but pause here.

This next part of the speech was important, despite how much it would hurt to say. The words have been chosen for him, forced into his mouth by Mary while they sat together in the privacy of his workroom. A place where her mask could be removed and set on the table next to her. A well-guarded enclosure where her sleeves could be rolled up to free her soft hands. Her body bared to the dark room, safe deep in his White Palace and in his presence as she continued to weave together dreamcatchers to save his people. Working toward their goals even as she argued with him.

Sprout tried to twist from his grip during this pause, in his moment of weakness, and the reminder of just whose lives were on the line, the lives of his children and his people, helped him force out the words.

The truth she had made him swallow would scrape his throat raw, but he acknowledged that it was a truth and his people needed to hear. Had to hear in order to be saved.

“I apologize to you all. It is my own short comings that had caused the need for such a ritual. My own failure that caused the infection to take hold on us all. I was unable to defeat a god in the only way that truly mattered.”

The crowd buzzed with whispers.

There had been rumors, stories, gossip done in whispers and behind hands of what the infection had been caused by. Everything from poison from another kingdom, to a curse on the land itself, but to hear it straight from the Pale King’s mouth that it was the cause of another greater being?

“I had attempted to kill a god. I had defeated her certainly, destroyed her mortal body. Eaten and burned her flesh from this world. But not even a God can kill another God. A god cannot be killed, only changed or forgotten. But I had thought that I had chased whatever was left of her from Hallownest. That I had made her fear of me outweigh her rage of what I had done.”

The Pale King grit is teeth, a ghost of the Radiance’s flesh and blood filling his mouth even though this body had never had a taste of her.

“I was wrong.”

The Pale King felt as though he was regurgitating shattered crystals. Each word that the Storyteller has pushed down his throat coming back up painful and harsh. But it was like he was molting, the pain of being trapped in a too tight shell only becoming known when he traded it for the oversensitivity of breaking free from the thing that had protected him.

He had grown too large for his “unhealthy coping mechanisms” and now must deal with the symptoms of healing.

He tightened his grip on his children, their struggling having slowed down as they watched him speak, their little heads tipped back to look up at him. Their void dark eyes gazing at him.

This would be one of their earliest memories of him.

He was trying to make himself proud that it would be of him apologizing, of owning up to his mistakes. Perhaps he was setting a good example?

Surely it would be a better memory than of any that Hollow had of him. Of Hollow’s own father ignoring their struggles with the world and passing everything off as an odd response of the void to the world around it.

“The prosperous beginning of Hallownest was not because she had been chased away, but because she had been healing. Torn apart she might have been, her body destroyed, but her mind. Her spirit. She had retained access to her realm, and as such, her power.”

“As she healed, she began to visit your sleeping minds and offer you your desires, but only if you gave into her. Worshiped her. Made her stronger. Do not blame the ones who fell victim to her allure, I did not warn you of her. I did not tell you of the danger she still was. I silenced all mention of her, not wishing for my enemy to be spoken of in my home. I tried to make Hallownest forget its first unjust ruler.”

“But now she has become a threat once more, stealing the minds of my people, of you. And there is not a body I can rip apart for you. There is no sigil I can draw on your door, no wall to be built to protect your sleep. I have given you minds to share with others, but I cannot protect them.”

Then he couldn’t help but to look down even though he would not be able to see Mary’s tent from this angle. It had been set up directly below the balcony and she had retreated into it with a particular tightness to her body. She had needed to unwind in peace and couldn’t do so in the close quarters of the balcony.

Both because it was filed with the rowdy royal family, but also because she would need to immediately go to the risen stage in the center of the Black Egg Temple. Directly below where the huge empty hoop hung, ready to be filled with silk and magic.

But the tilt of his head drew attention to the tent, and the buzz of the crowd began to gain volume, though never loud enough to overcome the voice of their king.

“I sacrificed my offspring to create something to contain her. To remove her from her realm and to keep her trapped in a mind made of void. I created the Hollow Knight, the Pure Vessel, to be the living void, without a mind or will to break. I sacrificed so much to this plan, but all it took was one foreign bug coming to Hallownest to show me the folly of this plan. The void that lies beneath us is not like the glowing crystals in the peak, nor the never-ending water in the blue lake. It is the slumbering remains of an ancient god that was born with the making of the world.”

“And while the void can hold everything that exists, it is not empty. The Hollow Knight is not without a mind or a will, to have it hold the god that plagues Hallownest would do nothing but buy us more time. Her imprisonment would stroke her rage and focus her attacks on the Hollow Knight until they too would fall under her control, their body nothing but a puppet to use against us.”

The buzz of the crowd rose, but it took just a shake of the Pale King’s head, his hands still occupied with his children.

“My plan’s flaw was found, but with this new knowledge about the void, another plan was created. The best minds were brought together; the Teacher Monomon, the Watcher Lurien, the Beast Herrah and the Storyteller. Through their work and research, we have devised a trap for the god that haunts us. We have gathered here to witness the results of their work.”

The Pale King said these last words with a toss of his head, and after hearing the que, Mary stepped out from behind her tent’s curtain.

The eyes of the crowd zeroed in on her, or at least the one’s close enough to see her did. Most of the bugs in the temple had never had a chance or reason to see the Storyteller in person. Everyone knew about her mourning mask. Everyone knew that her body was oddly shaped below her cloaks. Everyone knew that she was a strange mystical bug from afar.

But her ordinary appearance confused many of the bugs who had come to watch her.

Just like their Pale King who had once been a colossal Wyrm, this being titled Storyteller was . . . small.

But unlike their Pale King, she had no aura of power to command attention and awe. She had no pale coloring of soul or a unique crown of horns adorning her head like their Pale King. No immense size and predatory air like Herrah the Beast. No floating exotic body like Monomon the Teacher. No melancholic air and alien mask like Lurien the Watcher.

She was just a small, forgettable, over-cloaked, drab bug in a sad mask.

But then the curtain fluttered again and the Hollow Knight unfolded from behind her. Its-their?- white head starting at the same level as the Storyteller’s before rising high above both her and the crowd. The Hollow Knight’s body made of void, of wyrm and of root grew behind her until they stood tall enough for the entire crowd to see.

Most bugs had never caught a glimpse of the Hollow Knight. It -they?!- were seen even less than the Pale King, but there was no mistaking who this bug was, and with the knowledge that the crowd had just been given about its origin, every bug felt uneasy in its -their?- presence.

It was the offspring of multiple gods, born of Wyrm and Root but shaped by the void. It was void with a mind and will, it was a creature that the Pale King had created out of tamed terrors and solidified death.

It had to be a god. With those three parents how could it be anything else?

The bugs in the crowd tried to sense something from the Hollow Knight, straining their antennas forward, uncaring if they slapped their neighbors during the attempt. But while from the Pale King they could sense his power, from the creature before them, all they felt was an absence. Like there was nothing there. That there would never be anything there. That there was an empty yawning, unending space where the Hollow Knight stood. That something could enter into that space and be forever lost.

Surely any sane bug would fear this?! No matter how it was born to guard them all, no bug in the audience could imagine feeling safe in its presence.

Anyone would flinch from the touch of such a monster.

But then the Hollow Knight bent over, their cloak dragging across the ground, and gently, carefully, scooped the Storyteller into their arms.

And the Storyteller not only went willingly but even relaxed back into the monster’s hold.

The Hollow Knight treated her with such care, with such reverence! Every bug could see the way that their hands gentle curled around her body, how they carefully dealt with the folds of the cloak that she wore. Even the way that they tucked the fabric around her body spoke of a history of such an action, of this young monstrous god carrying this bug at every chance they could. Every move, every action, every gently caress of their void stained hands spoke of worship.

Of the reverence this fearful greater being had for this one single bug.

Once the Storyteller was securely aloft in the Hollow Knight’s arms, the tall bug began to walk toward the crowd. The bugs in their way immediately tried to press backwards or to the side to open up a path for the approaching god, but soon found that there was simply nowhere to go. They had all been packed tightly into the temple, the only space was the ring that had been left around the Storyteller’s tent. And for every bug that attempted to take a step back there were three that pressed forward to get a better view.

But despite the tightly packed wall of bugs that was created by the crowd, the Hollow Knight did not stop walking toward them. They simply . . . stepped into the crowd. Their long legs carried them over the antenna of the watching bugs, their limbs finding the bare inch wide spaces that were left open by the different body shapes of the gathered bugs.

The Hollow Knight walked through the shifting crowd with the ease of any bug stepping on the road. Their body never touched anyone. But anytime they came close to a bug, they could feel their shell shudder at the strange sensation of the vast nothing passing by so close but never even grazing them.

The Hollow Knight carried the Storyteller through the crowd toward the stage, their steps silent and relaxed as they gently swayed around and over bugs who couldn’t get out of their way in time.

But when the Hollow Knight got to the raised stage, instead of climbing up, they carefully raised their arms up and with no effort at all the Storyteller stepped out of their grip. The Storyteller alighted from the hold of the god, stepping so gently she made no sound at all as she left the Hollow Knight’s grasp. Her cloak unraveled from where it had been tucked around her, and as she walked away from the Hollow Knight the edges of the black fabric tangled in their fingers.

No, not tangled. The Hollow Knight was letting the fine fabric trail from their fingers, extending their arm out behind the Storyteller to keep that one last bit of contact for as long as they could.

But the Storyteller finally went too far from their reach and the last of her heavy cloak fluttered to the stage behind her.

It was obviously her destination, she had the ceremony to do, and there was no reason for all of the bugs watching to be so surprised at her leaving the Hollow Knight’s hold.

For escaping with no effort, the hold of the void.

But every bug watching could barely believe that this offspring of gods, this greater being made of void with a mind and will, would have ever allowed what they held so carefully and so closely to ever leave their hands. That this young god, born with an unmoving face and dark soulless eyes, could gaze after a bug with such visible longing.

That this creature born from the void and rulers of Hallownest could so obviously worship another. That the offspring of three gods could ever see someone above them.

Or, some of the bugs in attendance thought as they watched the way the Hollow Knight retracted their hand from their reluctant release of the edge of the Storyteller’s cloak, the way they curled their fingers into the empty air as if to savor the last touch they had of her, maybe it’s just that a god loving someone looks so close to worship.

But the rest of the audience had stopped watching the Hollow Knight in favor of raking their eyes over the Storyteller, trying to see what the Hollow Knight saw in such a bug. Trying to see what there could have inspired such reverence.

As the Storyteller finally reached the center of the stage, she was suddenly lit from below. The sudden burst of light coming from below the cloaked bug startled the crowd and for a moment there was a burst of sound and movement as the audience were all surprised.

But the Storyteller didn’t falter as she walked to the center of the brightly glowing stage. The bright light coming from below her casting odd shadows on her mask, her body blocking the light one moment and then shining on her mask the next.

It gave an impression of a large smiling mouth opening and closing on her mourning mask, drawing an odd contrast to her sad eyes.

The other thing that caught the eyes of the bugs was the way that her cloak glittered in the light. Now that it was in such a bright light her cloak, which had been made of a fabric black as if to match the body of the Hollow Knight, shined with hundreds of small sigils that had been woven into the very fabric of the garment. Where before she had been a drab bug before, now she shown in the light.

But while now a prettier sight for sure, the audience still didn’t understand the reverence that this bug had gained from both the Pale King and the Hollow Knight.

Not until she began to speak that is.

“Citizens of Hallownest. I am the one titled Storyteller and I have come before you at the behest of the Pale King to bind the source of the dream that plague your sleep. But first I must earn my title. For the dream to be bound, you all must first hear the Story of Creation and the Tale of Radiance, the god of dreams who fell to gluttony and greed.”

The Storyteller’s voice echoed through the black egg temple. Ringing off of the walls and seeming to swirl around the bugs in attendance. Every single audience member could hear her as if she spoke from right behind them, even if they were so far away from the center that their shell touched the walls.

 “Before there was time, before there were gods, before there was anything, there was Everything. An Everything so wide and vast it took up all the space that could or would exist. But all things change, and so did the Everything. Everything condensed into something and left nothing behind. And so, did Life and Void come into creation.”

As the Storyteller spoke she began to slowly walk in a tight circle on the stage, never going too close to the edge. She kept her mask held steady and her sad slit eyes looked out across the gathered crowd.

“Life was born and opened their eyes and saw the vast nothing that made up Void. Void was born with their eyes open and fixed on the only thing that existed. Life. In that moment, before anything else Life felt fear and Void felt love.”

At this point in the story, the weavers who had heard this tale during the many practice runs dropped from the dark ceiling and began to wind the void-soaked creation of their Queen onto the huge dangling hoop. The two weavers worked quickly, on a time limit to finish this at the same time as the Storyteller finished her story so that the ends could be bound to the bug who currently held the attention of the entire crowd.

But even then, even after hearing this story so many times, they couldn’t help but have their attention divide. Six of their eyes watched their legs tug and pick at the silk they worked into the decided pattern. Their last pair gazed down at the Storyteller, knowing that the story would begin to pick up at this point.

“The first act of the born universe was for Life to flee from the Void, and the second act was for the Void to chase after Life.”

The Storyteller made a sharp lunge toward the crowd with a wide flutter of her sleeves, making the bugs all around her jerk back in surprise. The shadow on her mask and the expanse of her flowing sleeves and skirt made her appear to grow in size for just a moment, as if to give all of the bugs watching a taste of the fear that Life had felt.

“Life ran, crawled and flew away from the dark monster that chased it, even as Void lunged, slithered and swam after the beautiful creature that ran from it. The pair of them circled the space that Everything once encompassed.”

The Storyteller held her head a little too high up to see the way that the Hollow Knight kept pace with her pacing, their body following hers around the stage, never letting her get more than a few arm lengths away. Many bugs in the audience couldn’t help but notice this detail, unable to decide if it was to accent the story of if perhaps . . .

“As Life was chased it did all it could to slow the monster behind it. Plants grew where it stepped, growing fast and strong to hid Life behind their leaves and tangle the Void in their vines. But the Void mistook these acts of fear as acts of boasting. It was in awe of what Life had created and only went faster to catch such an amazing being.”

The Storyteller twirled, the fabric she wore fanning out as she faced the crowd behind her arresting their attention, her echoing voice the only sound they could hear over their own breathing.

 “Life was nearly mad with fear, it’s attempts to slow down the monster only caused it to gain speed. Once more Life attempted to hide. With every movement it made, parts of Life’s body chipped off. It’s size was reducing to a fraction as each part that it lost became a living creature, beings made in its image. It tried to lose itself amongst the mass of insects it had created. But while it had lost its size, Life did not lose the attention of the Void. The Void witnessed the birth of these bugs and cherished each one that fell into its grasp, for it viewed these new creatures as gifts from Life, forever to be held within itself.”

The attention of the crowd was focused solely on the bug in front of them as she weaved her tale.

They so firmly believed to be under her spell, that they enchanted themselves.

As such, no one saw the dark little shape drop from the Pale King’s balcony, quickly followed by three more.

“The chase went on, Life creating every living being in the world as it ran from Void who swallowed all in its path as it followed Life. But Life is delicate and fragile, and so the chase did end. Life was unable to continue forward, exhausted from both its fleeing and it’s acts of creation, and Void finally caught it in its grasp.”

The Storyteller spun away, holding her arms out and taking a large step, making the skirt of her cloak flare out with the movement. The weavers were about a third of the way done one the dreamcatcher, still unnoticed by the crowd.

What also went unnoticed was the Pale King nearly lunging over the bannister of his balcony, head jerking from side to side, searching the crowd for something.

“Void was triumphant! It had succeeded in grasping what it wanted, but as Life struggled feebly in its grip, it looked upon it’s prize and realized just how weak Life was. It looked at the world that Life had populated with its creations and saw for the first time the dangers that the plants and bugs were to the feeble beauty in its grip.”

“And so Void went down. Down to a place where none of Life’s creations could follow. Down so deep into the earth that there was nothing but Void. And there it stayed, Life sleeping exhausted in its grasp and Void tucked around it, keeping it safe, guarding it from all of the dangers that Life had put in the world.”

The Storyteller stopped, once more in the middle of the stage her arms open wide and beckoning.

“And that is the story of the beginning of creation. The Story of Life and Void. But it is also the story of Hallownest, for in the tunnels that Void created as it dug to the core of the world did the Kingdom of Hallownest thrive, sitting above the hidden gods.”

The Storyteller tilted her head in an odd shell-less movement, making the crowd flinch at such an unnatural pose. Reminded suddenly that they did not know what exactly that cloak hid from their view.

“Time passed, as time had learned to do, and the creations of life spread. The plants that grew from Life’s steps, covering the land, and the bugs that came from Life’s body spread and changed to survive in this world designed to slow down the approach of death. Some of those bugs and plants elevated themselves enough to harness the remains of the power that Life left within them. These bugs became higher beings.”

The Storyteller once more began to pace around the stage, swinging her arms to add emphasize to certain words, drawing the attention of the bugs to her.

A side effect of this was, when some of the bugs felt something brush against their legs, they didn’t tear they’re eyes away to see what short creature was traveling in the crowd.

“And amongst these bugs were a sister and a brother. They chased the sun and fled from the moon, with a group of bugs who worshiped them. The sister led the group to new territories that they could thrive in, and the brother snapped at the heels of the group to keep them from stopping in places that would rot. They were the gods of Dreams and Nightmares, and one day their travels brought them to Hallownest.”

“The pair of them could sense something slumbering deep within the ground and reached out for it within their realm of dreams and nightmares and found power there. Something that fed dream and nightmare alike. And so, the pair consumed what they could of the power. But eventually the brother began to crave the chase once more. To chase his worshippers and his sister across the sky. He was ready to leave this place, as his nature commanded.”

“But the sister was greedy, unwilling to leave this feast behind. They fought and the pair split their bond and their worshipers split as well. The brother left Hallownest, chasing nothing. And the sister stayed, leading nowhere.”

“The sister feasted on the power, and as it diminished she grew. She became more than just the Sister, she became the Radiance. Loved and revered by her worshippers who had grown content in this place. She loved them back, took care of their needs and enslaved the minds of the different bugs in the area to provide for them.”

“She lived this life for an age, having grown fat and comfortable in the crown of Hallownest. But then came another higher being, one who had both power and strength gained honestly, and not leeched from another. The Radiance refused to share Hallownest. To share this power she still fed from, and so they fought. And even with the power she had stolen, she was defeated and her body destroyed.”

“But she was the God of Dreams and one cannot kill a god, only change it. So, her spirit remained past the destruction of her body and she was forced to resided permanently in her realm of dreams.”

“While in her dream realm she was not cut off from the power she had been consuming, but now there was nothing for her to influence, to change. Her former worshipers all followed the new stronger god, and she didn’t consider any other bug to be worth her attention. She would wait for her power to return and get her revenge on this god who had usurped her!”

“But times passes even in a dream and soon she began to weaken even as she fed off of the power. A peek into the minds of the lesser bugs of Hallownest showed her that she, the brilliant Radiance! Was being forgotten.”

“This enraged her more than even her death did. She began to shine into the dreams of all she could reach, invading the minds of bugs and creatures. She sought to burn away the greatest gift of the Pale King, to steal away and paralyze their minds. To turn them into husks that had no other thought than to worship her light.”

“If the Pale King took her worshippers, then she would take his.”

The Storyteller stood before the crowd, below the large dreamcatcher that hung over her and spread her arms as if to plead for their help.

“The Radiance considers the bugs of Hallownest as dirt beneath her, she hates the Pale King for his upheaving her and giving you minds. But despite her rage at the Pale King, I have managed to become an even sweeter target. For while he defeated her in combat and threw her from the crown of Hallownest. I can wander in her realm without fear of her power. I can barricade her from your minds by giving you the power of dreamcatchers. The Pale King has defeated her in the past, but I stand in her way and mock her in the present.”

The Storyteller seemed to cross her arms with a flourish but then pulled a small vial out of nowhere. It glowed a sickly orange, apparent to all that this was infection in her hand, a vile poisonous substance that leaked from an infected bug’s body or spewed from a sickened plant. The crowd was unsure of what exactly the Storyteller needed this for, confused as for what it’s use would be.

But then the Storyteller pulled the bottom of her mask up, not enough to show anyone what was beneath, but enough for the end of the vial to slip beneath.

And then she threw her head back and the orange infection drained downward.

There was a huge cry from the crowd, all of the bugs joined together in their horror at watching the Storyteller poison herself on stage.

The Storyteller settled her mask back, ignoring the chaos of the crowd and dropped the now empty vial to the floor.

“-cough- -cough- There! Now I am a target too huge to dismiss. Ripe for the picking, my mind the only one open and susceptible to her influence”

The Storyteller stood directly below the giant dreamcatcher, her arms held out as the two weavers dropped from the hoop. The weaving was complete and only the ends to be tied off. The two weavers each carefully looped their strings around the Storyteller’s upper arms, the sleeves being too large at her wrists to tie there.

The Storyteller stood before the crowd of Hallownest, her head held high and her presence seeming to fill the entire temple, stuffing it full where even the Pale King could only manage to fill it.

Showing everyone here that while she might not look grand, might not have the trappings of a god.

She was the one with power here, whether or not everyone could feel it.

“I am the Storyteller, and the Radiance is nothing but a memory. A dream of the past gone by, and wanted no longer. She has become fat and greedy from stealing from Life’s slumber, and if I cannot kill her then I will trap her in the grasp of void, NEVER TO BE FREE AGAIN!”

The last words were an angry howl of rage before the Storyteller dropped to the ground, her legs folding beneath her as her arms were yanked up above her slumped head.

The Storyteller had just lost consciousness.

Surely, she must be meeting with the Radiance at this very moment!

Above her the dreamcatcher laced with void drenched silk, seemed to shift it’s pattern. The snarled silk changing above her, as if reacting to something.

Every eye was fixed on the dreamcatcher, every bug in the audience watching for a sign that what the Storyteller proclaimed was coming to pass. That the dream was being bound.

Well, not every eye.

The Hollow Knight hadn’t taken their gaze off of the Storyteller’s slumped body, familiar with the script but worried all the same. Noticing nothing but her slow breathing, the rise and fall of her chest. Blind to the movement right to the side of them.

The eyes of the Pale King and White Lady were searching the crowd, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of any small black body with a matching white head. They weren’t sparing any attention to the center of the Black Egg Temple where the Storyteller slumped in pretend sleep.

And there was one small pair of what you could call eyes, who had just seen their favorite place to be and was hurrying over to cuddle now that the story was over and it was nap time.

Mary had her eyes closed.

Not because she needed to, but because at the angle her head was, she was looking directly into the bright sigils below her. She would be blinded if she opened them. Well, that and because it was a little easier to fake sleeping if you couldn’t see.

Mary was still nervous, but she thought that the performance had gone off well!

There had been a stumble when Mary had suddenly realized that she had no way to the stage, that the crowd was too packed to allow her passage. But Hollow had seen that problem as well and had simply scooped her up in front of the entire kingdom. Mary was still embarrassed about that, but there hadn’t been much of a choice.

But, ignoring that-

The sigils on the stage had responded to the ones on her cloak and had lit up on cue. She hadn’t fumbled over any of the words or stumbled in her dramatic movements. The acoustics provided by the curvature of the temple had worked perfectly even when it was stuffed full of bugs. And Mary hadn’t even thrown up the liquid infection this time!

Everything had been on cue and there had been no mistakes!

Everything was going perfectly!

The pose she was in was uncomfortable as fuck though.

Her knees hurt from the sudden drop and her shoulders twanged from the weird way she was holding her arms, still sore from being crucified all that time ago holding the Vessels off the floor before they had been hardened.

But Lurien had told her not to put too much weight on the dreamcatcher. That the weight of the hoop was almost too much for the metal bindings to take, the only reason the weavers could climb all over it being because they were putting most of their weight on the silk they were hanging from.

So, there she sat, her arms pulling the silk taunt, trusting that the design that Herrah had designed was working, shifting with the pressure put on it, giving it the illusion of a second pattern forming as Mary carefully pulled on the silk from below.

Mary wasn’t quite sure how long she was going to sit here, how long it would take for the bugs of Hallownest to decide that they had seen something that denounced the “Binding of the Dream”.

But she would wait for an hour, at which point the Pale King would usher the audience out and she would be able to get up.

Mary tried to relax, settling in for the long wait as she hoped her legs wouldn’t fall asleep.

But then something small and familiar crawled into her lap.

Mary’s eyes snapped open to look into the little dark holes of Curly’s face.

The little vessel kept eye contact with her for just a heartbeat before pressing their face into her chest and for all appearances went right to sleep.

What the fuck!?

Mary fought the urge to look around her and yell at the Pale King for losing his kid.

She was still faking being asleep! How was she going to spin this to look good?! Maybe something about the void being drawn to light?!?!

Mary didn’t have long to think about it before three little bodies slammed into her chest, knocking her backwards, but not flat on her back.

Mary hung from her biceps, the silk nearly cutting into her skin as it was all that held up her weight. Yanking hard on the dreamcatcher that let out a groan from above her.

Mary’s eyes were wide in horror as she stared up at the dreamcatcher above her. She sensed a rapid movement from in front of her even as there was the horrifying scream of metal giving above her.

There was no time to scream before the giant dreamcatcher smashed to the ground, only a blur of darkness knocking her aside before the heavy metal ring hit the stage and made it cave in. The crumbling metal falling down and taking Mary and the vessels with it, the platform never meant to hold more than Mary alone.

As the dust settled, the audience finally found the breath to scream. Their minds were all in a whirl of panic.

Was this an attack by the Radiance?

Did the ceremony fail?

Was the Storyteller dead!?

Their eyes were dragged from the ruin of the stage by light above them. The sight of the Pale King himself flying over the crowd, his wings spread in public for the first time in these bug’s life times, shocked them all over again. He hovered over the stage, no place for his long frantically twisting body to land.

But he did not have to hover long.

There was a rumble in the Black Egg Temple, and from below the stage shot up the white fleshy vines and roots that denounced the White Lady’s hand in such a miracle.

The vines lifted the debris from the ground, raising and separating the rubble, haphazardly searching the mess for the bodies that had to be inside.

One of the vines snagged the giant dreamcatcher and carelessly lifted it from the mess, unwillingly giving the shocked crowd a view of what had become of the Storyteller and Vessels.

The dreamcatcher had most of its strings snapped, and while with normal silk, that would have done nothing but have them hanging sadly, void silk looked for something to wrap around. And it had found something indeed.

The Storyteller was wrapped in silk, the strands even now curling around her tighter. She looked like a mockery of her own bindings. The black silk slithered over her body and rucked up her ripped cloak.

All of the bugs in attendance could see the flashes of white that had to be her body as the void silk still continued to bind her tighter and tighter. Her body was slowly disappearing within the tangled and knotted silk.

The silk had to be growing longer, for surly there wasn’t enough of it to wrap a bug in a cocoon? Not even the white of the Storyteller’s mask could be seen at this point!

And to make it more gruesome, from each corner of the dreamcatcher hung a vessel. Two vessels hung from a single silk like the dead on each side of her, their little bodies unmoving but for how they dangled in the air.

And then the Hollow Knight. The newly introduced god, who so obviously worshiped the Storyteller, was bound to the bottom of the hoop. They appeared to have attempted to grab the hoop, but had only gotten their hands bound by the silk, unable to wrench away from their own element.

They hung from their spread arms, knees still touching the ground from where the hoop was held not quite far enough aloft, in a mirror of the Storyteller’s former position.

The Hollow Knight was directly below the Storyteller, her now cocooned body swinging gently between their horns.

The sight of such a gruesome display gave the audience pause.

It was horrific, it was ghastly.

But it looked so purposely done, everything even and placed just so.

Did the Storyteller . . .  plan this?

Mary stared down at the four little pairs of eyes that were gazing up at her from where she dangled in the tight and shaking arms of Hollow. She could tell by the strange light and the gray concrete below the children that they were all in her dream together.

There was an all too close sound of a raging scream.

“STORYTELLER!”

Mary felt fear cinch her heart.

“Shit.”

Chapter Text

Mary was thankful that she didn’t actually need to breath in a dream.

Because this way she could hyperventilate while also having a clear enough mind to make Hollow drag everyone over to hide in the doorway of the bank. They were barely concealed by the brick work while the Radiance flew over the streets, screaming like the damned.

It was sort of like being hunted by the sun itself! Her shiny body was blinding, where before it had only been uncomfortable.

Hollow tried to press farther into the shadows that were provided by the brick building, trying to burrow into the glass doors behind them. Mary could feel their body pulse behind her, not quite a racing heartbeat, but an indication of their panicked state all the same.

Mary still hung from Hollow’s arms but now she shared the space with the rest of the kids. The vessels didn’t have emoting down, still playing with the concept of body language, so they didn’t look afraid.

But the way that their faces all tracked the bright shine as the Radiance swung back around told a different story. They were all aware of the danger, and afraid of it.

And Mary had no fucking clue what to do here.

She hadn’t been sure that she would ever see the moth cunt again. And even if she did, there was nothing that the bitch could do to her that would stick.

But Hollow and the kids didn’t know that.

That was the big question! If the vessels saw her getting hurt, and expected it to hurt, then would their belief make it stick?! Would it over power her own?

I mean, it was five against one! I do not have the advantage here?!?

The kids were all clutching either Hollow’s arm, Mary, or each other.

Curly in particular had managed to wind parts of themselves around a part of everyone, Mary herself included in such a thing. Her wrist was quite firmly manacled by the child’s panicked tendrils.

Mary could only imagine what they all thought was going on.

They had never gone to sleep before! Had never experienced a dream! Not to mention that everything that they had ever heard about dreams painted them as dangerous endeavors that one might not ever wake up from!

And now they were here. In Mary’s mind. Getting chased down by the biggest monster under the bed!

As if to add emphasis to Mary’s thoughts, the Radiance let out another ear drum scraping scream of rage.

‘Storyteller’ echoed off of the buildings around them like a crack of thunder.

The arm around her middle tightened for a moment before she was suddenly facing the glass wall, having to find her balance on her feet.

Mary stumbled forward a bare inch before slapping a hand on the glass before her. She was dazed, blinking at her own reflection.

Mary noticed, in the far-off corner of her mind that wasn’t numb with panic, that the slits in her mask blinked along with her.

Small hand tugging on her cloak broke her out of her staring match, as the kids all had the same problem, using their grip on her to gain their balance.

Mary managed to twist her head around to get a look at what Hollow was doing. And she felt a chill run down her back at what she saw.

Hollow was crouched at the edge of the shadows, their body just barely hidden in the dark cast by the overhang. Their cloak pulled back as they kneeled on the concrete, the white material nearly a target against the grey ground. One of their hands was buried inside their own chest and as Mary watched, they began to pull out their long silver nail.

She supposed that just like how she brought her cloak and mask with her, Hollow considered that nail a part of their body. Enough to even being it into a dream.

They turned their head toward where Mary and the kids were huddled together in the shadows. They raised their free hand up and motioned at them to stay.

Their intention was plain as day. They were going to go out there and fight the screaming moth. Going to fulfill the duty they had been created for.

They were going to sacrifice themselves in order to protect Mary and their siblings.

Hell, no you don’t! You drama queen!

Mary lunged forward, grabbing both of their horn tips and yanked them back into the deeper shadows with a whispered yell. “What the fuck are you doing!”

Hollow fell backwards, their free hand slapping to the ground to keep their balance as the other flung into the air in surprise. Thankfully they kept a tight grip on their sword and it didn’t go flying out into the street or into one of the little creatures that joined Mary in dragging their sibling back into the dark.

Mary kept a tight grip on their horn tips as she yanked their head down until she could make upside down eye contact with them.

“Are you an idiot!? You can’t go out there to fight a god with just a nail!”

Hollow, no longer in danger of falling now that they weren’t surprised, reached back to wrap a long-fingered hand around Mary’s arm.

Squeeze.

Mary hissed in frustration, unable to believe how stupid, how self-sacrificing, Hollow was being.

“Don’t you fucking dare! You don’t understand anything about this! I will not let you go out there to throw yourself onto her damned spears! If anyone should go out there, it is ME!”

Hollow’s head jerked in Mary’s grip.

Squeeze-squeeze!

Mary nearly snarled at Hollow, her panic turning into anger as she twisted their head just a bit more downward, surely putting a crick in their neck. “Don’t you tell me No! You were about to go and sacrifice yourself! Like some stupid hero!”

Mary closed her eyes for a moment. She took a deep shuddering breath and let it out all at once. She opened her eyes to once more look at the vessel that she held captive, their body twisted at an odd angle.

She lowered her head down until her eyes hovered over their own, her mask tapping onto their porcelain face. Forcing them to pay attention to her.

“This is a dream Hollow. No matter how loud the Radiance screams, she can’t actually hurt us here! The only things that can happen in a dream, are things that you think will happen! If you go out there to fight her as some sort of last stand then it will become a last stand! If you go out there expecting to fail, then you have no chance of winning! If you expect to be hurt, then you will be! This isn’t reality Hollow! Only things . . . that . . . you think . . . will happen . . .”

Mary’s grip on Hollow’s horns loosened, but they didn’t try to shake off her hands. They sat patiently, contorted in her grasp. They recognized that the Storyteller was beginning to create a plan.

Well, calling it a plan was too much of a reach.

Mary was just suddenly realizing the possibilities that Hollow being in her dream presented.

Mary’s whole shtick was using other people’s belief in her to power her ‘magic’. And that was just in reality where she had to make a good argument for all of the shit she was doing. But this- this was a dream.

And Hollow-

Hollow trusted her.

Hollow believed in her hype. Had believed in her from the very beginning. Trusted her word with absolutely no proof needed.

In a dream, dream logic was all you needed. But it was hard to convince yourself that you could do anything, a little voice in the back of your head was always reminding you that this couldn’t really be happening.

But, if Hollow believed her every word out in reality?

Hollow believed in Mary, and Mary believed that Hollow believed in her.

It was circular logic, but just maybe . . .

 “. . . Hollow. This is the dream realm. In this place the Radiance can siphon from the ancient being Life. But . . . so can I.”

Mary was lying to them once again. But surely this was for a good cause?

Whatever, Mary could be guilty when it wouldn’t put them all in danger. Right now, she needed to make up a believable story.

She needed to live up to the name given to her.

“I have been here before. She has tried to kill me, skewer me on her spears and spikes. And she succeeded. But here, where I can touch Life itself, I am like a god. I cannot be killed. I cannot be harmed. Because this is a dream, and I am not all the way here.”

“But this has its drawbacks. I cannot take the power with me back to the waking world, but the Radiance cannot leave at all.”

There, that will keep her from having to feel being stabbed through, but it won’t help Hollow or the kid’s be safe. Mary doubted that they would believe the same things about themselves, not when they had no dreams to draw experience from, not when they were so obviously made of Void.

Not when they had just heard the story about how Life hates the Void.

But while Mary was lying about the Life thing, the Void could be plainly seen here. There was an endless ocean down below the floating islands! It was so much easier to believe in the things you could see.

She could totally spin that!

“Life will not reach out to you, Hollow. Not like how it does for me. It fears you, will run from you, but you do not need it. For while I and the Radiance must share Life’s diminished power, you have the entirety of the waiting Void at your fingertips. You can shape and use it as you wish. You only need to want for something.”

Hollow’s head jerked in Mary’s hands. They twisted out of her grip with ease, showing that she had only maintained her leverage by virtue of their own allowance.

The large vessel twisted to balance on their knees before Mary, contorting their back in order to get their head low enough to return to the intense eye contact that Mary had started.

They crowded her against the glass wall, tucking her into a corner as their horns clicked on the glass and brick walls.

Mary didn’t understand what they were doing. She was about to ask them that very question, when she heard something.

It was a low sound that hummed in her inner ear and raised goose bumps all over her skin. It was less like a noise was being created, and more like it was making an absence of sound, shaping silence into words that were being poured directly into her ears. She could feel it vibrating in her bones.

“Hello? Can Storyteller (best, precious, most loved) hear?”

Mary was absolutely gob smacked.

That was Hollow. Hollow was talking to her!

She had told Hollow that they had the power of an ancient god at their fingertips, and the first thing that they did was try and communicate with her.

Mary didn’t know whether to be touched, or feel like she was getting punched in the gut. She told them they could do anything. And the first thing they did was try to talk to her.

“Yea-yeah. I can hear you.”

At Mary’s whisper, she was hit by a wave of- of some sort of emotion. It was positive, she was sure of that, but it was something that she wasn’t familiar with? Though, maybe it made sense that a sentient being who wasn’t anything like a mammal would feel emotions differently.

Hell, maybe bugs felt emotions that Mary just couldn’t!

But that was something to deal with later!

There were much more urgent matters to attend to.

Like-dealing with the fact that Sprout now had WINGS?!

Mary made a high pitch squeak noise as Hollow’s back was swatted by Sprout’s three pairs of new matte black wings.

They looked like dragon fly wings, long and thin, buzzing hard to get the vessel off the ground. The little vessel managing to get a good three feet up before the wings all disappeared and the multi-horned vessel thumped back to the ground.

Hollow had stopped pressing Mary into a corner in order to turn their head to also look at their sibling.

They had turned just in time to watch Vlad have four pairs of spider legs burst from their sides, slapping at the walls and knocking their siblings to the floor.

It was in that moment that Mary realized that she had forgotten that she and Hollow had not been alone.

That she had just handed infinite power to a bunch of children.

“Oh, fuck me.”

At Mary’s lack of a whisper, all of the white heads all turned toward her and Mary had a rush of different things, (for a lack of a better word), yelled at her.

“playmate-entertainer-game-teacher!”

“Soft-warm-cuddle-pleasant-nap-spot!”

“maker-of-shiny-string-circles!”

“light-that-named-self-ghost!”

Mary’s ears were filled with shaped silence as the four little vessels crowded themselves between Hollow and Mary, each of them eager to be heard for the first time.

The sound of silence was nothing. It wasn’t hurting Mary’s ears, but it was like dunking her head underwater. Everything got dull and she could feel something literally dripping into her ear canals. The shaped absence of sound being forcing into her mind was doing something to her head.

Mar felt like she had vertigo. She couldn’t help but clench her hands, tightening her grip on Hollow. Relying on them to help her find her balance the world spun.

And as always, Hollow came to her rescue.

Mary was dragged away from the excited children and a deep ‘loud’ noise silenced the four of them. It reminded Mary of a hiss. If a hiss could be the sound of space rending itself in half.

“Stop! Siblings (Annoying, small, loved, must protect) too much for Storyteller (soft, small, fragile).”

Mary was still dizzy, and how unfair was that? (Dizzy in a dream!), but she managed to flap a hand at Hollow’s face.  She only just remembered to keep her voice at a whisper

“It’s, well, it’s not all right. You should probably take turns speaking to me. All of you at once is a bit much. But we don’t have time for that right now. We need to make up a plan of attack.”

Mary looked at the little white heads tilted toward her, and then up at Hollows big white head. “Anyone have an idea?”

Ghost, the littlest one, raised their hand like they were in a classroom.

But they didn’t get a chance to say anything.

There was the sound of shattering concrete and everyone looked toward the street. The Radiance had landed, her weird legs digging into the street as she stared into the little shadowed alcove and hissed at the vessels and Storyteller inside.

She summoned up more spears, at which point all of the vessels flung themselves out of the alcove and scattered across the street.

Thankfully the kids were mostly ignored by the moth, but unthankfully, this was because the moth was fucking laser focused on Mary who was still dangling from Hollow’s arm like a cat that didn’t want to be held.

Hollow was standing tall in the street, one arm cinched under Mary’s breasts. The hard shell of their body dug into her ribcage, and the other brandished their nail at the fluffy god.

Mary had the distinct feeling that she was ruining a generally badass showdown with her less than impressive visage.

“You! You have perverted my image, my people’s history, to suit the needs of the Pale King! You have preached lies to the lesser bugs of this worthless crawling hole that the Wyrm calls a Kingdom! You liar! You dirt swallowing creature! I will- “

During the moth’s screaming speech, Mary had been frantically trying to come up with a plan of attack. Something, anything! that would convince the moth that she had been captured. That she had been bound and subdued.

But there was nothing at hand and Mary was without even her tools to try and lie.

To buy time for her to try to make something like last time, she had been planning to let the moth scream herself hoarse.

But sadly Hollow, who now had a voice, was itching for a chance to use it.

“Silence! Radiance (loud, disrespectful, stupid) will not threaten Storyteller (loved, powerful, must protect)!”

Radiance responded to Hollow’s “voice” by throwing herself back down the street. She went as far from the vessel she could get with a single jump.

Her fluff was standing on end, making her look twice the size that she was. Her little white eyes had widened in her face and her wings were flared behind her, prepped for flight.

Her eyes stayed on Hollow for a few startled moments, before they zeroed in on Mary once more.

“You fool! You dragged the Void from the abyss?! Are you so blind as to not see the danger that you have wrought!? It will consume the world!”

The moth returned her attention to Hollow, truly seeing them for the first time. Her eyes caught on the blade in their hand before glossing over their cloak and the way that they held Mary.

Her eyes narrowed at the horns on Hollow’s head and a rattling hiss built in her throat.

“No . . . it wasn’t you was it? It was the usurper! That prideful wyrm attempted to mold the Void to his will, didn’t he?!”

The Radiance seemed to be riling herself up, screaming at both Mary and Hollow, but thankfully she seems to not have noticed the children who had managed to hide in an alley. As long as the Radiance stayed on the ground they wouldn’t be seen, but if she took to the air again they would be easy to spot.

But Mary was very familiar with the best way to distract a villain.

Engage in witty banter, and let them monologue.

“He has doomed his kingdom! Nothing can survive contact with the Void! No living thing ever escapes it’s grasp or the poison of it’s touch.”

Mary had pitched her voice to carry, trying to make it sound like it she was relaxed. Like she was in control of the situation. Like there was a plan.

“Well, now that’s just a plain lie! I’m not dead or poisoned at all.”

There wasn’t a plan, but she was working on it ok?!

Mary’s comment seemed to make the Radiance’s vitriol stutter out, giving Mary a chance to keep talking.

“Really, there is no cause to say such mean things to Hollow. They are quite sweet and caring! They’ve been helping me for quite some time and I’ve not become poisoned in the least bit. They have no desire to destroy their father’s kingdom. Though I will admit that I have had some trouble escaping their grasp every now and then.”

The Radiance was obviously baffled by Mary’s words, but that didn’t keep her quiet for long. “THEIR FATHER!?!? The usurping wyrm bred with the Void?! How!!!” The moth continued to shriek about how the Pale King was going to cause the ruin of the world by removing the Void from its prison in the abyss.

Mary took her distraction as a chance to try to look around the empty street for any kind of idea on what to do.

She realized that the children were no longer in her view, the alley they had been huddled in now empty but if they had managed to put more space between them and the angry god, then she would praise them for it later.

Hollow’s grip on Mary shifted. Their arm changing from going across her chest, under her breast to diagonally between them so that their hand could touch her hip. They tucked her just a touch more into their side, pressing her under their cloak.

Trying to get her just that much farther from the Radiance.

And then they squeezed her three times, obviously asking her about what the hell she was doing.

Mary spoke lowly, trying to be heard over the shouting moth but not wanting to draw her attention now that she was so firmly distracted.

“I’m buying time. There has to be something that we can do to-”

Mary didn’t have the time to finish her sentence before there was a black blur shooting out of a side road. It slammed into the Radiance and knocked her through a glass window storefront proudly proclaiming itself as a homemade ice-cream shop.

The black blur turned out to be Vlad. The little vessel had ended up sprawled on the ground, the many extra legs they had grown twitching on the ground, the obvious explanation of their sudden speed.

Vlad was visibly dizzy after launching themselves bodily at the Radiance, but they managed to stagger to their feet and face the hole that the attack had created. They positioned themselves recklessly, leaning forward with the spider legs dug into the concrete and bunched up.

They were preparing to launch themselves once more.

Mary was absolutely dumbfounded but Hollow had enough sense to set Mary down before rushing toward the shattered window. Whether to grab their sibling or attack the Radiance while she was down was up in the air.

But it was a bit too far away for Hollow to get there in time. The Radiance shot out of the shattered window and took to the air. Spinning around to face the vessels and the air lit up around her as a signal of her summoning spears to attack the creatures made of Void.

But before a spear could even manifest from the light, there was an ungodly monstrous screech from above her.

A monstrous force accompanied the scream and the Radiance was knocked from the air by the dark power.

She once more slammed to the ground, but this time she wasn’t given the chance to fly away. Black tendrils coiled around her. The shadows cast by the buildings in her light moved like vines and reached for her. They weighed down her wings, twined around her legs and body. They were trapping her like so many of her kind had been trapped in a spider’s web.

The Radiance thrashed as she was bound to the ground. But soon her attention was focused on something a touch more urgent.

There was a nail hovering at her face. A huge thing, wider than her wings, with a surface that swallowed her light and yet was sharp enough to cut the fluff that grazed it.

The Radiance followed the length of the nail with her eyes until they alighted on the small vessel that held the monstrous thing with ease.

The creature was joined by three other small bodies. They were all similar in the ways that bugs of the same species were, but they all appeared in ways that showed how different they were.

One rose from the oddly pooling shadows on the ground, as if rising from water. Their body didn’t leave the darkness entirely, and her bonds flexed as they moved, connected in some way to this monster.

Another blurred into view, landing with a stagger as if it had been a winged creature pulling out of a steep dive only to land on the ground. The flailing thin legs coming from its sides folding back into its body after catching it.

And the last, as if to mock her, alighted gently to the ground with the gentle flutter of many wings that rivaled her own in size if not splendor.
They stood around her. Each a fraction of her size and stared at her with their empty eyes. There was no emotion or evidence of a thought inside of their small heads.

The Radiance turned her gaze to the Storyteller, the true mastermind behind this momentary defeat. The rage in the moth’s eyes was a nearly physical force as she glared at the cloaked bug who stood serenely a distance away. Her body guard was approaching with one of the charmed tools of the Pale Light, the wyrm, the creature that had stolen her rule out from under her.

She would not let the damned thing touch her with such a cursed tool. She would never feel that wyrm’s magic ever again.

She would need to remove the main threat from this battle, or else she might be defeated by these lifeless tools.

Once the Storyteller was removed, surely the empty creatures would grind to a halt. With nothing to direct their actions, they would be nothing but tasteless statues to destroy.

Mary was staring in shock.

The babies had so soundly beaten the Radiance in a matter of moments.

They had figured out how to shape, if not the world, then their own bodies to defeat the god. Vlad was able to make themselves throw themselves with wrecking ball force to bat the moth around. They had even managed to do it while not sustaining damage themselves!

Sprout had grown wings! They had learned to fly higher than the moth, and had weaponized their new ability to speak to force the god back to the ground and within reach of their siblings.

Curly had taken their habit to clutch onto others, and turned it into a frightening ability! Molding the very absence of light into something physically able to restrain a god!

And Ghost had somehow drawn a fuck off huge sword from their tiny body. Like, something straight from a god damned final fantasy game, ten times longer than their own body and wide enough for Mary lay on comfortably.

Ghost! That is over kill! Mary cried in the privacy of her own head, mind not quite able to handle the sight of such a tiny creature holding such a huge sword.

Mary was beginning to think that maybe she didn’t need to be here, that just maybe the vessels had all of this under control and she could just, hide somewhere until it was all over.

I mean, the babies had a plan in moments while I was just trying to banter with her!? I am absolutely outclassed here!

And just as Mary was deciding to let the kids and Hollow deal with the god, the Radiance disappeared in a burst of light.

The binds that had been holding her collapsing to the ground, and Ghost staggering as the thing their nail had been pointed at was no long was there.

Oh yeah, she could teleport, couldn’t she?

Hollow had been nearly at the group at this point. They had slowed down in shock at the sight of their little siblings having downed a god with such ease, but upon seeing her disappear, they spun around.

Their face was unable to emote but Mary could see the horror in the way they threw their body toward her.

“STORYTELLER (loved, unsafe, left alone). BEHIND!”

Mary felt something like a push on her back, making her stagger forward a single step.

Her vision was taken up by the sight of a pointy metal spear head covered in red. Mary tried to lean back to get a better look at it, but it followed her movement.

“Oh. I’ve been impaled.”

Mary looked up to see Hollow nearly at her, the kids following at a distance, though it looked like Vlad had launched themselves forward, nearly reaching Hollow.

But before they could reach her, Mary was yanked into the sky and held aloft by the spear in her chest.

It wasn’t a comfortable feeling, but it didn’t hurt. Mary instinctively grabbed onto the spear, attempting to gain some sort of balance in midair as the street and buildings suddenly traveled quickly below her.

The sharp head cut into her sleeves, and her hands, the pain of it penetrating the dream. It could only be expected, even Mary had cut herself with a kitchen knife before.

But Mary didn’t have time to dwell on it, as it was a matter of seconds before Mary found herself skewered by the spear and held out over the edge of the floating concrete island of her home’s downtown.

Mary cast a glance at the abyss below her, fearing less the drop and more of what it would mean for the others if she disappeared like this.

Would they think she died? That the Radiance had won? Would their own belief doom her?

The Radiance had the wild look of the hunted in her eye as she swooped toward the floating spear, getting close to the Storyteller’s face in order to deliver her last words to the blasphemes red blooded creature that had caused her so much trouble.

The Radiance doubted that the Storyteller would be killed by the drop into the Void, the blasted creature had lived through the other two times she had visited the Void’s prison and apparently survived close contact with the Void even in reality.

But it would surely take her out of the battle, the Void never released what it had in its grasp after all.

The Radiance hissed, leaning closely to the Storyteller’s masked face. She was nearly touching the masked bug.

“Blasphemous, vile, lowly creature. You have perverted my people’s artifacts, you have lied in the name of the Pale King. You have joined forces with darkness itself! If death will not take you, then the Void surely will, gluttonous thing that it is.”

Now, Mary was stabbed though the chest. In fact, the spear might even be going through her heart! And while there was no pain, that was still a stressful thing! And compounded by the fact that she was hanging in the air from being stabbed though, over a very long drop that had her stomach swooping in fear?

Mary didn’t exactly have herself under control. She was freaked, she was panicked, she was face to face with the god who had caused all of her current problems and who was currently insulting her!

Mary didn’t have a very good track record of calm responses when gods and villains were insulting her, calling her a liar (as true as it might be) or getting too close.

Combined with the gibbering panic of being separated from Hollow and the kids?

Well, it’s probably only because she was in such a state of mind that the following events played out the way that they did.

Mary, in all of her instinctive dream logic glory, leaned forward and bit into the side of the Radiance’s neck.

Now you may be wondering, how exactly she managed this! She was wearing a mask, wasn’t she? But well, Mary had worn a mask for so long that she basically considered it a part of her face.

And as had been mentioned many times before, this was a dream.

So, when Mary opened her mouth, the middle of the mask split open into a wide toothy maw that quite easily dug into the Radiance’s neck, giving Mary a mouthful of fluff, blood and flesh.

There was a heartbeat of shock at Mary’s action, from both the Radiance and Mary herself. But then the Radiance screamed bloody murder and ripped Mary from her body, tossing the bloody mouthed girl into the Void.

Mary fell.

The last thing she saw before her vision was blocked by the bottom of the floating island, was the bright glowing blue that gushed from the Radiance’s wounded neck.

An ideal thought tickled her mind as she instinctively swallowed the tangy flesh and fluff in her mouth, her body falling like a lead weight into the ocean of Void below her.

I thought she’d bleed orange.

Hollow managed to turn a corner of one of the strange buildings just in time to hear the dream god scream. They got a complete view of her flinging the Storyteller from her body and over the edge of the world.

Hollow didn’t slow. They even attempted to go even faster as they headed for the where they had seen her cloaked body disappear below the strange ground.

They were entirely willing and even planning to follow the Storyteller over the edge.

But they had only just tossed themselves over the edge when the shadows on the ground twisted around their feet, and brought them to a harsh stop. Their chest slammed into the ground, their head snapping over the edge, filling their sight with the dark roiling sea below.

For one frantic moment they scratched at the ground, trying to claw themselves forward, over that one last edge.

But they regained their sense eventually, looking back to see Curly’s shadow sliding over their legs. The ability that had held a god to the ground now kept them from their goal.

“WHY?!!? STORYTELLER (gone, loved, failed) LOST!?!?”

Curly, the laziest of their siblings, the one who fought the most with them for the Storyteller’s attention and affection, had Void dripping from their eyes.

Hollow could feel it pouring from their own.

“cannot-save-cuddle-warm. can-save-big-sibling.”

Hollow was gripped by anguish. They wanted to go over the edge, to follow the Storyteller. To not leave her alone to her fate even if they couldn’t save her from it.

The sight of the spear bursting through her soft body, of the dream god hovering behind the one that needed their protection, of the way that she clutched at the spear as she was yanked into the air by the winged blight.

The sight of her impaled body falling into the Void

If they lived through this, these visions would haunt their every moment of existence.

A noise from the still floating god drew the attention of the vessels. Snapping Hollow from their anguish, even as Void continued to spill from them.

The god was clutching her neck, having been forced to land in order for her wings to curl around the sluggishly bleeding wound. Blue blood flowed from her neck, staining her fluffy body with the color.

But it wasn’t the only color on her.

The red color that Hollow had learned to hate the sight of also splattered her front, mixing in with the blue in odd ways that left purple smudges on the god.

She was speaking through her pain, and Hollow suddenly realized what she was saying.

“-gone. The worthless slime was hiding teeth?! I should never have gotten that close to her. Even if she was so weak as to fall to a single spear, I should have remembered how tricky the lesser being was.”

The god pulled her wings from the wound, tacky blue coming away with the movement. She hissed in either pain or disgust, but didn’t place her wings back. She turned to face the still vessels, and scoffed at them.

“Empty minded creatures. I suppose that now that your lying mistress is gone you won’t do more than stand there and watch, will you?”

Hollow had a moment of deep calm.

This god had stabbed the Storyteller through, stolen her from them, and insulted her name.

This fucking creature had tossed the Storyteller to the Void.

Hollow was sure that the Storyteller was lost. They knew personally how it felt to fall into the Void. How the eternal being cared not for the passage of time, or of the minor happenings around it.

But if it were to touch the Storyteller? To feel her warmth and the Life that pulsed within her?

It would never release her.

Hollow knew.

Because if they could tuck a sleeping storyteller away inside of them, never to be harmed or troubled ever again, they would kill for the honor.

Hollow wasn’t sure if they would live through this dream, or if their siblings would be able to escape the god’s wrath.

But they were sure that ripping the moth’s wings off would at least let them start on getting revenge for the Storyteller and surely distract the god from their siblings.

Hollow had watched their siblings shape their bodies in exotic ways, controlling the Void within and around them.

Time to learn from their siblings.

Hollow reached deep within themselves and pulled haphazardly, dragging up the thing that they had found the last time the Storyteller had been stolen away from them, not caring that it hurt or that they felt something break within them.

They only focused on the way that their view was shifting, rising up, more angles coming into view like they were opening fresh eyes.

Their new perspectives helped them watch the way that the dream god’s face slackened in fear. The way that she took a step back, teetering on the edge of the world as she looked up at them in horror.

They reached for her with a hand, and then another, and another. A spider’s worth of arms all reaching out to grasp the moth, planning to peel the wings from her body.

The first of many prices that must be paid for the Storyteller.

The moth took to the sky, flying away from Hollow’s hands.

But that was fine.

If she was high in the sky, then Hollow would simply grow until they could reach any place that she attempted to run.

Hollow pulled harder on that thing inside of them, and ignored the sharp pain that the action caused as they continued to grow and began to chase the god that they hated.

The Black Egg Temple had emptied out.

Well, not entirely.

Most of the bugs who had come to see the binding had fled at its apparent failure, but pockets of insects had stayed. Some of which were helping move the rubble of the destroyed stage, and others who were helping heal the bugs who had gotten hurt in the accident and the chaos of the stampeding bugs who had run in fear.

But there was a crowd of bugs who were simply watching the slowly swinging dreamcatcher that was hanging from one of the White Lady’s roots. It was a motley crew of bugs, them all obviously coming from different walks of life. Some appeared to be bugs from the original gruz village, while others were wearing the slightly tasseled cloaks signaling them as nobles. Some of them held dreamcatchers, while others grasped small glass vials that held a single thin dark thread.

The guards are at first attempted to gently heard them out, but the Pale King himself had stopped that.

“The Storyteller needs an audience.” His words were not understood, but they were obeyed and the crowd was allowed to stay, to keep vigil over the twisted thing that the ceremony had become. The dreamcatcher now appearing more of a nightmare than a ward against them.

The pattern had been destroyed, silk crossing and tied with no rhyme or reason. The bodies of the small vessels hanging with down tilted heads at each corner. The Hollow knight dangled from the bottom, arms spread wide but with slack hands and a head that was also pointed at the ground.

And in the middle of it all, was a large oval cocoon that one couldn’t have guessed contained the mystical Storyteller.

It was an ugly thing, black like Void and badly wound. Many loose strings dangled from it and curled in the air like they were alive. It gave anyone who looked at it feelings of repulsion.

But every now and then it would . . . wiggle. The insides bulging and shifting about as if a spider’s meal had woken up.

It was a sign that the Storyteller still lived, but also that they could not save her.

The Pale King, who stood in front of the dreamcatcher with his overgrown wife the both of them staring at the dangling hoop, had already tried.

At any touch to the bodies, sigils flared up to protect them. All help was repelled and not even the power of a god could break them.

the Pale King and the white lady had spent much time doing all that they could think to do to break the sigils. What had once been a blessing, a guard against all who would harm a dreamer, now only kept them from their children.

How long would they be trapped like this?

As if to respond to the frantic questions in the minds of the parents, Void began to drip from the eyes of their children.

Both Curly and Hollow had Void well up and overflow from their eyes. The dark substance flowing down their faces and dripping to the ground, small puddles beginning to form from the corrosive liquid.

The Pale King and White Lady had barely responded to this distressing show, before a sharp noise echoed through the temple.

Hollow’s face had a fracture in it.

The perfect white of their face splintered from one of their leaking eyes to the place that their horns met.

More Void welled from the crack.

The mere trickle that had been coming from Hollow’s eyes, instantly overshadowed by the heavy stream that bled from the wound, painting the entire vessel’s face an ominous black.

?

Life?!

No-

Small Life,

Tuck away,

Put with big Life,

Keep together.

Keep safe.

Wait.

Chapter Text

Mary’s fall through the abyss was long.

First through the air, then through mist that condensed down to water. Mary had expected to float there, alone with her thoughts and unable to help the ones above. But she continued to sink, the void growing darker and thicker as she steadily sank downward farther than she had been before.

The water became a riptide and she was pulled down to where the water turned to mud, clinging to her throat and filling her lungs. Her body was weighed down and she became unable to move without extreme effort.

For the first time since she became comfortable with her constant void born companion, Mary felt fear of the abyss.

She struggled, trying to swim but unable to even raise her arms over her head or split her legs apart.

She was drowning. Her lungs hurt, her throat was full of a thick substance, she could feel it coating her eyes as she desperately tried to see where the surface was.

She was suffocating, drowning!

She was going to die!

Mary thrashed and twisted and did her best to escape but it was useless, useless, useless! She had been caught! Like every other time!

She was tired. So tired. There was no use in struggling, she should rest just give into the nothingness and try again when she had her strength.

She would fly away again one day. But for now, she just needed to rest in the monster’s grip.

 . . .

Wait. I can’t fly?

Mary didn’t exactly calm down but, her mind latched onto anything that wasn’t her current predicament, and so she focuses hard on the odd thoughts that had entered her head.

She had never flown before, and she had never escaped the void only woken up. And as terrible as her current circumstances were, she has never considered the void a monster.

 . . . was the Radiance in her HEAD?!?

What!? How!? The fluffy cunt’s magic had never managed to touch her before!?

Was she infected?!

Now?!! After everything that had happened the moth had finally gotten her claws into Mary’s head?!

No. Fuck that! Mary Refused to succumb to the heinous cock gargling shit bitch fluffy cunt! She would get out of this and slap the hoe for daring to touch her mind!

Fuck?

Mary paused.

That sounded like a child’s voice

Cock gargling?

Wait, no it couldn’t be right?

Shit bitch fluffy cunt?

Oh god no.

Hoe?

 . . . . shiiiiiiiiiit.

Ok, ok. This was fine. This was fine. There was someone in her head, but she was pretty sure that it was not the Radiance! That moth had no chill and would not have been cool with all of Mary’s insults.

And also, because it sounded nothing like the moth. It was way less screamy. And kind of childish.

But then was this Void itself!?

Void!?!?

The voice sounded terrified and Mary felt . . . something shift next to her. There was a sensation like a wall of jelly and suddenly Mary was on her hands and knees gasping for breath.

For just a moment Mary thought that maybe she had woken up. That the bad dream would be over and they could just swallow their failure and regroup.

But when she looked up Mary came face to ‘face’ with a large glowing creature. It had a head like a cluster of honey comb made by a drunk bee. It’s eyes whimsically added where ever they would fit and no mouth that Mary could see.

Mary reared back and slapped her head onto the weird jelly wall that she had come through, a quick glance back and around showed that Mary was in some sort of blue membraned cocoon. The membrane seemed like it should be see through, but where it wasn’t tinted blue by the veins that crisscrossed the surface, it was black as, well, the void outside. 

The creature was large and squishy, about the size of a cow, and it felt cool and wet like blue slime. Mary was kneeling on what appeared to be the creature’s stomach, and was bracketed in by many unmatched and light blue folded legs.

The creature looked like what Mary would imagine the contents of a butterfly’s cocoon would look like. Well, a nightmare butterfly. These eyes were freaky.

Mary had to keep on her hands and knees to keep from bumping into the membrane behind her. The space was cramped and damp and just breathing felt like she should be swallowing mouthfuls of water. It was like being in some kind of cold rainforest.

Mary’s odd musings were stopped by the eyes on the creature moving, flexing in odd ways that made Mary think that it was trying to focus on her.

That it wanted to know what she was.

 Because she did not think she was Void.

Wait, no. Of course, she wasn’t void. Mary had color, didn’t she?

Color?

“Alright this is- “

The body underneath Mary shook, the creature becoming visibly startled at Mary’s voice tossing her flat to her face on the slippery surface.

???

“what the fucking- “

Sound! Sound in Void!!! Noise noise noise!

Mary was flabbergasted. The creature was so happy? Just to hear Mary speak?!

Things were beginning to add up. And Mary was not sure that she liked the picture.

This had to be Life, the other ancient god of the beginning of the world. But it was . . . . young. It sounded achingly young.

Toddler young.

 . . . and Mary kept cursing in her head! Fucking-!

“YES! Yes, I make noise. I am the one titled Storyteller! Can you tell me your name!”

 ??? Name?Young?

“Oh god, it doesn’t have a name.” Mary was doing her very best to stay in control of herself and not panic the giant Life baby. Because it had to be Life. What the hell else would be sitting here in the void?!

VOID! Scary monster chase chase hunt hunt hunt.

The creature thrashed and all of its many arms wiggled. The sudden movement knocked Mary at the creature’s face and it’s legs caught and tugged on her cloak. Mary had to prop herself up on the creature’s face in order to keep from falling into one of its eyes.

“No! No! It’s- It’s ok! The void isn’t going to hurt you. I, I won’t let it!?I’ll stop the void from hurting you! It’s ok, don’t cry!!”

Can’t can’t can’t. ate them. nothing created, no distraction, nothing can stop or delay void monster.

Oh man, Life has some trauma. Fucking shit- no, don’t curse.

“It’s ok! I- I’m not something you created!? Yes! I am a human, not a bug. Not like what you have created at all! So, the void will obviously not be able to eat me and I can keep you safe.”

That seemed to get Life’s attention. They stopped thrashing and the legs that had been flailing wildly now were clutching Mary’s cloak with intent.

Not created? Not distraction? Not mine?

“Ah, yes! I’m not a bug! I’m a mammal!” Mary reached out and clutched one of the smaller legs to her body, “See? I’m warm!”

Life focused on Mary’s stomach, where her cloak had rucked up around her legs and had been split down the middle by the spear. It seemed to be in awe at the sight of her flesh, the color of her blood and the warmth of her body.

Mammal? Warm. Warm. Red.

“Yes! Nothing that you’ve made right? I’m something completely different! So, I have nothing to fear from the Void. I have been keeping the bugs of Hallownest safe, I’m sure that I can help you too.”

Life stopped from where it had been playing with Mary’s stomach, seeming to be weirdly focused on her belly button. Their head tilted toward Mary once more, and it seemed to come off as both confused and hopeful.

But if Mary’s li- WORDS had helped the children in that first village then they would help a god.

Li- Words? Bellybutton?

Mary very purposely did not think about the first question by doubling down on the second.

“Yeah, my bellybutton! It’s an old scar, the first one I ever got! Before I was born, or ah- created, I was inside of my mother. I was kept safe and fed inside of her, but I eventually grew too big to stay. We were both connected by a . . . string and it had to be cut to separate us.”

Safe? Inside?

“Yes, it’s what makes me a mammal! I am warm and my young are kept safe inside of me until they can survive out in the world.”

Safe. Inside. Safe from void? Safe from world? For young?

Life pressed closer, it’s legs digging into Mary’s soft body.

“Wait.”

Am young. Safe. Keep safe. Inside. Keep safe inside!

“Wait, no, that’s not what I meant! Hold on!”

Mary tried to frantically push Life’s head away from her body, but she wasn’t strong enough to keep the large creature at arm’s length.

Life pressed it’s face to Mary’s stomach, and Mary had a moment of fear that she would be squished between the creatures face and it’s arms at her back, but something much more horrifying happened.

Mary felt her flesh give, and Life’s head began to sink into Mary’s body. The head alone was bigger than her torso but it began to sink into her all the same.

Mary gave a shriek and tried to pull the head out of her body. But it didn’t matter, Life had been offered safety and it would take it.

The creature seemed to just . . . slide into Mary, like it really was made of slime and just a little pressure was all that it took to squeeze into Mary, until the entire cow sized creature was gone and Mary was left collapsed and clutching at her stomach, desperately trying to see what the hell had just happened.

Her stomach was not the same as it had been this morning. It had the same stretchmarks and squishy muffin top, but her bellybutton was . . . blue now.

It shown with a gentle blue glow, as if she had gotten some glowstick liquid on her. And to make it worse, the glow would throb with her heart beat.

Mary stared at her stomach.

A god had just crawling inside of her. She had the equivalent of the source of all life in this world in her stomach pooch.

 . . . she better not be bug pregnant. If she was bug pregnant she was going to fucking . . . do something about it.

Mary took a half dozen deep breaths trying not to have a panic attack.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it!

Oh god, if swallowing some of the moth’s orange goo can put me in her dream realm, what the fuck happens if you have a god crawl inside of you?!?

Mary dug her nails into her palms and gave a high-pitched squeal.

She tensed all of the muscles in her body, and then forced them to relax with a long groan.

Whatever.

She would be traumatized about this later, but what did having a reverse C-section mean for her now.

Mary was still stuck in the void, but now she was in a blue cocoon in the void. She was still trapped but now she could think instead of just struggle.

She had been with Life, the source of the Radiance’s power, but now Life was. . .

Inside. Safe.

Mary flinched, rubbing her head as she continued to think.

Did that mean that Mary had Life’s power now?

This was a dream, so she probably wouldn’t get to keep this, and it was all just a weird metaphor anyway, so she didn’t need to worry too much about the fact that there WAS A BUG INSIDE OF HER-

No.

No. Panic later.

Just . . . think of what you need to do.

Mary needed to defeat the Radiance. That was the goal.

But first Mary had to get to the Radiance.

And to get to the Radiance, Mary needed to get back to the floating island.

But to get to the floating island Mary first needed to get out of the void. The void that used to periodically lose Life once it got powerful enough to escape. The same Life that Radiance had been siphoning off of and keeping weak. The same Life that was currently inside of Mary’s stomach.

 . . . how did life escape all of the other times?

Woke up. Struggled. Became too much too keep.

Mary shook her head, dizzy all of a sudden.

Her head felt too full. She tried voicing her eyes out loud.

“How can I get out of the void? Swim?”

Mary made a face at the thought. At the memory of how sticky and thick the void was down here. Like mud.

Mary looked at the walls of the cocoon. At the thick blackness beyond.

“I would not be able to move, not in that mess. And besides swimming would only get me so far before I would need to fly instead. And I don’t know how to fly!”

Wings were something she had never had! And couldn’t imagine herself having!

Flying. Want to fly. Go up up up.

Mary rubbed her head. She hadn’t noticed the way her fingertips were beginning to turn purple. Red and blue mixing inside of her, to create something completely different.

Mary couldn’t imagine having anything she would need to be able to get out of the void! She couldn’t imagine how she could change herself in order to get to the damned floating island!

“I’m just Mary! Soft squishy regular Mary! What could I even do if I got up there? They didn’t need my help at all! What good was a human in a fight with bugs!?”

If this was in her world then she could just stomp on the stupid moth and . . .

If this was . . .

Mary pulled her head out of her arms, having curled into a ball as she had wallowed in her own misery and uselessness. She blankly gazed ahead, not truly seeing what was there.

If Mary was the way she was supposed to be . . .

Mary was small. She hadn’t always been small.

Had been big once. Big again?

Mary had once been a perfectly normal height for a human.

A size which would be beyond gigantic to a bug. A size that might as well have been able to reach space.

Mary knew what if felt like to be big.

Big big big.

She had the power of Life inside of her.

And this was a dream.

Maybe she could just . . . want it bad enough?

Mary closed her eyes, held her breath, and with a nervous humming in her stomach, began to stand up.

She visualized what that would look like. Not how it would look if she was in a cloak, but how it would look if she was naked.

The way her muscles would move under her skin, the way that her fat would squeeze and release as she got her legs underneath of her. The bones that would poke out, her skin gliding over her tendons as they stood out in sharp relief for just a moment as she flexed her toes.

Help make big.

Mary felt something press to her skin from the inside, and suddenly knew she was growing.

She felt something on her back, felt something pop and a thick wetness splash onto her skin and soak her hair, but Mary ignored it.

She visualized the way that her back would look, the way that her body would look, as she stood on the balls of her feet. The way that her legs would look folded up in her crouch. The way her braid would hang from her head as it was slumped between her knees.

Help help help

She imagined her body in all of it’s pale, hairy, squishy glory, and then all at once and with a certain intent, she stood up with forceful stretch of every single part of her body.

Mary’s upper body broke through the surface of the void and she threw her head back with a groan and stretched her arms over her head. She arched her back and heard her spine pop.

Mary finally opened her eyes and saw that she was standing in the abyss, the misty black liquid lapping at her hips.

Free!

Her naked hips? Oh wow. Her cloak must had burst from her new growth.

Mary looked down to see herself covered in thick streams of Void, the black and clinging substance the only thing keeping her decent.

It was less like water and more like syrup, opaque and thick. It covered everything important, but left no mystery at the shape of her and the longer she stood there, the more of it dripped from her body.

She . . . she should feel something about this, shouldn’t she?

Mary remembered being afraid of this, of being naked. Of being seen as she was.

But for some reason, Mary couldn’t imagine why she would try to cover herself.

(naked?)

A thin tinny scream distracted Mary from her body, and she raised her head to look behind her.

Directly behind her, about level with her breasts, was her downtown city floating island. Where before it had been huge, now it seemed to be the size of a dining room table, the edges crumbling as she watched. It looked just like an incredibly realistic doll’s play set. None of the buildings were taller than her head where before they had been about four stories high.

And in the center of it all was a large void creature (void monster) with many arms and many eyes who was coiled in the middle of multiple destroyed multiple buildings and was pinning the Radiance (a distraction) to the ground in a circle of rubble.

The void creature (monster) was shaped like a naga. It had something resembling a bug’s torso but with a long snake like tail that left a trail of black liquid where ever it lashed.

It seemed to sway from side to side as it moved to keep its upper body balanced and was taller than the buildings that still stood around it.

As Mary watched, a stray swipe of its tail knocked down another brick and mortar building with the ease of someone slapping a tower of cards.

Mary had apparently caught the void creature (monster) in the act of slowly ripping off the Radiance’s (distraction’s)wings.

One of which was already hanging from one of the creature’s (monster’s) many hands. The Radiance (distraction) was bleeding heavily from multiple injuries on her body but she was still thrashing and screaming with vigor.

Mary could still perfectly hear the now little moth curse and scream at the creature (monster) on top of her, though now she sounded hilariously squeaky.

 . . . something felt off. Like there was an echo in her head.

But Mary shook her head, void flying off with the movement, and pressed past the unwanted thought (don’t think about it) and asked the important questions.

“Where are our vessels!?”

Hollow was aware of their actions in a far-off foggy sense.

They knew that they were destroying their surroundings, but they were always aware of their siblings. They could hear them, their presence always pinging into their awareness with every movement that Hollow made.

They were currently grouped together on a building, watching Hollow chase the Radiance.

The moth was doing her best to escape from Hollow’s eyes. She flew between the buildings, doing impressive wing work to try and loose them.

But Hollow cared not for the trickery and stunts. They were large now with a half dozen hands dragging them through and over the buildings that she flew between.

As the chase continued and the moth flew higher and higher, Hollow pulled harder on that thing inside of them in order to grow larger.

Soon they were too large to pull themselves through the streets, and instead had to force their way through the too close spaces, their body molding the buildings to their size, knocking down anything that wouldn’t give to their shape.

Hollow had nearly caught the moth many times. Their new claws beginning to dig into her body drawing more of that glowing blue, before with a flash of light she was out of their reach once again.

Teleporting was a type of magic that was difficult to do, that took up lots of soul.

She had done it many times by this point, showcasing her power as a god. But not even a god’s power was endless. She would tire eventually.

Even the Pale King must rest after performing miracles, and the Radiance would run out of power soon.

Powered by Life she might be, but Hollow was the void itself.

And every story that the Storyteller told about the void showcased it as tirelessly able to chase what it wanted.

And what Hollow wanted was for the moth to pay for what she had done.

They coiled their lower body and sprung up, swiping at the moth once more, trying to slap her from the air.

But the god managed to dodge them, twisting so harshly in the air that her blood flew from her wounds in an arch, splattering their hands. The blue liquid was swallowed by their void instantly, disappearing into their body never to be seen again.

The something that they were pulling on so deep inside rumbled in pleasure with each drop it tucked away.

The moth flung a cluster of spears at them, summoning them from her glowing light. But Hollow didn’t even bother to dodge.

The sharp molded soul cut into them, painfully lodging into the softer parts of their body.

The spears protruded from them, but then as Hollow continued to pull on the thing inside of them the spears began to sink into them. The taste of the moth’s magic leaving an unpleasant sensation in their senses, but the look of fear that replaced her triumphant one was too satisfying to do without.

Hollow wanted the god terrified. They wanted her to use every trick that she had, and still fail. They wanted her powerless and exhausted before they made her pay.

They wanted her to try hard, to do whatever she could think of, to do all that she could and more. Before she still failed.

Hollow could think of no worse torture.

It was the worst thing they had experienced themselves.

The Radiance screamed at them, had been screaming at them this entire time, but Hollow hadn’t given any care to what meanings her words had.

But when the moth had suddenly dropped nearly to the ground and hovered in midair, they payed attention.

“It’s gone. IT’S GONE! IT’S GONE!”

The Radiance was just repeating that over and over. Her pace had slowed and she appeared to be suddenly exhausted. The wounds that Hollow had managed to make, that hadn’t slowed her down before, seemed to suddenly gush blood.

No longer did the moth bleed a glowing blue. The blood had turned a sickly green and then as more rushed from the wounds, the familiar orange of the infection.

But Hollow, cared less about the colors she bled, and more for the fact that she had slowed.

They managed to lunge and pounce upon her. Their long fingers stabbing into her body, returning the favor from her spears.

Her screaming reached a new pitch, and she glowed brightly. Hollow prepared for her to once more disappear from their grasp, but her light guttered like a flame and dimmed.

She no longer had the power to do such a showy move. She was trapped in Hollow’s grasp.

 In the grasp of the void.

Hollow had to thrash with her in their grip for a bit, her power diminished but her strength still formidable. But while she managed to make Hollow work for it, she still ended up pinned to the ground. Hollow’s long sharp fingers having pierced her through in multiple places, both to keep her down, but also to make her hurt.

“Vile demon! Bastard of Wyrm and Void! You will destroy the world with your greed and gluttony. Your foolish lying mistress controlled you-AAAAAA!!!”

One of the Radiance’s wings dangled from Hollow’s claws. The god’s insults to them had been of little consequence, nothing but noise around their horns.

But insults to the Storyteller? That deserved action.

Hollow pushed themselves a bit away from the Radiance, and raised the wing toward their face. They had pulled too hard, taking the wing off in one single tug instead of the slow removal that they had been planning.

Well.

There was another one. They would just have to be more careful this time.

Hollow delicately took hold of the moth’s other wing. Using a gentle touch to catch the flailing appendage and pull the wing to its full extension.

And with a care they had only ever taken with untangling the Storyteller’s hair, they began to pull.

The Radiance’s flesh gave easily, the joint guiding the tear as Hollow pulled as slowly as they could, a few claws through the Radiance’s shoulder keeping her from ruining the process in her pained struggles.

Hollow was sure that if they ever woke up from this dream, that they would regret doing this.

Not the act itself, but letting their siblings watch from a nearby building.

They could sense the presence of their little siblings, sense their focus and attention as they held the moth down and slowly peeled her wing from her body.

This would have given Hornet nightmares.

But Hollow wasn’t sure if they cared, wasn’t sure if they would ever wake up.

If they wanted to leave the dream

Hollow didn’t want for their siblings lives to have been so short.

Perhaps the Radiance would have a way to wake up their siblings?

But Hollow needed to bring the god down to their level first. Needed to make her fear them enough to do as they say.

Maybe once they ripped off her wing she would be willing to send their siblings back to the waking world?

If not, then they would begin on her legs, to see if that would change her mind.

But Hollow would stay here. They would send their siblings home, and then they would search for the Storyteller in the void. They would join the vast mind of it once more, and they would find the Storyteller within.

After that . . .

They didn’t know. The void never let go of what it held.

And when they were the void as well, would they want to let her go?

Hollow’s thoughts were interrupted, and they nearly pulled the rest of the Radiance’s wing off with their surprise.

There was a disturbance to the side, a large disturbance.

The disturbance grew and grew until a gargantuan creature breeched the void.

It was huge.

Hollow wasn’t able to get a true sense for just how large it was, unable to reach that far even with their increased size, but the void inside of them told them that despite being larger than a wyrm in front of them, there was even more still in the abyss.

This creature stood on the bottom of the world, and was tall enough to have its head graze the top.

The creature’s body, what Hollow could see of it, was covered in thick clinging void. The fluid black dripping down its body to show flashes of white.

The creature stayed still for a moment, before it turned what Hollow could only assume it’s head was, toward them.

The creature’s head was like a mask, smooth and white, untainted by the void that covered the rest of them. It had two wide glowing blue eyes. The same color that had once bled from within the Radiance.

Two glowing blue eyes, that were focused on Hollow. Who was still obviously in the process of removing the Radiance’s wing.

Hollow tensed, knowing how this looked, how they looked. Hands bloody and holding the wing of the moth below them. How their body had changed into a monstrous form in order to combat a god. How they were the void that Life hated.

Was this Life? Who had created all life in the world? And hated the Void above all else?

Was Hollow about to fight an ancient god?

Could Hollow fight an ancient god?

 . . . . if they offered Life to Void, would it give the Storyteller back?
All of these thoughts were blown out of Hollow’s head when the featureless surface below the glowing eyes split open to reveal a jagged tooth maw, and the creature called in a voice so loud that it shook the air.

“WHERE ARE OUR VESSELS!?”

And Hollow recognized that voice. Hollow knew that voice intimately. They had heard that voice cry in sorrow, scream in rage, and whisper in fear.

“Storyteller (loved, not lost, safe)?”

Hollow’s question was feeble, the intent being hopeful and fragile as they sent their single question to the giant world-shaking god who was too large for the abyss to contain.

The god leaned toward them, it’s body touch the island for the first time. A pair of familiar, if void soaked, hands came up and gripped the sides of the island. The god’s familiar soft body molding to the edge even as some of the buildings were crushed beneath its mass.

 It lowered its face as close to Hollow as it seemed able.

“HOLLOW? IS THAT YOU? YOU LOOK REALLY DIFFERENT.”

“STORYTELLER (SAFE, BIG, LOVED) !!!

It was the Storyteller. THE STORYTELLER! She had escaped the Void, had saved herself! She was here! She was watching them!

She could see . . . what they had . . . done.

Hollow’s body moved without any particular intent from themselves, their long slug like tail curling around the Radiance’s body, trying to hide it from view. The hand that held the ripped off moth wing tucked behind Hollow’s torso, their body moving to face the Storyteller head on, trying to hide the horror of what they had been doing behind them.

The Storyteller’s giant masked face stared down at them, but unlike all the other times such a thing had occurred, the mask moved like her flesh did, some of the white surface bunching up to show how she found their action suspicious.

“Are you trying to hide the Radiance? Hollow, sweetheart, we can still hear her scream.”

Hollow’s body just curled tighter around the moth, trying to muffle her shrieking cries.

But instead of being horrified like they were expecting, the Storyteller just tilted her head and said as if unaware.

“Well, the distraction was always supposed to be sacrificed to a void monster. So, we shouldn’t be too surprised.”

Hollow reared back in surprise.

What had the Storyteller just said?

The Storyteller’s brow crumpled in confusion.

“Wait, what-?”

The Storyteller jerked her head back, cutting herself off, when Sprout flew from the building they had been watching on. They flew directly at her face and ‘yelled’ at her in happiness.

“returned-big?”

The vessel was immediately followed by its siblings, the only reason Sprout made it to her first being their straighter forward way of moving.

The rest of them had to get a bit more inventive in order to make it to the face of the giant that the Storyteller had become.

 Ghost suddenly appeared, holding into a very long pole- no, it was the sword they had created. They had stabbed it into the ground and made it long enough to reach the sky.

Curly had hitched a ride with Ghost, hanging from the hilt of the sword, but with their long tendrils reaching out for the Storyteller.

Vlad simply increased the size of their spider legs and threw themselves bodily into the sky, aiming for the Storyteller’s face.

The Storyteller gave a shriek as the vessels (voidlings) rushed at her, and instinctively shielded her face with her hands. Now that she was the size (very big) she was supposed to be, they all really did seem like bugs (distractions)! And what else was she supposed to do with them rushing at her face?!

She felt them bump into her arms, and only just controlled her instinctive urge to slap them away (do it!). That would hurt them!

Mary took a few deep breaths, trying and failing to squash the rabbit like thumping of her heart.

She was afraid of the vessels, of the babies that she had pulled from the abyss (void) herself. Of the tiny little things that even now were calling their happiness in that loud and vacant way that they had only just learned (void can speak?).

This couldn’t have been her fear (void). It was too . . . pure for her. Mary was so very rarely afraid of something just because it was there. Her fear (void) always had layers, possible actions (captured again) that might be taken, things that could happen (trapped again).

She didn’t fear the dark (void) because it was dark (void), but because of what might be in the dark (VOID).

Mary gritted her teeth and lowered her hands. She felt something clinging to one of them, and turned it over to see Vlad.

The little vessel (voidling) had launched themselves straight up into the air and hadn’t thought of how they were going to land, and had ended up clinging with all of their might to one of her fingers.

“Oh, didn’t think that through did you, Vlad?”

Mary smiled at the little vessel (voidling), the child staring up at her, head tilted back to look at her face.

The other vessels (voidlings) took her stable hand as an invitation and soon she had the whole bunch standing on the back of her hand.

They were bouncing up and down on her, happy to see her once more, and shouting at her.

“Big-soft-cuddle-LIVE!”

“light-that-named-self-LARGE!”

“Big-maker-of shiny! Make-big-shiny!”

Mary laughed at the little bugs, even as her gut clenched in fear.

They were so small like this. She couldn’t help but coo at them.

They seemed to become even more excited at her attention, literally jumping for joy. But there was another ear-splitting shriek from the moth and Mary’s attention was dragged from the babies (young?).

There, on the ground, the transformed creature (monster) that Mary was pretty sure was Hollow (our void?), was attempting to drag the Radiance (distraction) with them toward where Mary was.

At least, that’s what she figured they were trying to do, and weren’t just dragging the lamed moth through the rubble for the fun of it.

Mary was struck by a sudden thought, and it made a smile break out over her face as she leaned on the floating island, not caring that she was crushing the buildings below here like cardboard and plaster.

She laid the hand that didn’t have babies (void young?) on it flat and waggled her fingers a bit, as if she needed to get Hollow’s (our void’s) attention.

Mary had never felt smugger in her life than in the moment when she gave her offer to Hollow (can have void?).

“Need a hand with that Hollow?”

The absolute joy in her soul completely overwhelmed the fear. She was the big (very big) one now, she was the one who was going to carry Hollow (our void?) around!

Hollow (OUR VOID!), in their new shape, looked up at Mary for a bit. Mary just kept smiling down at them, luxuriating in the fact that she could finally, finally! Get her revenge and be the one to carry Hollow (personal void)around for a change.

This was only a dream, and it wouldn’t last, but hell! It was nice to be the one with all of the power for once.

Hollow (loved void?) slowly slithered into her palm, dragging the still heavily bleeding Radiance (hated distraction) behind them.

God, they were so small. Like a salamander with way more arms. Big enough to fill her palm, but still able to be held in one hand.

Aah! So cute

“Ok, we think we might finally understand why you keep picking us up.”

Mary looked from the vessels (more our void?) to salamander Hollow (loved void) and the Radiance (HATED distraction). They seemed to have a very good grip on the moth, four of their hands each having a different handle on her torso and their long tail curled around her legs a number of times.

Wait, hold on.

“Did you shrink? We know you were a lot bigger just a second ago.”

Salamander Hollow’s (loved void) head sort of ducked between their shoulders. Embarrassment and awkwardness practically shining out of them as they avoided her eyes.

This was even harder to do as Mary could lift them up to her face and angle her hand to make her gaze unavoidable.

“. . . No longer needed to be big Storyteller (Gigantic, godly, loved)”

“Hmmm. Well, it would be harder to carry you if we needed both hands we suppose.”

Mary carefully placed her elbows on the floating island. She could tell that it was shrinking, could see parts of it falling off and landing in the abyss (hated place) as she watched. But she figured that they had a few hours left before it disappeared completely and she woke up from her dream.

She was going to believe that without her as the anchor for the dream, everyone who still had a body would be kicked out.

Mary leaned on her elbows and propped up breasts on the dream island. They were covered by the clinging void, and too big to hide from the eyes of the babies (our void young?). Besides none of the bugs cared about her squishy bits anyway.

Mary raised her hands to her face to speak with everyone.

“Hollow, would you say that you have the distraction under control?”

Hollow slowly nodded, seeming unsure even as their large multi-horned head bounced.

The Distraction (radiance?) picked up her struggle at the mention of her predicament. Flailing her one remaining wing, but not shacking off Loved Hollow’s (void) grip or even managing to make much noise from where Loved Hollow (void) had her mouth covered by their tail.

“Lost power. No longer using Life (scared, hates, flee)

“OH. We guess that makes sense Loved Hollow. We suppose that we are Life now. . .”

Hollow’s head snapped up to stare at her, but Mary was trying very hard to not think too deeply about the fact that she had basically absorbed a god earlier, and so ignored the shocked look that Loved Hollow gave her.

“So that means it’s been weakened enough to be held by the hated Void, but we need to make a plan to bind it. We can’t just drop it in there. We can’t leave it up to chance that it never regains power, we have to make sure.”

The voidlings (our young) all climbed over one another to try and get a good look at the now brought low god, but Mary gently tilted her hand back.

“No. You’re staying over there. Loved Hollow is strong enough to take the Distraction on, but we don’t want our voidlings getting hurt.”

They seemed confused by such words, and Mary could admit that they could certainly held their own in a fight, but she was currently big enough to protect (inside?) them, so she would.

But Curly, who had tucked themselves in-between her fingers, hunkered down in the softest part of her hand, cast out a question.

“Bind-how? No-spiders-no-circles.”

That was, a good question.

Mary could only assume that whatever she dreamed into being would disappear when she did. And she wasn’t willing to, or even sure she could, stay asleep for the rest of all time to keep the Hated Distraction tied up.

But as she watched Loved Hollow’s long void black coils adjust their grip on the Distraction’s body, she had an idea.

She was currently more than just the Storyteller, wasn’t she? She had a bit of someone else mixed in. She just had to convince herself that she had the ability to create something and make it stick (can create everything, easily).

Mary tucked her lip between her teeth and chewed on it, as she tried to figure out how to do this.

She was absolutely going to need her hands.

Mary stepped around the island until she found a building near the edge that wasn’t damaged, and wasn’t about to start to crumble into the hated abyss. She lowered her hands to the edge of the building, and the loved voidlings and Loved Hollow all got the idea.

Curly had to be pulled off of her by their siblings, and Loved Hollow had to be carefully slid out of her hand, but eventually she had her hands free once more.

“Let’s start.”

Ok. So how to do this?

Mary closed her eyes to start with, not wanting to see the eyes all watching her. She had started to chew on her lip again as she thought through the process of what she was about to do (as easy as being, as easy as living).

She would forgo the hoop. It wasn’t really needed, it was just the frame for the stings to sit in.

What she needed were the strings, and lucky for her she hadn’t cut her hair in forever. All she needed to do was . . .  but a little oomph behind them (everything came from body).

Mary reached to the side and grabbed the braid that was slung over her shoulder. It was kind of funny how her robes had been split apart hulk style but her hair tie had just been upgraded along with her.

Mary untied the knot, and just let the cord fall into the hated abyss. It wasn’t what she was after.

She shook her hair out, making a face at the feel of the hated void that still managed to cling to it. It sort of felt like she had dipped her head in cooking oil. The hated void was slick, but it clung to everything and was practically trapped in her hair.

Gross.

Mary finger combed her hair out, but it was too long to get all the ways to the end without stretching her arms out wide and letting the weight of it finish dragging it between her fingers.

Mary began to imagine what she wanted. She needed strings, so she would use her hair (everything comes from body).

Mary dug her fingers into the top of her head and pulled the hair out straight, and she could feel something different between her fingers.

Where before it had just felt like greasy hair, now there were thick strands that practically wrapped themselves around her fingers.

Her hair dropped from her hands, but those thick strands remained and Mary opened her eyes to see multiple thin blue vines tangled in her hands.

We can work with this.

Mary began to thread her fingers through the glowing blue vines, making a messy cat’s cradle. In no time at all, Mary had fashioned a little something that would act as the net for the Hated Distraction.

She held her hair tangled hands out to the Loved Hollow, and with some caution they dropped the still struggling Hated Distraction into the net.

Immediately the Hated Distraction’s wiggling got it tangled in the hair, getting wrapped up and bound by its own attempts to get free.

Mary soon had the loud hated Distraction tightly caught and hanging from her hands.

It was very tightly bound with no hope of getting out unless something helped it.

But would something help it?

Mary frowned.

The Loved Void was helping her right now, wasn’t it? What if one day the Hated distraction learned how to talk to the Hated void? What if it’s sweet poison lies convinced the hated void to do things for it?

All of this work, only for it to be unraveled later?

No.

Mary nodded her head once, coming to a decision. The hated void couldn’t be trusted to hold the hated Distractionforever.

So, Mary would hold it instead.

Mary raised the tangled hated Distraction up high. She tilted her head back and opened her mouth as wide as she could and stuck her tongue out as far as it would go.

The first bite Mary had taken of the hated Distraction had tasted bad, so this time she would try and swallow it whole without letting it touch her tongue.

The hated Distraction’s noise grew louder and louder as Mary lowered it into her mouth, but there was nowhere for it to go, and the sound was cut off as Mary closed her mouth around it. Her teeth cut the vines and the hated Distractiondropped down her throat.

Mary could keep most of a handle on a single god, but two were too much for her to hold and still be Mary.

Mary swallowed once, and her current incarnation was no more.

Hollow and their siblings stared in awe and horror at what the Storyteller had become.

The Storyteller looked down at them. She was no longer naked but cloaked in the night sky of the dream realm whose sun had finally set with the consumption of its god.

Her eyes no longer glowed blue but shown with a bright purple. Her hair no longer hung heavily from her head but instead branched off out of view, making a crisscrossing tapestry behind her. Her every moved changed the pattern of the realm, a dizzy movement that all lead back to her.

Her face was still a mask, but now instead of the smooth moving surface it had been, it was frozen in a horrifying expression. One half of her face smiling, and the other half mourning. They could see movement from inside the mask, but it wasn’t quite clear enough to make out.

The Storyteller folded her arms on the floating island, and they could hear the smile in her voice.

“I am the one named Storyteller, God of Lies, Secrets, and Lessons.”

She tilted her head to the side, the smiling half of her mask now raised up.

“Would you like to hear a story? It’s about a creature named Mary, her adventures in a place called Hallownest, and how she became a god twice over.”

Chapter Text

“Once upon a time, there was a creature named Mary.”

The Storyteller began her story in a way that was familiar to Hollow. It was all the right words, was in the right voice, but something about it came off as odd.

And they couldn’t figure out why that was.

“Mary was a normal creature, regular in every way, and lived a life that anyone could expect of her.”

The Storyteller was different, they knew this. They KNEW this. The Storyteller that they had known could barely be seen in this one.

“She was content with her life, didn’t want to go on an adventure, didn’t want to go and have a grand love.”

But they could see their Storyteller in the ways that she moved. The way that she raised her hands in the air to accent the story. The tilt of her head as she got read say something shocking.

“But then one day when she was bathing, Mary slipped on the soap and fell.”

The Storyteller made a sharp motion in the air with her hand, and the millions of threads that curled from her head all seemed to hum for a moment. Then, between two crossing spaces where the threads met, something fell out.

It was a shrieking pale blur.

A familiar shrieking pale blur.

Hollow jerked toward the naked Storyteller, the instinct to protect overriding all of their sense. and they were immediately caught in the free hand of the huge Storyteller. Pressed to the ground and kept from leaping into the air to save the Storyteller.

The Storyteller chuckled as the naked wet human fell for a few more feet, blind in the dark and with panic, before she fell through another section of crossed stings and her screams went silent.

“She fell for a long time. And eventually she landed in a large blue lake.”

The Storyteller lifted her hand from Hollow, but they stayed on the ground, face tilted up to watch her.

The Storyteller reached out, plucking at a dark thread that was hanging from her, not her hair but from her body. The end of it curling below the cloak. As she told her story, Hollow’s eyes couldn’t help but catch on her fingers curling the thread from within her cloak.

This action was familiar. The Storyteller liked to have something in her hands as she, as she spoke and told stories. But the mask, the twisted grimace of joy and anguish never looked down at her hands. It’s purple eyes continued to stare straight at her small audience.

 “Mary was in a strange new world made of tunnels and populated with bugs. The sight of these bugs filled her with fear. There had been such creatures in her own world, but none with minds, and never so big. She was sure that if they saw her then she would be killed and eaten.”

The Storyteller’s hands continued to curl the thread up, the large appendages moving swiftly despite their size.

“Mary ran for a long time, hiding from every sound and light until she stumbled upon a small cave. The cave’s sole inhabitant had died and left behind their corpse and possessions. And from the coincidental tomb she took a single mask and a swath of cloth. And with these two items she managed to hide herself amongst the creatures that scared her so.”

The thread that the Storyteller had been winding appeared to dissolve in her hands, becoming no more. But the Storyteller seemed to be expecting this and only began to wind another thread that hung from her cloak.

“But as time passed, she learned that these creatures, while strange and different from her, were not the monsters she had assumed them to be. She found her place among them, assisting their work and regaling their children with stories from her world.”

“Mary was weak to the pleas of children, so when one of them came to her, mourning their bad dreams, Mary wished to help. Mary’s dreams were never touched by the dying god. Her mind a strange and alien place that the gods of this world were unable to find easy footholds in. She had no idea that the complaints of bad dreams were anything more than the whines of children frightened of shadows. But Mary was a creature from a place with no soul, no power from within, no magic at all. What could she do to fend off these bad dreams?”

“Well, despite her kind not having magic, they had studied the sciences of the world, the ways of the stars, of the world, and of themselves. She knew that most children from her world feared things that their own minds had created with no actual danger waiting hidden. And as such could be convinced that doing some pretend ritual could fend off the danger. So, she decided to try and convince the child who came to her, that their fears could be warded off with a simple object”

“So, she made a silly little trinket out of sting and a hoop and told the child a lie. She gifted them this charm that she had stolen from her world, a cheap imitation snatched from a culture she was only vaguely familiar with. And the child believed her, believed in her power so strongly that they gave power to this poor imitation of a dreamcatcher. With the soul and magic that this child had poured into this dreamcatcher, it actually managed to guard the child’s dreams from the god who had come to haunt them.”

The Storyteller stopped her twisting hands and staring to theatrically shake her head.

“The lie had become a truth.”

The Storyteller shrugged her shoulders, lifting her hands with her palms out to the sky. Showing her confusion with her own words, her body being used once more to show her emotions where her face could not.

“Mary was confused at the response of the villagers she lived among. She began to get so many requests for dreamcatchers. She was baffled when so many of the villagers began stop their work to listen to her stories. She had no idea the miracle she had faked, and as such was completely taken by surprise when the god king of the tunnels sent down escorts to lead her to the palace.”

The thread in the Storyteller’s hands dissolved once more. She picked up another.

“Mary was brought before a god, a god in all of his splendor at the height if his power. And this god asked her, ‘how had she done this?’ How had she stopped the spread of the infection that had been claiming his people? Mary demanded a private audience with the god king, and told him, that “I have no magic, I have no power, I have been lying this entire time.” And the god king had her confined to the palace. In his wisdom he had realized that as long as none of his subjects knew of the lie, it would be truth. As long as they continued to believe in the power of this strange being, then power she would have. So, he would keep her close.”

“Mary was more relieved than frightened. She had been slowly degrading while in the village, working too much, and eating too little. So, while now she was in a cage, it was not a prison. And while in the palace, she made friends with the god king, the god queen, the demi-god princess and many others. And amongst all of these bugs, she met a creature called the Hollow Knight.”

At their title and former name Hollow jolted, their gaze jerking from the Storyteller’s hands and focused on her eyes.

The Storyteller had shifted her gaze just the slightest bit downward to make eye contact with the bug, giving them a small nod of acknowledgement as if to say ‘yes, I am speaking about you.’

“It was a being created from the bodies of the king and queen and then dipped in the ocean of void. It was made to be empty. To be hollow and mindless so that it could hold the angry dying god of dreams who was haunting the kingdom.”

“But while it was empty, it was not mindless. It had hidden away it’s emotions, trying to live up to the expectations of everyone in it met. So, when the Hollow Knight was ordered to protect Mary, it tried to live up to her expectations as well. To be what she needed and wanted of it”

“But Mary was a creature of comfort, of community. She needed a dozen things that she had not been able to get from the bugs of Hallownest while she hid behind her mask and cloaks. She did not need a silent emotionless guard who would one day be locked away for her. She needed a friend, a companion, a secret keeper. She needed someone to lead and protect her, not follow her commands and attack.”

“And so, the Hollow Knight, ever willing to be what others wanted of it, became these things for her. And in doing so, got a taste for being these things. And slowly, over time, began to be filled. The Hollow Knight was not mindless, it was not will-less and now it was not even empty.”

“Such a change was noticed by the bugs around them, and Mary was blamed for ruining the Hollow Knight, for dooming them all to forever be haunted by the dream god.”

“Mary was horrified. She did not know what to do now, but with the anger of the kingdom coming down on her she did what she had always done in these tunnels. She hid behind her mask, and told a lie. She said that the creation of a giant dreamcatcher would save the kingdom. And they believed her. An enormous dreamcatcher was constructed, a ritual performed and so the Hollow Knight, and Mary both woke up in a dream.”

“A battle between the dying god and the Hollow Knight was raged, and Mary, powerless, lying Mary, found the source of the dying god’s power, and she took it for herself. She grew with the god’s power, back to the size she had been in her world, tall enough to touch the sky without wings. And then, with her size restored, she swallowed the dying god, saving Hallownest from her plague once and for all.”

“And with the power she now had, Mary became a god. A god named Storyteller. Mary became me.”

The giant bent over, lowering her head to get closer to Hollow’s height. Hollow, who was standing in shock at what they had just been told, at the secrets that had been shoved in front of them, of the lies that had just been revealed.

Hollow wasn’t sure if they should believe this god. She was made of the Radiance, of Life, and of . . . Mary the Storyteller. And she had explained from the very beginning that she was a god of lies.

Hollow was still trying to wrap their mind around the fact that they had been lied to. Been lied to this entire time. That for every ten words the Storyteller- that Mary- had said, three of them had been false.

They didn’t know what to think.

And the . . . Storyteller, this new god, seemed to know this.

“It’s always terrible to learn that you were not in on a secret is it not? I would suggest you not take it too personally, only two creatures in the entire kingdom knew about the lies. Mary and the Pale King. If people knew the truth, then these pale imitations of dreamcatchers would not have worked.”

The Storyteller clicked her nails on the ground as she spoke, the action just another mannerism that remined Hollow of who the God Storyteller had replaced.

“That is how the story goes Hollow. That is the beginning and the middle of Mary’s story. But it still needs an end.”

The god tilted her head, the purple glow never leaving Hollow as she spoke, “I am a god of secrets, of lies, of lessons, but at the core of it all. I am a god of stories. And stories have certain elements that must be followed, or they aren’t good stories at all.”

The Storyteller slowly circled the island and with every shake of her hand and gentle strum of her fingers, the crossing strings would show different scenes from the story she told.

“I cannot decide how this story ends, I am not the one who lived through these events.”

Hollow caught glimpses of the Storyteller, of Mary, from impossible angles and perspectives. They saw her from directly above as she crossed the room in the ballroom and was almost crushed by the dropping glass ball.

They saw themselves carry her at a run through Greenpath as if they were watching from below a leaf.

They saw her bind the Mantis Lord again, saw her explore the archives, saw her slip between the bars of the cell she without her mask and cloak, saw her cling to their back as they lowered them into the Abyss.

With every wave of this god’s hand, she showed them the story of Mary. And as they watched and listened to the stolen moments, they began to have a fear grow within them.

This was her story. And it would have to end.

Hollow tried to tear their gaze away from the god, to get a moment to think, to process all that they have heard, all that they had seen.

And they noticed that they were alone on the shrinking island.

Where their siblings had once stood, there was now nothing.

This snapped Hollow from their panic, their siblings were gone. And in this place, there was nowhere to GO.

Hollow began to spin in place, searching the available area and the sky above to try and see where they had gone. Their movements become sloppy and frantic as their eyes and hands patting the ground as if their siblings had burrowed down.

“Do not worry Hollow, I simply untangled their thread from my own.”

Hollow looked back up at the giant in front of them, void leaking from their eyes as they gazed upon the god who had leaned forward on her elbows before them.

“Do not be alarmed. They simply woke up once I finished untangling their threads. I did not want the voidlings here for this. They are loved, but they are not the main characters of this tale.”

The Storyteller waved her hands and Hollow’s attention was caught by one of the windows made of crossing thread. It showed their siblings in their mother’s roots. She was laying on the ground, her body having broken through her bindings and sprouting roots that clutched the small bodies to her.

Hollow could see behind them their own body, hanging by its hands from the ruined dreamcatcher. And at the center of the dreamcatcher itself was a twitching and curling lump that Hollow just knew contained . . . Mary the Storyteller’s body.

But with another wave of the god’s hands, the threads twitched and the vision disappeared.

“You and your siblings are all creatures of the Void. You are never all the way awake or asleep, so you do not naturally dream. You are only dreaming right now because your connection to Mary dragged you with her into the trap. You all would have woken when she did, but now tat she is gone you cannot awake as long as I am here, not without me untangled your threads. I removed the thread of the voidlings from my own and they were gently released from the dream.”

The Storyteller plucked at the single dark thread that still hung from her cloak, and this time Hollow followed it with their eyes. It trailed all the way back to their own body. The thread got lost in the color of their own void black body, but now that they were looking they could sense it easily.

“I left yours, so as to keep you in the dream. I have a choice to offer you, and I did not want your siblings to influence your decision.”

The God Storyteller’s giant head tilted toward Hollow as she began to explain why she needed them to the still confused and emotionally upheaved Hollow.

“I am a god made of three very different creatures. So, I need my end to be decided by something that was important to all of them, something that will satisfy the elemental of a story.”

The God Storyteller held up a single finger.

“First of all, Life must have their story arch completed.”

“Life was a selfish greedy creature. Life is cruel in the way that living is cruel, in the way that survival sometimes means stepping on others to escape from death for just a moment more. It thought of nothing but itself. For the only things in the world it considered to be real was itself and the monster that chased it. All things that it created were of no importance, and were used and tossed aside as need be. This means that only the Void or a derivative of the Void would be able to influence it. All other beings, gods or not, come from life and as such will never be able to influence it.”

The Storyteller held up a second finger.

“Next is the Radiance.”

“The Radiance, was once a god that led her people to prosperity. Her power relied on lesser bugs following her advice and guidance. She would help others achieve their dreams. But she was corrupted by Life. Parts of her personality and view of the world were corrupted by Life’s selfish and egotistical view. She was not a blameless creature, but when fed by Life, and influence by Life’s selfish ways, she was turned into a cruel god to all that she did not love.”

The Storyteller held up a third finger.

“Then there is Mary.”

“Mary was a weak and powerless creature whose only influence came from her theatrics and lies. She always put herself first and she was a ball of tangled lies and secrets. She pretended to be knowledgeable and mystical when she was just dumb and easily distracted. She borrowed power from others, always using the influence of the king, or the belief of the bugs of Hallownest. She was just a charlatan who hid every aspect of herself from others to survive.”

The God Storyteller curled her fingers back to her palm and then tucked it under the chin of the mask, seeming to settle herself on the edge of the island.

“I am the result of these three selfish and short-sighted creatures. All of their aspects mixed together to result in me. Dreams and Life forced together and translated through the mouth of a liar. All of existence is a story, the experiences between the beginning and the end. I am the Storyteller, a god made of Life, Radiance, and Mary. None of which are able to create an end. Not an end that will mean something.”

“But you mean something to all of my parts. You are made of Void, the only think Life will acknowledge. You are made of Wyrm, that which had defeated the Radiance before. You are Hollow, who Mary abused and owes a debt to. So your decisions will affect all parts of me. My creation is a story in and of itself. But it must come to an end before my next story can begin, and that end is now.”

The God Storyteller tilted her head, letting out a sigh that was so great that Hollow could feel the air whip past them.

“I must say Hollow, that I would have allowed myself to continue on into the world as a god, breaking through to reality and taking my place as the new apex god of Hallownest’s pantheon. My totems are hanging above every bed, my power grand and able to accomplish anything, as long as my lies were believed. But not even a god gets to decide their story’s end.”

The Storyteller continued to make eye contact with Hollow as she finally got to the point. The reason that she had kept them in the dream.

 “The culture of Hallownest, demands pairs, and Mary’s culture was partial to the number three. So, I will offer you both.”

 “My first offer to you, is that you could do nothing. The dream will end, and soon you will wake up. The strings tying you to Mary will snap with the dreams end and the story will end with Mary having ascended to godhood and taking the place of both Life and Dream in the pantheon of the world. The infection will be barred from the land, there will never be anything like it ever again and I will protect the bugs of Hallownest as the new ruler.”

The Storyteller slide forward, got so close that Hollow could have reached out to brush their fingers on the twisted mask that covered her face.

“Your second choice would be to cut my strings. To separate me from my sources of power, leaving me to unwind and dissolve. If you make this choice, then all changes I have made to this realm would unbecome. The creatures inside of me would separate and the violence of their separation would make them return to their pairs. I am stretching them too far, putting them under too much pressure, for their sudden release to be gentle. My creation has taken too much from them for them to be the same.

“Life will have lost all that it has ever known and be returned to the embrace of the Void. The Radiance will have burned away everything but a kernel of her power after being slung to where her brother resides. It is unlikely that she would even survive the whiplash. She has been half dead for an age and it would depend on the effort of her brother if she would remain in this world.”

The God Storyteller paused here, knowing that it was the information that Hollow wanted most, and as such it would be more dramatic to make them wait for just a moment.

“And Mary will be returned to her world. I am keeping her here and without a god to keep her anchored to this place, she will return to where she came. The forced return will destroy every memory she has of this place.”

Hollow jerked back, falling to the ground with their long body curling in on itself like a distressed centipede. The idea that Mary could be saved, but removed from this world a shock to their system.

But the God Storyteller did not wait for them to accumulate to the shock and just moved on. She placed both of her hands flat on either side of Hollow and hovered her masked face above them, forcing them to lay back on the ground to keep from bumping into her. The glow of her purple eyes lit up the ground and colored her pale hands, but the light was swallowed up by Hollow’s void black body.

“Your third choice is this. Hollow you could be my pair. You are made of the void -antithesis of Life, untouched by the Radiance’s dreams, and nothing at all like the creature Mary once was. You could consume the entirety of the void, not become a part of it, but have it become a part of you. You would change of course, but well, you could stay with me as an equal. You would change enough to no longer love Mary, but to love Me. I do not know what God you would become, but I would stay with you and guide you and keep you close.”

Hollow couldn’t help but scoot away from the intensity pf the God Storyteller’s eye’s, dragging themselves across the ground by their hands as they were unable to look away from the purple eyes above them.

The God Storyteller let them retreat, but did not move from her hunched position or make it easier for them to go.

“You would be my pair. My other half! I am made of such selfish creatures Hollow. You cannot leave me to my own devices in Hallownest. Surely you understand the need to keep me from overreaching or becoming corrupt from my power?”

The Storyteller was new, born just moments ago, but saddled with the debts of what she was made of.

Life was responsible for the suffering of all beings, sentient or otherwise. But Life didn’t consider these creatures that sprang from its body as anything other than shed skin or loosened scales. They owed Life nothing, as Life owed them nothing.

They only existed to throw in the way of the Void after all.

And does one need to apologize to the hammer as it hits a nail?

The Radiance was responsible for all of the hardships that the infection had caused. For all of the death and loss that comes with an entire generation of sentient beings being afraid to dream. For the crippling fear of hurting their loved ones and being needed to be put down.

The Radiance had caused the stagnation of Hallownest, and the deaths of uncountable bugs. But she didn’t care. She had thought that they deserved such things for their crime of not being her own, and worshipping another god.

And Mary, the single mortal in the bunch, who had not been a god solely because she did not believe herself to be, owed a debt only to Hollow. Owed them for all of the orders that she had given them as if they were her slave.

Life and the Radiance needed to atone for uncountable mistakes, but Mary only needed to pay back this one creature.

So, the God Storyteller left her fate in Hollow’s hands.

But that did not mean that she was not going to try and influence their choice.

The Storyteller took a deep breath, uncomfortable to reveal her weakness, but needing to acquire Hollow’s pity. “I am not- not set yet. I can still change from what I am into something else. I am still malleable. When I go into reality, I will be changed to survive by it’s rules. My form will condense down into something that my believers will recognize as their god.”

The Storyteller trailed one of her hand’s fingertips around the edges of the shrinking island that Hollow still reclined upon, the gray rock that she touched crumbling at her touch, “But if you changed with me, then you would have the power to keep me like how Mary was, keep me the way that I would know best. I do not want to change into a bug. I do not want to be an amalgamation of creatures like Life was and I do not want to glow like the Radiance. I cannot stay like this. I am too large to fit in the tunnels. I want to be soft and warm like how Mary was. I want to be held like how you held her.”

The Storyteller tipped her head coltishly, her fingers walking toward Hollow to stroke them along their long body.

“If you change with me, I can keep you the way that you are, shaped like this, shaped like a god made of Void and not the monster they would think you are. And you can keep me shaped like how Mary was. I can’t be her, but I can look like her, and that would be something wouldn’t it? I am not the creature that you held in your hands and worshiped, but you might love me like you did her one day. You can never get Mary back, but you would have me, and would that not be enough?”

Hollow stared up at the God Storyteller from where they laid reclined on their back, propped up by a pair of their arms. They stared at the giant creature that Mary the Storyteller had become, at the god that had brought Mary the Storyteller into this world, and was now all that remained of her.

They mourned.

She was gone. She was gone.

Mary the Storyteller was beyond their reach, and they had only now learned her name from the god that had risen from her ruins.

Should they take what she offered? Should they make the decision to become a god, to die with Mary and become something else, something that would be able to rise from the pain that was beginning to swallow them?

But could they leave their siblings to suffer like they were? To lose a loved one? To lose both the Storyteller that they knew, and to also lose their sibling? To acquire a stranger in their place who reminded them so much of the one who they lost?

Or should they cut the string? Unravel this new god, bring Mary back into being, but lose her once more? Would the knowledge that she lives somewhere that they cannot reach be enough for them? To know that she lives, but does not know them?

That they were the one to make that choice?

Or do they do nothing?

Do they just-. Let the choice pass them by? Let this new god rise in Hallownest, having let the decision to join her or unmake her fall through their hands? Crippled by indecision?

Do they stand by and do nothing like they had for so long?

Do they allow themselves to become empty? Let everything that they have accomplished, every choice they have made, just leak out of them with their grief?

No.

Hollow would not do nothing.

Hollow was a creature of Void, of Wyrm, of Root.

Hollow was greedy.

They wanted to see their siblings again. They wanted to see their parents again. They wanted to play games in the conservatory and carry Mary the Storyteller in their arms.

They wanted to hover menacingly behind her as she lied to others. They wanted to put her favorite foods on her plate and help her wash her long hair.

They wanted Mary the Storyteller back, and they didn’t want this new God Storyteller to take her place.

They wanted for Hallownest to be free of infection, they wanted-

They wanted their Mary back!

What could they do.

What options did they have? They could become a god, unravel the Storyteller, or do nothing. Those were the options they were given.

 . . . . but the God Storyteller was made of lies, secrets, lessons and strings.

Strings. Mary had managed to do some amazing things with strings. She had warded the infection away from bugs, and bound those that had succumbed.

And now the God Storyteller could control this realm with strings, and peek into and influence reality with them.

Bending reality with twitches of her fingers.

Even now they shivered and shifted where they crossed each other, flashes of light and of far off sounds filling the dream with a gentle buzz and glow.

The God Storyteller said that Mary the Storyteller had no power. She could do no magic and control no soul. But that she was able to influence others by telling them lies.

That if a bug believed that a dreamcatcher would work, that a puff of silk would glow, that she was able to do amazing things, then it would come true.

Could they convince the God Storyteller that there was a way to save Mary? That there was a fourth choice?

No . . . there was a fourth choice.

She had already given it away when she had released their siblings!

If Hollow could simply untangle Mary the Storyteller from the Radiance and Life, then they could remove the other god’s threads without Mary being taken from them! The God Storyteller would be undone Mary would stay here, kept in place by her connection to Hollow!

Hollow was born of three gods. Even if they were not powerful, even if they had no worshipers, surely, they still had the power to keep her here?

No. They did have the power.

The God Storyteller said that Hollow was their strongest worshiper, that what they believed in could influence what the God Storyteller would become in reality.

The God Storyteller herself believed in their power. That they could change her and influence her shape in reality.

 . . .  could they influence her now?

Could they drag Mary out of the Storyteller?

Wait. No.

Mary the Storyteller was the one who had consumed the others. Mary the Storyteller was the dominate one here, the one whose personality had almost survived, the one who still loved their siblings enough to get them out of the dream safely, the one who still thought that Hollow had the power to support and protect her.

Was there a way for Hollow to drag the other gods out of Mary?

The- The black string. Hollow’s connection to Mary the Storyteller. It was coming from beneath her cloak.

The others must be underneath as well.

And with how the God Storyteller leaned on the island, she was in easy reach.

Hollow coiled their long body beneath themselves as they prepared to launch forward. They were unfamiliar with this god, unfamiliar with her ways and her abilities.

But they knew Mary didn’t have very good reflexes.

They sprang forward, not giving themselves time to doubt.

The God Storyteller gave a scream in surprise, interrupting her newest attempts to convince Hollow to become a god, and reared back. But Hollow had dug their many hands into her cloak and was following their thread to the gap in the cloak. They managed to rip it open and saw what was inside of the God Storyteller’s cloak.

It was . . . a mess. It wasn’t a body that could be real.

Orange moth fluff was scattered around, spaced out with wet and glowing blue slug flesh. Malformed vestigial legs twitched from nonsensical places, and moth wings sprouted from the place a bug’s stomach would be. A few eyes opened and the pupils moved like how Mary the Storyteller’s eyes would when she saw a bright light after being in the dark, the black middle shrinking down to a pin prick.

And from beneath the mask still sat on the Storyteller’s face, three threads hung. An orange, blue and black thread.

Hollow reached out with two three hands, and took each thread in their grip.

The hand that took hold of the black thread was careful, being sure not to put any tension on the thread at all.

But the two hands that grabbed the colored threads yanked.

The God Storyteller screamed again, this time in something that sounded like pain and staggered forward into the island.

She collapsed on it, hands gripping it’s crumbling edges as she tried to understand what was happening.

“What are- WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

Hollow did not respond, too focused on keeping their grip on the God Storyteller as they dragged the colored threads down, pulling the power from the god.

The God Storyteller howled in pain as she was pulled apart, one hand coming up to try and rip the- the- monster from their chest. But she couldn’t control her hands. The feeling of the threads being pulled from her feeling like all of the tendons in her body were getting ripped out.

“No- no! Stop! Please! It HURTS!”

The God Storyteller continued to beg and scream in Mary the Storyteller’s voice as Hollow pulled and pulled and pulled.  Unraveling this god from the inside out.

Their efforts had visible effects, piles of thread growing on the remains of the island, and the god was shrinking.

With every yank she became smaller and smaller until Hollow’s body was able to touch the ground once more.

The cloak made of darkness and stars was fell apart, unwinding from exitance and dissolving into a pale smoke that reminded Hollow of the way that Mary the Storyteller’s breath had appeared in the abyss. The mask that hid the God Storyteller’s face was shrinking with her body, it’s grotesquely twisting features practically shriveling up like a mushroom denied water.

The God Storyteller eventually tried to yank her threads from Hollow’s hands, her fingers getting tangled in the colored threads, but . . . Mary had been weak. She had always been a creature to use bluffs and grand gestures to intimidate.

She had always relied on Hollow to do any of the heavy lifting.

And so, even like this, a god and able to bend the universe to her will, the God Storyteller still stoutly believed that Hollow was stronger than her.

The diminished God Storyteller dangling from the strings that tangled her hands, dragging them over her head. The soft flesh that mimicked Mary’s distended oddly under the tight grip of the threads, nearly cutting through her flesh with how tightly they wound around her fingers.

The God Storyteller now looked like how Mary the Storyteller did. The parts of her that had taken on the influence of the other gods having disappeared as their power was removed from her body. Her body was now shaped the same, and the same color, and it smelled and felt the same.

But it didn’t sound right.

Where before the beat of Mary the Storyteller’s fast heart beat could be heard above any noise, now it was mixed with a slow steady rise and fall of ilfe, and the high annoying tempo of the Radiance.

Hollow could . . . could see how much thread there was left in the Storyteller. The thick irritated lines bulging underneath the soft skin, and they jerked forward with every pull. A thick blue line circled the Storyteller’s soft stomach in a spiral and as they pulled it slowly unwound.

There was another irritated line, this one curling down her throat in a messy struggling line that glowed orange.

Where the blue looked purposeful, the orange looked as if it had been threaded in by a clumsy bug who wanted for it to look ugly. It crossed over itself in many places and looked like it hurt.

The black thread was nearly invisible, only a hint of it appeared below the others, considerably shorter and thinner than the other two.

The threads had dislodged the mask from the God Storyteller’s face, raised it up just enough to see the threads sliding from between her teeth.

Teeth which were bared at Hollow in a way they had never seen Mary the Storyteller do. They could see the purple shine of the God Storyteller’s eyes still through the eye holes, but it no longer matched up with where the God Storyteller’s face should be.
“So this is your choice! To unmake me?! To torture me!?”

The mouth that Hollow could see did not move to speak, though it scowled at them. Her pink lips getting jerked up by the threads that slid from her mouth.

But despite how Hollow could see the familiar face of Mary the Storyteller, they knew that it was still the mask with its twisted visage and glowing eyes, that was the God Storyteller. That the god still had some power even as she was dangling from their hands.

“You are sort sighted Hollow. This moment of revenge, this moment of petty victory will haunt you for the rest of your very long life. You can still take it back, I will forgive you! We can be gods together, and I will not hold your moment of insanity against who you will become! If you stop here, if you stop trying to kill me, we can be happy!”

The lips of the God Storyteller parted to bare her teeth as she continued to speak, the words not coming from her mouth, but from the mask whose eyes stayed locked on Hollow’s own, even as they paid the glow no mind.

Hollow had been silent for the entirety of the interaction with the God Storyteller, first out of shock, and then out of grief.

But now, they didn’t want to spare one of their precious words for this creature that taunted and begged them with the voice of Mary the Storyteller.

Whatever had happened to the mind of this god had obviously already been tainted by the anger and self-absorbed personality of the Radiance and Life.

As if Hollow would take any pleasure from causing distress to a creature that resembled Mary the Storyteller in anyway. Every pained noise in Mary the Storyteller’s voice scrapped them raw. The distressing way that the familiar body hung from their hands. The way that the threads cut into her soft body . . .

Hollow wanted to take her into their arms, to sooth away the hurt and apologize for every second that they kept her like this.

But . . . the God Storyteller, was not Mary the Storyteller. And if they did not remove the gods from her, if they did not untangle the threads, then all they be left would be the God Storyteller.

And they wanted Mary.

“So, this is it? You kill me, and release the other two gods back into reality? Let them return and plague Hallownest just so that you can have your worthless liar? You would doom the kingdom that your father built and your mother nurtured just to get the powerless coward back? The one who treated you like a slave and could not even walk the tunnels of Hallownest unassisted?”

Hollow did not respond to her, just continued to pull the threads slowly and with care from her body, doing their best to keep from pulling the black thread as they held the dangling body still with their remaining hands.

The lack of response seemed to anger the unraveling god even more, and it was with a cruel smile that the God Storyteller said, “Fine, you devoted fool. But know this. I was a spiteful god.”

And then she brought Mary the Storyteller’s teeth together with a snap and a yank of her head, severing the threads between them.

With her action, it was as if the entirety of the realm collapsed all at once. What light there had been went out immediately, leaving only the purple glow from the grimacing mask’s eyes.  

The two god threads were yanked from Hollow’s hand’s disappearing from their sight even as their single black thread began to slowly dissolve.

The floating island that they had been on dropped from beneath them, and nothing could have stopped Hollow from yanking the soft body of the God Storyteller toward them.

To shield her from the fall.

The God Storyteller laughed in Hollow’s arms as they both fell, the air whipping at her naked body, her long hair following her, collapsing what windows into other worlds had remained as the God Storyteller was pulled down into the abyss with the one who had killed her. Crowing to the black abyss with her last victory.

“You may have killed me, ended me here but now there is nothing to tie your precious Storyteller to this world. With the dream’s end, all shall be returned to its place! If I must end here, then I will take what you coveted most!”

Hollow dug their fingers into the soft body of the laughing God Storyteller at these words.

They had thought that as long as they untangled the gods without cutting their thread that they could keep Mary.

But now the threads were cut, and now the violent separation would yank Mary back from where she came from.

Despite their effort, they would lose her.

“No.”

As they entered the roiling void, Hollow’s mind began to meld with the panicked Void that was searching for its lost Life, it’s panic fueling their own.

Hollows arms tightened around the God Storyteller as they decided that no matter what, no matter who tried to separate them, no matter if Mary herself despised their choice, that they would NOT LET HER GO.

And this dream, ending though it might be, had just been cut from the influence of the god that had controlled it for so long. It was nothing for Hollow’s desire to overpower the dying God Storyteller’s will.

The thread that had tied Hollow to Mary the Storyteller, the thread that had been dissolving, suddenly thickened. It became a chain of void, dark like the spaces between the stars and the frayed end of the thread became a thick open manacle.

Hollow, full of greed, void, and belief reached with their many hands and snapped the manacle around the neck of the God Storyteller. the pure black metal became seamless as it closed, never to open again.

And as her laughing cut off with a choked gasp, the purple light that had glowed from the God Storyteller mask’s eyes guttered out, and the mask fell from Mary the Storyteller’s face.

She didn’t have time to open her eyes before the dream realm finally shattered, and the story came to its end.

Hollow’s eyes did not snap open. But their sudden shift in awareness caused their head to jerk up from where it had been dangling, changing their view from the ground to the space in front of them.

There was movement and sound all around them, reactions of the bugs who had seen the seemingly dead Hollow Knight suddenly begin moving.

For a moment they saw their father, his wings flared out and diving for Hollow. His eyes wide and the beginning of Hollow’s name being shouted.

They saw their mother, her vines full of their struggling siblings. Her eyes leaking blue tears and more roots sprouting from her body and curling toward them.

But they didn’t go to meet their family. Their mind was full of panic as they stood from their slump, nearly smacking their large head into the dangling cocoon of string that had been hanging in the hoop above them.

Did it work?

Hollow tried to reach for the cocoon, but their hands were too tightly bound to the hoop, the angle was bad, not allowing them to easily yank their hands free.

They grew another pair, their body changing and molding to allow them to reach out and dig their fingers into the thread, having gotten used to having many different arms to help with their needs while in the dream.

This second pair of arms began to rip handfuls of thread out of the cocoon, tearing out chunks of void thread until they began to touch the familiar soft body of the Story- of Mary.

They managed to slide their hands below the layers of the cocoon and pulled dragging Mary the Storyteller backwards out of the cocoon, leaving behind her mask and most of the cloak that had become a part of the cocoon.

Hollow gripped her tightly to their chest, raising one foot up to brace against the metal hoop, and ripped their hands free, knocking the hoop to the ground with a loud clatter. But they ignored it, they ignored the crowd of bugs all gasping and shouting in shock at the sight of the pale alien body in their arms, they ignored their parent’s loud cries and panicked magic.

They focused every part of themselves on searching Mary the Storyteller’s face, trying to see if she was there.

If they had succeeded, if they had kept her here- kept her Mary.

She- She made a noise. A quiet little groan that twisted her features before she sucked in a deep breath and opening her mouth wide to release a noise that made her throat vibrate as she breathed out. The sight of her dull little teeth making something deep within Hollow shiver.

Those teeth could be very dangerous. Her mouth was dangerous, everything within in it and the words that left it.

She blinked her eyes open, squinting in the light of the temple. She took a moment to recognize Hollow, confusion on her face before it brightened into a smile. But then she began to look panicked.

“Hollow? Did we- did we win? I don’t- what happened? I remember the dreamcatcher falling and you and your siblings being in my dream, -but I don’t. I don’t know how it ended?”

Hollow didn’t even try to assure her, they just used all of their four arms to hold her tightly to their body, nearly folding double to touch as much of her as they could.

It worked.

They had done it, they had saved her. Kept her! They got to keep MARY!

Hollow hummed with joy as the surrounding bugs began to close in on the pair of them, dragging Mary’s attention to more important issues.

“WHY AM I NAKED! Hollow! Hollow, where is my mask?? Are those- those are bugs. Hollow, hide me, hide me,hide me!”

Chapter Text

Life was awake.

It took them a few moments to realize that being awake was different to being asleep.

They felt strange, surrounded and held gently.

They slowly began to move their body, experimenting with what it felt like to simply BE in this new aware state.

And as some point, they found their eyes, and peeled the lid back.

And so, Life opened their eyes, for the first time.

The first time that they remembered that is.

Life jerked back as it met the gaze of another.

It was a small creature whose body blended into the darkness around it and whose eyes glowed with a strange light.

And it was not alone.

Life was . . . confused. They were comfortable, and there were many small creatures patting them, and surrounding them. The touch of these small creatures was gentle, and they were so much smaller than Life was.

Life grabbed one, took it in their many legs and raised it closer to their face.

It was small, soft. It didn’t struggle in their grip, just watched Life with their little eyes. Life turned it one way, then another, some part of Life seeming to insist that there was something hidden in the creature. But after searching for a time Life came to a conclusion.

These things were not a threat. Not scary at all.

Life released the thing from its legs and kicked around in the heavy darkness that clung to it.

Life knew nothing, but some instinct inside of it told it that it needed to move, to go forward, to leave this place.

But there was no need to hurry.

There was nothing to fear here, in the comforting dark. No reason to run.

The Void fussed around the slowly moving Life. Swirling and swirling around it.

It had left their grip, just a short time ago. Disappearing without any struggle or trail to follow, and had returned just as suddenly.  For the first time since time began, the Void had lost sight of Life and the memory of being bereft would never leave it.

The small parts of the Void, the parts with small hands and small eyes, the pieces that had been shaved off from the whole of it and returned, were all crowded around Life. Wiggling up close and tucking underneath the many legs that Life had, huddling close to Life’s head and staring at it with their eyes.

The little pieces of Void with hands and eyes all curling around it, patting with their small hands in an attempt to make it go back to sleep, to stay safe and still.

The Void had learned from their small wandering pieces how to calm things that were not Void. That wonderful beautiful things liked to be gently patted and rubbed. That wonderful beautiful things liked to be held, but only held gently.

It was easy to hurt the wonderful things, they bruised easily and needed to be allowed to wiggling in their grip. That they didn’t like being chased.

That if they scared the wonderful things, they would run.

“You were at the binding! I was there for the beginning but when the hoop went down, well, I admit that I rushed home.”

“Yeah, I do not blame you. I would have as well if I hadn’t gotten hit by a piece of rubble. It made my leg buckle and then I got stepped on enough times to have to have someone fix a crack in my shell.”

“Oh, are you ok?!”

“I’m fine! The healers that the Pale King called in put me to rights, but I was there long enough to see the tiny vessels wake up.”

“I heard that they had died in the crash and had been resurrected by the Storyteller!”

“No, no! See they had been hanging from the hoop like the Hollow Knight and the Storyteller, but they woke up first! It was the startle of my life to hear the strings holding them up snap and for the Pale King and White Lady to scoop them up so fast.”

“About that, they treated the little vessels like they were . . . children. Does that mean that they aren’t empty?”

“What!? Haven’t you heard? The Storyteller knew that the White Lady wanted children, so while she was in the abyss she scooped the little vessels out of the void like how the Pale King did with the Hollow knight! But instead of leaving them empty to be used as a cage, she put a something inside of them!”

“Yeah! I heard that she did a spell so that once they were named they gained a soul! They’re going to be our royal children!”

“Oh, that is just marvelous! A toast to the newest additions to the royal family!”

“A TOAST!”

There was a moment where all of the bugs in the group drained what was left in their cups, before another of the group piped up.

“Hey, if the little vessels are a part of the royal family, and the jealous god has been banished, then what about the Hollow Knight?”

“What about the Hollow Knight?”

“Well, is it going to be a part of the royal family too?”

“I- I suppose? I mean, if it’s not going to be a cage then surely they would put something inside of it?”

“~snerk~ You really think that the Hollow Knight doesn’t already have something inside of it? Let me tell you, and this is gossip from the White Palace itself! The Hollow Knight hasn’t been properly hollow since the Storyteller first met it!”

“What?”

“You, you see, the Storyteller’s not from around here, right? Didn’t even know the name of the Pale King when she met him. Got shocked to learn that our White Lady is of the root. But she’s really good at pretending that she knew all of that beforehand. But! What that means is that no one ever tells her anything that everybody else knows. So, when she first saw the Hollow Knight, she didn’t know it was empty! So, she just kept treating it like a regular bug, and here’s- here’s the thing. The Hollow Knight is supposed to do whatever anyone told it to do, so when the Storyteller expected it to be a bug, it started to be a bug in order to follow the Storyteller’s orders! It just! Filled itself up on its own so that it wouldn’t disappoint the Storyteller!”

There was quite for a bit as the surrounding bugs all stared at the short-cloaked figure before them. The grinning mask that the bug wore seemed all too appropriate in this moment.

“You’re full of it.”

“No way- “

“Couldn’t possibly- “

“Hey, hey! Believe me or not! I know it’s true.”

And with those words the bug stumbled off. Their partner, a very tall bug in a green cloak and veil nodded at the group before following behind what had to be their very drunk husband.

“. . . there’s no way that they were right. Right?”

“I don’t know. They seemed pretty sure.”

“Deep in their cup more like it.”

“Well, yes, but they said they heard it from the White Palace!”

“Oh, and did they prove it?!”

The group descended into bickering.

The new rumor about the Storyteller and the Hollow Knight would be spread around the festival before the end of the celebration. It wasn’t the most believed tale, but it was one that every bug would end up hearing about, and be oft repeated for a laugh.

But it would never leave public knowledge, always there with the thought of “But what if. . .?”

“Woo! The bugs of Hallownest are super gossipy, aren’t they?”

It had been a few days since the disastrous binding in the Black Egg Temple, when Mary had been knocked out and she had somehow dragged the vessels into a dream.

Mary barely remembered any of it.

She had vague memories of yelling at the Radiance. Of being proud of the babies.

She knows she was stabbed again, and she thinks she got tossed into the void.

But beyond that? No idea what happened.

The vessels having been very forth coming either. Or well, they have, but their stories are all weird as hell, what little we’ve managed to get out of them. The babies all insist that they defeated the Radiance. But Hollow insists that Mary did it using her mouth! Somehow??

But while not knowing for sure is going to drive both the Pale King and Mary mad, the fact that she is gone can’t be ignored. All of the infected bugs have woken up, though sadly, quite a lot of them simply died once the Radiance’s power was no longer fueling them. But it was still closure for the families who could now finally bury their dead.

But despite the funerals in the wings, a celebration was taking center stage. The entire Cross Roads have come alive with bugs who had finally come out from hiding in their homes.

There was movement and color everywhere. Bugs running this way and that, trailing colorful ribbons behind them, throwing small balls of colored string that unraveled through the air. Voices were raised in jubilant shouts and songs sung in drunken choruses, off key and with the wrong words.

It was a drunken, rowdy festival in every sense of the word.

And as if to just underline how a tragedy can bring everyone together but it’s alcohol that smooths the sharpest edges, there were mantis’s and spiders walking through the crowd. Usually afforded a very wide berth, now the mantis had to raise their scythe hands above their heads to keep from cutting the bugs who had gotten close enough to bump into them.

And the spiders! They were being crowded around and bribed with skewers of food to share tales from the Deepnest and the details of the princess’s antics in her home.

It was a peaceful and joyous occasion! And it had lasted for hours! Possibly a day at this point.

Mary had started this celebration in an ornate white cloak shot through with gold. She had stood with the other dreamers, acting as a united front together with them, supporting the Pale King’s decrees to leave the infection behind them and walk toward a new age of enlightenment and discovery.

She had looked royal, her mask detailed in gold to appear as if she was crying molten tears. Hollow behind her decked out in silver and a heavy cloak like a white shadow as the crowd cheered themselves hoarse.

But well, that had been hours ago. The ‘official’ party was over, and now Mary had managed to escape down to the streets to see the real fun.

She pressed a hand to her new mask, the feel of it still strange on her face.

Her mask hadn’t survived the binding. Apparently, she had taken the dreamcatcher right in the face, and as such her mask had given up the ghost and finally finished cracking in half.

And if that wasn’t enough, apparently the void thread had sat on it for long enough to erode at the damn thing. By the time it had finally been untangled from the bundle of thread, it had been so stained and weathered that it had nearly looked like one of those Greek theater masks that spilt down the middle and show a happy face and a sad face.

Needless to say, it couldn’t be saved with some white paint and a little glue.

It had hurt a surprisingly large amount to see the thing go. It had been her face for so long, but it wasn’t good to get so attached to something that was just a piece of clothing.

It wasn’t good to get so attached to a literal mask.

In a place like this, with magic able to give minds to plants and insects it wouldn’t be strange if the damn thing got a life of its own with how much she clung to it.

So, Mary had decided that she would wear lots of masks now. That she was going to have masks like she had cloaks. One of every expression!

She would still wear the sad one, modeled after her old one, for anything “official” but if she could change her face then why the hell shouldn’t she!

After all it was safer wasn’t it? To take off the mask with all of the baggage attached to it and wear something else.

To just be some nobody in Hallownest than the Storyteller who saved it.

It was freeing in a way, to walk the tunnels unafraid. To know for a fact that she was, well, not safe exactly.

Hallownest was a dangerous place, but it was a comfort to have it confirmed that if one of the bugs caught a glimpse of her body through the folds of her cloak, that she wouldn’t get hunted down immediately.

They would just shrug and assume that she was from somewhere far away and she would be nothing more than a momentary interest before being forgotten in the bustle of their lives.

It was so nice to be a nobody again.

A child ran in front of Mary, and she stumbled back a step before a large hand pressed between her shoulders. Mary tilted her head back just a bit more in order to peek up at Hollow, who as always, followed behind her.

It had been tricky getting them down to the festival, first to convince them to let her go at all, and then to somehow disguise the brood of the Pale King and White Lady.

But as Mary had discovered quite a while ago, bugs aren’t used to the stereotypes of suspicious behavior.  All it had taken was one of Mary’s colorful cloaks, one of the thin white layers from her formal cloak, some string and Hollow was transformed.

Just wearing a green cloak and coving their face with a veil had turned them from a warrior to a lovely vision!

Mary has had to fend off a lot of bugs who had used the liquid courage supplied at the festival to get the shell to ask for a dance with them!

It had been hilarious. The sight of the first bug to half stumble up to the pair of them had made Hollow pull her behind them, but after the bug had stumblingly complemented Hollow about “her wonderful size” they had frozen up.

Mary had managed to swallow her laughter and play the jealous lover to shoo them off, but it seemed as though the dam had broken and bugs kept coming up, one after another to ask Hollow to dance.

Hollow had gone from putting themselves between her and the masses, to putting her between the masses and them. And every time Mary remembered she couldn’t help but giggle.

“You knowww~ I guess your size comes off as very fem-in-ine to bugs doesn’t it? It’s funny because where I’m from, anything taller than 6 feet would always be assumed to be a male before proven otherwise. Exact opposite assumptions going on. Everyone thinks I’m your boyfriend! Isn’t that funny?!”

Mary tilted her grinning mask out of the way, it’s painted smile a mirror for her good mood as she took another drink of the mead like alcohol that was a staple for the commoner’s parties. Apparently, there were bees nearby who supplied the honey in exchange for metal.

Mary finished her cup but kept it in hand as she resettled her mask on her face. She was no longer afraid of her body being seen, no longer afraid for everyone to know that she was a bit different.

But she was so used to having her face covered now, it would be like going without a bra! And besides it would help her be anonymous.

Mary realized that she had been leaning into Hollow’s hands for quite a while. She tilted herself back to her feet, and patted the hand that had kept her up, “You’re way too good to ever be my date! Handsome, and loyal, and powerful, and strong! Waaaaaaay out of my league.”

Her assurances done, Mary’s intoxicated mind got distracted by something else and began to stumble her way towards it, confident that Hollow would follow behind.

Hollow followed closely behind Mary as she swayed and staggered, tipsily wandering the festival. They wanted to scoop her up into their arms, but they knew that she was enjoying this. Enjoying her anonymity in this festival to celebrate the curing of Hallownest, and her in particular. Enjoying brushing past the many bugs of the kingdom and relishing her new confidence to be touched without worry.

The lack of reaction that her appearance had received at the binding, the way that every bug had seen her and only been concerned about her health and not her appearance had seemed to cause Mary to have a revelation. Over the next few days, Mary had touched many bugs, at first cautiously and then with enthusiasm. Hugging her retainer and sitting next to their mother. She had even clasped hands with Herrah when she had come to the White Palace.

Hollow was . . . unhappy that she was touching others.

They had just gotten used to sharing her physical affection with their new siblings, and now every single bug that crossed her path might be gifted a soft touch.

They were- they were jealous. They wanted to hoard her affection all to themselves.

But as they followed her though the crowd, they knew that they would simply have to get used to it. She was so happy to have gotten over her fear of being touched, of being seen. It would be cruel to restrain her now.

They were greedy, not cruel.

They reached out to steady Mary as she tilted just a touch too much to the side, helping her keep on her feet as she continued to explore the festival.

She had been all too excited to learn that there was alcohol available at the festival, downing a cup straight away and then keeping another for more leisurely drinking. It was obviously having a strong effect on her, and Hollow didn’t expect her to be able to keep standing for much longer.

They had already decided that the moment she falls, they were going to take her home, no matter how much she whined.

The thin veil over their head tickled Hollow’s face as they swiveled their head to watch a large group of bugs walk by, all of the loud and joyous.

Mary raised her cup toward them with an equally loud greeting, and the group responded, one of them falling into their neighbor with their exuberant waving.

Mary laughed at such antics hard enough for her to stumble and finally fall, giving Hollow the excuse to finally pick her up and begin making their way back to the White Palace.

Mary clung to them, kicking her legs in delight and giggling as she kept a string grip on her cup, even though its contents had long since spilled out.

“Hee Heh heheh! I knew this would end with you sweeping me off my feet Hollow! You -hic- always jump at the -hic- chance!”

Mary twisted herself in their grip, putting her knees on their hands as she curled her arm around their neck, her empty cup smacking into their shoulder.

She ducked her head under their veil, clumsily bonking her head into Hollow’s before she managed to get face to face with hollow. Both of them under the thin veil, with their features hidden away from the festival.

“A kiss for my knight! Because you’re my favvvvorite!”

Mary pulled her mask to the side, revealing her grinning face and a single foggy eye. She puckered her lips together and laid a loud wet smooch right on Hollow’s face right between their eyes.

Mary dissolved into cackles as she slumped against Hollow, burying her face into their neck, her whole body shacking with joy at her mischief.

And Hollow stood there for a moment, surrounded by the celebrating bugs of Hallownest, arms full of it’s savior as she drunkenly slurred complements into their sensitive neck.

I’m the favorite?

Mary’s drunken statement soothed something deep inside of Hollow. The hungry black greed that they carried everywhere with them, accepted and taken as their own from the void, was soothed back into a grumbling slumber.

Hollow more firmly pressed Mary to their chest, one of their arms curled up behind her back so that the tips of their fingers grazed the nape of her neck.

They could still feel the small bit of void that clung to her.

The void that was wholly their own. That would never ever let go of her, and would always lead them to her, no matter where she was taken.

It was . . . pleasant. To be the favorite of your favorite.

And with that thought, Hollow turned to carry Mary the Storyteller home, to the White Palace.

Every other step they took they had to dodge another group of celebrating bugs, and the air was full of cheers and music. The kingdom of Hallownest was free once more and moving forward past the fear of the infection. The residents were able to freely dream once more.

Hollow hummed contentedly.

For once in their life, they were released from their responsibilities and guilt. They were enough and they felt no need to give to others at their own expense.

They had all they had ever wanted and more that they had never known could be had.

Hollow continued to carry a now sleeping Mary, feeling like this was a very good end to have.