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weaverlings · 4 years

Text

bone beneath the gums

Summary: All the divinity in Hornet's blood cannot spare her from the demands of her mortal shell.

Content warnings: gore, discussion of self-harm (not acted on), body horror, emetophobia, disordered eating, body image, detailed (if scientifically inaccurate) depiction of spider eating. There's also a doctor appointment.

This deals, once again, with some degree of hypothetical post-Silksong character development having already taken place, and Hornet and Lace are living together in Pharloom.

Also no, I don't know how hunting works. I also did a smidge of research for spice re: molting, but mostly I'm winging it. They're fantasy bug people.

Finally, Lace is French unfortunately :( Poor petite champignon.

alt link (because this is super long)

chapter 1

The stillness of the forest broke to allow Hornet through. A flash of silver, a blur of red, and she landed in the earth beside the trap she had laid.

A lillifly had met its end there, unable to free itself from the tight configuration of blades. Hornet knelt down and retrieved it. The metal sprang apart for her at the press of a switch. Except one keen edge, stuck in the lillfly's layers of wing.

She tilted it considerately, then adjusted it in her grip to scratch her wrist. Her claws clicked against her palm as she caught herself and pushed aside the itch in her shell.

Here, she had a puzzle. As long as she focused, and did not rush, having her hands full would help keep her mind clear of any pesky prickling.

Her clawtips worked to loosen the trap, pinging against the lethal pieces as she eased them precisely apart, peeling back the brittle chitin of her prey, until at last the creature came free. Then she cut it open the rest of the way, cleaned and packaged it, and stowed it away with the others that she had claimed.

She would need to take the trap back with her for maintenance, but she had enough others to check. The day went on, and she found enough food waiting for her.

But, in her few idle moments, she still found herself scratching.

The itch would not abate. If anything, it was spreading, winding deeper, gnawing at the underside of her carapace where she could not reach it, but felt compelled to try whenever her hands were empty.

Even knowing better than to indulge this impulse did not spare her. It undercut knowledge and appealed to reflex. Had she been bitten without noticing, or cut herself on some thorn, full of poison unknown to her?

Unlikely. But it was not a risk she could afford to ignore. She found a place to shelter, quickly cutting free a patch of bramble - a plant she knew to be harmless - and slipped into her makeshift den to check herself over.

She was unharmed. Only the familiar tracery of scars marked her, many from old wounds before she'd learned how to bind properly, but enough which were more recent. These had been deeper, from the bite of steel pins and the lash of silk.

So she sat there, hidden away in humidity and vine, in this little den so like the places she used to sleep. She sat there, and she itched, and she frowned to herself. Her shell was unharmed, but something was amiss.

She found the first sign of what on her wrist. It took much of her will to avoid dragging her claws over where she brushed, but when she simply pressed down, the chitin crinkled and twisted. It burned, and she gasped.

She understood now. She swore quietly. And then she stood and stretched, and slipped away into the forest again. Whatever problem this posed, for now it was only that. She'd be better off completing her work while she could.

Lace had had an eventful day herself.

"And it took three of us just to wrangle it! And I know she knows better than to compose so carelessly, but she somehow believed the melody would..."

Hornet tried to listen. She stared at her plate, tapping the prongs of her fork against the meal's centerpiece - silverfish with a citrus sauce. A favorite of hers. Beside it was a thick slice of bread with greensap butter, and she had been given an extra raspberry fruitlet, as well. An award for being such a delight, according to Lace.

"...and here I quote her, 'work itself out'? Truly!"

Hornet wanted to eat the fruit. She could suck out the juice and nibble on the skin; a habit of hers which had once been discouraged, the last time she'd had regular access to fruit. It was, according to Lace, absolutely adorable. Hornet doubted anyone else would think a spider draining fruit dry like a prey bug was anything but vaguely unsettling, but it meant no one would stop Hornet now. She could eat how she liked.

She touched none of it. She reached for her wine, and took a sip. She held it in her mouth. The bitterness was worth savoring, but it was more that she found herself reluctant to swallow.

She set her glass back down, and stared at her plate. She scratched her wrist absently, catching herself with her thumbtip digging in. The slight pressure still burned. Hornet hissed under her breath.

"In the end, we moved it to- Hornet?"

"Hm? I'm sorry, what was that?"

Lace tapped the rim of her wineglass. "I know you're hardly listening, darling. And you haven't touched your dinner, and now… What's the matter?"

"I'm molting," Hornet answered, and then reconsidered. "Well, not presently. When I am, you will know. It will be difficult to miss."

Lace hummed, and spread her fingers on one side of her plate. Her gloves were off; her thin, fungal flesh was clearly visible. Her curiosity was just as plain, in the lilt of her voice. "My. I've heard that can get messy."

Hornet grimaced. "You've heard correctly."

"I suppose you've done this before?"

"Indeed I have."

Lace tilted her head. "Would it be a personal question to ask how many times?"

"It would. But you are allowed this. Four, I believe." Hornet fangs drew together thoughtfully. "It's been some time."

"You're worried."

"Somewhat. I could not have been much younger than I am now when it happened last, but it has nonetheless been some time," Hornet observed. An eerily casual perspective on the warping of time, as only someone who had spent so long so strangely alone in it could have.

She slid one hand toward the center of the table. "Still. It's only some mess."

"So you're worried, and you're trying to convince yourself it's nothing to worry about." Lace placed her hand over Hornet's. "Come now, dear."

"It isn't anything to worry about," Hornet said. She flipped her hand over to grasp Lace's. "Truly. Some would say it's a cause for celebration. Though I'm beyond that age, if you'd like, you may put a little candle in my prey for the night."

Lace laughed. "And what a fine cake you would hunt, no doubt." She jabbed her fork forward, and gave it a fine flourish. "But don't think you can evade the point! It's nothing to be worried about, very well. But you are nonetheless worried."

Hornet leaned back in her chair, although she kept her arm stretched to hold Lace's hand. She said only, "Such persistence."

"You deserve nothing less."

Hornet squeezed Lace's hand once, and let go. "I really rather would let it pass. It's bound to happen."

"Very well." Lace recognized the boundary she had reached. "What about dinner, then? Can you manage that?"

"I think not. I find that I'm not hungry." Hornet hadn't realized how true that was until there was food in front of her. The smell didn't precisely turn her stomach, but perhaps tilted it, just enough to put her off her meal. "Something lighter, perhaps? I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for." Lace stood, and took Hornet's plate to wrap. "We'll just save this, and perhaps you can have it tomorrow. But if not, we'll have silverfish another night."

Hornet joined Lace at the counter. While Lace stored the leftovers, Hornet put some water on to boil. Though significantly less appealing, her absent appetite made oatmeal the best option. At least Lace waited for it to be ready with her, lingering at Hornet's side and pulling her hand down when she noticed Hornet scratching.

"Ah." Hornet gave her a rueful smile. "Thank you."

In answer, Lace reached around and scratched the spot herself, more gently.

Hornet shuddered. The relief, even from such a small gesture, was relentless. "Enough- enough."

Lace stopped. Hornet folded Lace's hand in both of hers and held it, still and pressed to her chest, until the kettle shrieked for her to finish her preparations.

They finished their different dinners together.

It had been long ago, but such a difficult lesson that Hornet had never forgotten the learning. It was one of the clearer memories she had of her mother - Hornet's pain had become a blur, absent even when the rest of the scene revolved around it, but she remembered looking up into her mother's face through her own tears. The rare fear there, as the yet-unnamed heir to the Nest squirmed and sobbed in her little bed, too soft in her shell for even Herrah to be sure of touching her safely.

Midwife had been called for. The two beasts had run the heir a bath, and Hornet remembered the silk they'd wrapped her in, soft enough to make any flower envious, more than she remembered the way her old shell had scraped the new. No matter how gentle her caretakers were, there had been no helping it.

Still, they got the molt off. She'd heard from Midwife that she'd cried herself to sleep, and Herrah nearly did, too. But the joy when she woke up, as bubbly as ever and with all her limbs in proper alignment, was too mirrored by Herrah. No doubt this was among the greatest happiness ever experienced in the Nest. Yet another gift their heir had brought.

She had been such a happy baby, Midwife had said.

A rustling in the brush pulled Hornet from her thoughts. She scolded herself. She knew better. If she was to be so easily distracted, she may as well just wait at home.

She stopped scratching at her shoulder, and tightened both hands on her weapon, drawing focus as always from the chill of the metal. She had left her traps to rest for a few days now. Needle in hand, she hunted.

She listened to the underbrush, picking through the rustling around her to find its components - the breeze in the canopy above, the shuffling of creatures nearby too small to be of interest.

Her shell itched. She let it alone. Her hands stayed firm on her needle. The rustling changed. She heard, not footsteps, but the barest displacement of fern and foliage around a creature.

The head of a nowlet poked free of the brush. Her needle flew.

Action. Reaction.

She pierced the nowlet's heart as it was exposed, halfway from the bushes. She yanked the creature back to herself, and peeled it off of her weapon, the shell around the edges of the wound crunching quietly.

Action, reaction. If only the world could always be so simple, so exhilarating.

She cleaned and packaged her prey. Her hands moved steadily, not straying from her task, and not scratching. Not scratching. Not scratching, blast it.

Cleaned, packaged, and into the sack the creature went, with the rest of her catch.

What she had was more than sufficient, for her purposes. She examined the sky through the trees. Dusk was far enough off, and she could carry more if she wished. She ought not to waste time, nor ability, while she had it.

Certainly not, she told herself, closing her hand around her wrist, on account of some discomfort.

But such thinking was dishonest. Suffering in bed for a week would have likely been better for her health. Soon enough she'd have no choice. Until then her impulse was to run, and she allowed herself this because the alternative was clawing at her carapace until chunks came away.

Focusing on her work as a hunter - even when she had hardly slept for two nights, even when each meal grumbled and grouched in her gut, no matter how light - was preferable to true endurance. She was hunting, her catch was proof of that, but she was also hiding. Cowardice. Children molted.

She had done it. She remembered it well: her mother's face, looking down on her. She remembered.

She pulled her needle close, and rested her head against the handle. A moment to breathe, that was all. A moment to breathe, there in the undergrowth. Then she would move on. She tugged a watershell from its pocket, and took a long drink - longer than she meant to, long enough that she was left nearly breathless when she stopped up the shell again.

She felt awful and uneven and she was being foolish. She was misaligned, or becoming so. Unable to even tell how thirsty she was. Were she to waste her mother's gift on a hunting accident, she'd never be forgiven, although she did not spare the thought to consider who would hold this grudge.

Lace, perhaps, would bear some resentment. But that was different, not a matter of debt.

And yet, Hornet had come to the woods to hunt. She fulfilled these duties as a compromise. It was all the restraint that she could bear. Some part of her demanded that she retreat from the city, into the woods. Make another little den and camp there, just until this was over. The creation of her shelter the other day had reminded her: once she had only felt safe in such places, where no one could reach her.

Once. Not anymore. All she could do was hold tight to the present, and draw focus from this: she had somewhere to return to.

She slept no better that night. It was hard to tell what woke her. She slipped out from under the covers, and into the bathroom.

She kept the lamps covered. The mirror showed her only the thinnest outline of herself. A silhouette, barely defined by shadow. The gleam of her eyes and the twitch of her fangs. She was movement more than shape. Movement was more real than her shape. Her shape was due to change any day now.

Form was a fickle thing. Shape had its own whims. She had every reason to understand that.

As she stood there, with one hand braced against the countertop, the other found her temple, and she finally caught up with herself. Her disorientation was not only lack of sleep. There was a pressure behind her eyes. A sensation between fog and bunched fabric. Not a headache, but the promise of one.

Is this normal? Is this how it happens? Gods. I don't remember.

It had been too long. She tipped her head back, and exhaled. Cursed carapace, cursed that she should have it at all. What had she done to earn it? Her father had given up so much for his, fool that he'd been. And her mother. Her mother.

Gods. She laughed, short and bitter. Right. Cursed kin .

She truly wasn't feeling well. And that truly changed nothing. This would happen. She could not run from it.

She cupped her hands under the sink and let the water pool in her hands. She splashed some first over her face, and then gathered more to take several cool gulps.

There was a knock on the door. "Ma petite araignée? You've been in there a while. Are you alright?"

Hornet glanced over her shoulder, her fangs clenched. She hadn't meant to wake Lace again tonight, but they were both light sleepers, to put it kindly.

"I am. I will be out in a moment." Hornet urged, "Go back to sleep. There's no reason both of us shouldn't."

"I'm sleeping just fine. You needn't worry about me, dear."

Hornet dried her face, and opened the door to see Lace's outline in the dark. She was sitting up in bed, her bright eyes far too alert for what should have been a restful hour.

"That is not sleeping," Hornet told her.

"Of course not. I wanted to wait for you. Come here?"

Something in Lace's words caught at Hornet. There was no sharpness in Lace's melodic voice, and that absence dragged in Hornet's thoughts like claws in silk. She moved mechanically, returning to bed herself and drawing the blankets back over her lap. But she did not lie down. She had little enough hope for sleep, in any case. She turned to Lace, instead.

Lace reached out and took one of Hornet's hands. "You've been so quiet, Hornet. How are you feeling?"

"Poorly."

"What can I do for you, darling?" Lace's thumb brushed over her knuckles.

"There is nothing for it but time."

"Nonsense. There must be some way to make you more comfortable."

"Your determination is enough," Hornet assured her. "More than. I know I've posed quite an inconvenience."

"You know that, do you?"

"Is it not true?"

"Not at all. I'd never dismiss your suffering as a mere inconvenience."

"Don't speak so soon. I think, starting tomorrow, I will need to stay home for, mm, several days?"

"Alright. Would you like me to stay with you?"

"That won't be necessary."

Lace hmm ed. "I did not ask if it was necessary; I asked if you'd like me here."

"I might." Hornet sighed. "I don't wish to become an imposition, but I think it will be that or leave entirely. I'll be unable to go back and forth."

Lace angled Hornet's face down to meet her eyes. "One moment! Leave - you mean - what do you mean, exactly? Where did you mean to go?"

"Nowhere. Unless you wished otherwise. In the morning, when I had meant to discuss this." She turned away, tucked her knees to her chest, and laid her forehead onto them. At such an angle, she could feel the weight of her horns tugging on the rest of her.

"Did you think I'd want to be rid of you?" Lace did not demand, nor accuse. She only asked.

Hornet laid one arm over her head, curled tighter, spoke into herself. "No. No, I only thought it might be best."

"And why did you think that?"

Hornet was silent. At length, she said, "I do not have an answer that would satisfy you. It was only the first option that came to mind. Or perhaps it felt safe, but-"

She shook her head. had to hold on. Hold tight to what was in front of her, and draw focus from it.

She felt Lace's hand on her back. "If that's what you're worried about, let me watch over you! It doesn't bear thinking about, oh, my dear Hornet… all alone out there, in such a state..."

Hornet's laugh was short and humorless, emerging from the cocoon she'd made of her limbs. "It isn't necessary. I've been through worse. I'd only come back, shiny and new for you."

"Oh. Oh, I see. You've been through worse."

Hornet turned her head. Now Lace's voice had its keen edge back.

Lace drew herself upright, shifting to sit on her knees and fold her arms over her chest. "You have. I know it. Alone, out there. Haven't you had enough of that?" She offered one hand out, palm raised dramatically. "Be... inconvenient , if it helps you. Impose."

"What a regal suggestion."

"Fine. If you so dislike that, then consider..." Lace laid a hand against Hornet's cheek. "I'd miss you terribly."

"Is that so? No." Hornet shook her head, but she held Lace's hand to her face. "That is, no, I know you mean what you say. But I warn you, I'll be poor company."

Lace shifted, drawing Hornet's arms around her and the rest of her forward. Hornet let Lace pull her close. Hornet let her body do all it seemed good for now: understanding the way they fit together, her cheek settling improbably well on Lace's shoulder. Hornet could feel Lace's soft, cool flesh against her face, through the sleeve of Lace's nightgown.

Lace asked, "Tell me. Tell me this, do you want to go?"

Hornet fixed her arms around Lace, clasping her hands again between and below Lace's shoulders. She confessed, to herself as well as Lace, "No."

It was more that she didn't know how to stay. Inaction was always the harder path.

"Then I won't allow it," Lace promised.

Hornet had been confined to her bed. That was fine.

Everywhere else was too big and too bright, so bright it felt like there was no air to breathe, only light. She could never shake the feeling her father was watching when she stepped out of her room; she was sure he was, at least he could have done the courtesy of pretending otherwise.

But she had been left alone in her room for the better part of a week now. Bugs molted alone, and she was one of her father's subjects, his daughter, a bug of Hallownest. That was fine . It was just how she wanted it to be. She wanted to be alone.

She didn't remember the moment that her shell gave. It must have.

She remembered being dragged to the royal tailor after, whining about it. And, well, she stood by that to this day. Their handling of fabric had been an insult, compared to the weavers' work.

She remembered that when it was done, she wished she could do it all over again. At least if she molted, she could be alone.

Morning came. Sunlight through the curtains had turned the room pale.

Something was wrong.

Hornet's heart crashed against her shell. Beating and beating. Ruthlessly alive.

A warning. Too fast.

Something was wrong.

She untangled herself from Lace and shoved herself upright on the nearest surface, which was Lace's side. Lace jolted awake, coughing, the wind knocked out of her, but already reaching after Hornet.

She was halfway to the bathroom, and her body hated her for this turn of speed. Her sides were coming apart, not the shell, not what was meant to happen - as if the muscle itself was splitting.

What is wrong with me?

That painless sense of pressure had fulfilled its promise, built into a drumming that blurred her vision, into vertigo that pitched her stomach into her throat; she swallowed sour but it would not stay down.

At least she made it to the toilet before she was sick.

She knelt there even after it was done. Retching up nothing. Shuddering and tensing, trying to force herself to be still. She finally sat back on her legs, and slowly regained her breath. She laid her hands on the cold tile. Her own gasps echoed in her head, but she focused on the smooth, carefully-laid floor under her hands as a reminder - she was not being too loud , the noise would not draw any foe to her, to see her weakened state.

She was in the bathroom. She was home. There was movement nearby, but she could recognize Lace's light tread from the other room. Coming closer. Closer. Hornet's breathing was so loud.

She lifted her head and hissed. Her fangs rose in warning. Lace met the eyes of a frightened demigod beast, one prepared to bite.

Lace knelt down next to Hornet, her nightdress fluttering against the tile. Her hands were clearly visible, and in them were two objects, a cup and a bowl. She held out the cup, and instructed, "Rinse."

Hornet snatched it so quickly that water sloshed over the edges and drank. Lace offered the bowl up. She said, "Spit."

Hornet did. She repeated the process, draining half the water that way, and then swallowed the rest.

"Thank you," she rasped. That voice didn't sound like hers, but then, she didn't feel like herself. It sounded like a voice that belonged to whoever this was.

"Hornet," Lace said. "What's the matter?"

"Something," Hornet answered, and as vague as that was, her desperation was so plain that Lace reached out to stroke Hornet's cheek, but she could not be soothed so readily. She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't - it's-"

She grasped at her side. Lace leaned in, "May I take a look?"

But Hornet withdrew. "Limbs. New limbs."

She could feel a knot in the chitin under her claws. The chitin wasn't right, wasn't fixed in place - it shifted under her touch like a blister, and beneath that, something. Something. She found a matching lump on the other side. "Arms? It must be. Unless something has gone wrong."

Lace's delicate voice only emphasized her insistence. "Has something gone wrong?"

"I don't know ."

She tried again to remember if this was at all normal. But it wasn't. None of it was. Time and distance had made this all strange to her. "Has it been too long? I don't know. I don't know what it did to me."

She should have grown past any resentment by now. She would have thought that she had, long since. But it seemed that she was not done growing at all.

If something had gone wrong, she might well be in danger. Was she doomed to lose yet more to Hallownest? Her hand was still clamped over her side, and her stern gaze was locked onto her hand, as if she could interrogate her own chitin.

She had borne worse pain. If someone had threatened her in that moment, or Lace, or this kingdom where they had carved out shelter, then Hornet would raise her needle and fight. But there was no foe to stir her blood, and so she was stuck here on the floor of the bathroom, trembling. And it hurt. She hurt. There was no disguise or distraction she could claim.

"Hornet," Lace whispered. "What do you need? Can you tell me, darling?"

"To tear it off," Hornet spat. Her grip tightened, and her own touch seared. "If something has gone wrong… Perhaps it's best to remove it, here and now."

The pain become as thin and watery as the rest of her. Her head was all murk and depth, and her thoughts were swimming in it. If she could only pull free of herself. Just once. Resolve this by claw, as she had so many other problems, as that damnable itching itself seemed to demand.

Lace threaded her fingers with Hornet's, and pulled Hornet's hand into her lap. Lace promised, "I forbid it. I'll catch you in your own silk if you try."

Hornet's mouth dropped open. Then she snorted. "I would not. I know that much, I know it would only- I don't know what to do."

She bent her head, the tip of one horn coming to rest on Lace's shoulder. Lace squeezed the hand she held, and laid her other palm over the horn. When Hornet did not pull away or protest, Lace stroked there.

"I wish I knew, darling, but I don't. Would anyone?"

"What? Who could possibly-"

Gods, this kingdom isn't dead.

It was not, in fact, just her and Lace. This was beyond their power, and if it was truly a matter of the stasis warping her, then there might be nothing anyone could do. But certainly, there would be those better suited to handle something as crucial and as common as a troublesome molt.

All the tension coiling in her gut unwound viciously. Hornet's laughter was so sudden that it turned blunt, throbbing down her sides. It didn't last long. "Lace?"

Lace's answer came perfectly prim. "Yes?"

Perhaps this was larval behavior. Hornet was no infant, to seek soothing for every ache. Nor did she. She'd never done what she was about to do. "There are doctors in this kingdom, yes?"

"Yes, of course."

Although it might have been easier for Hornet to invite Lace to duel her, Hornet asked, "Will you help me summon one?"

Lace's eyes lit. "Certainly, dear. Let's get you back to bed, shall we? And then I shall fetch someone at once."

"Alright."

Lace helped her up, and then to lie down again, as promised. Lace even pulled the covers over her, and Hornet considered asking Lace to stay, in spite of the task Hornet herself had set out. Only for a moment, only enough that she would not have to stew in her thoughts for so long.

But when Lace kissed her forehead and promised to be back as soon as she could, Hornet was in no position to argue, much less follow after.

Lace's search took her across half the city. Not that it took her long to traverse, but she was acutely aware of every second. It would have been worse to sacrifice quality for speed, however, and she had a suspicion. Pursuing this line of questioning, speaking to several laypeople and doctors alike, she finally found the doctor that would suit Hornet's needs.

She let herself in without knocking, and closed the door firmly behind her.

The bug behind the desk kept at their writing, but said, "You may as well have a seat, then. Is it an urgent matter?"

Lace stayed standing. "Quite. You are Iris, aren't you?"

"That's right." The doctor dotted their quill on the page, and looked up. Their eyes narrowed. They spun the quill in their clawtips. "And you - how do I know you?"

"My name is Lace, and I-"

They stilled their quill abruptly and thrust the tip at her. "You are the princess' partner."

"Hornet's," Lace corrected, covering a coy smile with her hand in a way that made it more obvious. "Only I may call her otherwise."

"Quite a turn from the norm. But I suppose... Well. I'm afraid I must ask, since you've come to me: how is she?"

"In need of your services." Lace folded her arms. "She's molting. Which she tried to insist was merely inevitable, and I suppose it is, but she was ill this morning and has clearly been unwell."

"Normal? Well, I suppose she'd have to do that, same as anyone." They tapped the point of their quill on the blotter for a moment, then shoved what they'd been working on out of the way and claimed a fresh sheet of paper. "Ill in what manner?"

Lace huffed, "Isn't it better for you to just come and see? I'll bring you to her."

"I need to know what to expect."

"We can talk on the way, then. Come along."

The doctor frowned, but pushed away from their desk. "You're fortunate that I have no other appointments this morning. Nothing I cannot miss for her sake, at least."

Lace beamed. "I'd thought that might be the case. Let's be off! I have some questions for you, as well."

"Naturally."

Iris gathered their supplies, and the two of them set out.

chapter 2

In the Hive, Hornet had lost her ability to smell honey long ago. She was surrounded always. The noise was constant.

So of course someone came to check on her regularly, until she indicated more icily than she should have that she would rather have been alone. She would apologize later, she told herself, but in truth she would forget.

And then she was alone, and it was what she had asked for. Alone in her shell that didn't fit right.

She had thought about the midwife and her mother. That had been - that was the past. Even then, that was the past.

When her shell finally split, she thought of nothing. Not her mother, not Queen Vespa's kindness. Certainly not offering apologies.

At least there was plenty of honey to eat when she was done, and she stood a little taller than she had before. Her needle fit better in her hand.

She would yet live up to her name.

Hornet heard the front door open.

A voice she didn't know spoke. "...somewhere comfortable. Or at least have some blankets ready."

"Hmm. I see." Lace said, "Wait here. I'll go and get her."

So Lace had succeeded at her task. As expected.

Hornet set down the cradle of thread she'd fidgeted into existence, and stood up. She was feeling - not better. But resting had given her some energy back, to combat her symptoms, to think through her headache. She stood and reclaimed her cloak, and then sealed her mask over her face. Lace opened the bedroom door to find Hornet waiting before the threshold.

"Hm, and I was going to provide you an escort. Never mind, I suppose." Lace leaned in to whisper, "How are you?"

Hornet answered in the same low tone. "I'd like to finish this, and we have yet to start. You trust this person?"

"Yes. Although we're only just acquainted." Lace took Hornet's hand, and kissed it quickly. "But your kin are quite skilled in many fields, after all. I found a weaver to tend to you."

Hornet drew back, and looked over Lace's shoulder. She said, louder than she'd meant to, "A weaver?"

The weaver in question raised their head only to incline it politely. They had affixed a silver disc to their forehead on a strip of cloth, and it made them look even rounder than they already were. They unwound a stethoscope in their top set of hands, while setting various instruments on the coffee table with the other two.

In spite of their preoccupation, they said, "It's been some time. Thank you again for what you did."

"Ah. Yes. Think nothing of it," she said.

"It was hardly nothing," they said mildly. "But neither is it why I'm here. And I suppose I have you at a disadvantage - my name is Iris, and Lace has told me you require some assistance."

Hornet nodded warily, but did not move otherwise. It was one thing to ask for help, another to receive it from a stranger, weaver or no, in her own home. A third thing altogether, to realize how close she would have to stand to this stranger, unarmed. As though she didn't have other means to defend herself, and certainly, certainly, it would not come to that. She risked letting her nerves get the better of her.

Lace squeezed Hornet's hand again. "Let's get this over with, yes?"

Hornet stepped forward. "Indeed."

They joined the doctor by the coffee table. Lace took a seat on the lounge, but made sure to leave Hornet with another kiss on the cheek. Hornet returned the gesture swiftly.

She had understood Lace's reasoning in finding a weaver. As the examination began, Hornet was grateful for the choice.

The doctor asked her to remove her cloak, and she did, folding it carefully before setting it aside and standing stiffly, her arms crossed. Her body was an error from the weaver template - not her words, nor words she was meant to have heard, but they had always sounded right enough. She'd held onto them, even when she'd gone beyond minding.

Still this true weaver made no remarks as to her physiology or nature. They only asked, "Lower your arms, please? Thank you."

She complied. They heard her heart and her breathing with their tools. The icy metal on her shell stung, but she held still. So still that they had to remind her to breathe at one point, in order to finish. Otherwise, they spoke only to question her as they worked, and she went over her symptoms in more detail.

Iris frowned as they returned certain implements to their bag. "I see. You've eaten recently, haven't you?"

"I have had little appetite lately. But I have made sure to eat what I can."

"Oh- No, you see…" They snapped their bag shut, and asked gently, "It's been some time since you last molted, you said? Since Hallownest, I'd imagine?"

She nodded. "Indeed."

"Before molting, usually about a week or so, you aren't meant to eat. There are several theories as to why. Most of these resolve around considering... the magnitude of the process is such that even digestion is… Well, I won't bore you. That, however, is why you were sick."

"That's all?"

Something so simple. She wasn't sure whether to feel relief or shame, as if she had a choice but to feel both.

They answered, "I expect so. It would be a textbook case. However, you mentioned some other concerns… May I continue?"

"Yes, you'd best."

They checked her sides next. Her breath quickened as they tested the shell around the protrusions. When they brushed the spots themselves, she grunted and stepped away. They straightened up again, and did not call her back.

"Those are sore," she repeated inadequately, but they didn't seem to mind.

"No doubt." Iris only confirmed what Hornet had suspected. At least this time she was more distinctly relieved, when they said, "You'll be getting some new limbs soon, it seems. They're going to be very stiff. I think they're doing well, otherwise, but be gentle with them."

The mention of her headache had caught their attention, as well. Until then, Iris had said nothing about her mask, but in order to carry on, they had to.

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask to see your face."

Silently, Hornet touched the back of her mask. She did not part the seam. Her face, they said.

She'd have to shed it soon enough, anyhow.

"Very well," she agreed, and lifted her mask away. "Lace, hold this for me."

Lace had already leaned forward to receive it. "Give it here, darling."

Hornet passed it to her, and Lace held it to her chest in one arm.

Hornet turned to the doctor. Their hands were careful on Hornet's face. Clinical and quick. She kept her eyes open and her own hands still, claws ready at her side. They brushed beside her eyes, and she tilted her head reflexively, enough to meet theirs. Whatever they saw there, they drew back and frowned, showing a flash of anxiety for the first time.

Then they jabbed her straight in the eye. She yelped, and snatched their wrist even as they were already withdrawing. Even with their hand gone, her head pulsed from the blow, down her neck, all the way to her sides.

Lace hopped up from her perch again, but Hornet waved her away with her free hand. This, she was prepared to handle.

"What do you think you're doing?" She demanded. She could feel their chitin straining in her grip, and the irritation under her own. She held on.

The doctor lifted their other hand in a disarming gesture.

"I'm sorry. Did I catch you in the eye?" They asked, quiet, thoughtful.

"You most certainly did!"

They gave her a reassuring smile, one for an upset patient, and not a lost princess. She let go of their wrist, and they immediately took it into their own hand, stretching it out as they explained, "There isn't an eye there. Not yet."

Hornet's hand flew to her face. She felt at her forehead, just above her eyes, even as the doctor said, "Wait-"

She pressed down sharply enough to draw a hiss from herself. There it was. Still deep under the shell, waiting in its new socket.

Iris winced sympathetically, and Hornet glared, drawing herself up as best she could, a certain lofty bearing that spoke of her birthright over her better judgment.

They assured her, "Now, I can tell you: you should be fine. This may not be common, but it seems normal, for such new growth."

"Normal," echoed Hornet flatly.

"Thankfully. Unfortunately, that means all I can advise is rest. If you must take something for the pain, you may, but bear in mind-"

"There is a reason I may not eat, even if no one knows it."

They nodded. "That's right. I know this is a great deal to hear at once, but I think you ought to know..."

Iris turned to Lace. "Both of you. Allow me to give you some general information, what to watch out for from here and such. You ought to know such things."

Hornet agreed readily, her relief apparent. "That sounds wise. Yes. Please."

She wandered around to the other side of the coffee table, and sat down next to Lace. Lace took Hornet's hand, and when Hornet squeezed back, Lace dropped her head onto Hornet's shoulder. Lace whispered, "You're doing so well, dear."

Hornet squinted at her. By all metrics of performance Hornet could think of, she was… doing. If skill was a concern, then well would not have seemed like the correct word. But she knew Lace well enough, and if Lace was trying to mock her, Hornet could not have mistaken it. So she only said, "Perhaps."

Iris coughed. "When you're ready?"

Hornet nodded. "Go on."

So Iris offered their medical expertise, anticipating as many questions as they could, and concluded, "You seem healthy enough - just stop eating until you're done, and then it is my professional and personal opinion that you'll require a feast." They nodded. "That's all, unless you have any questions."

There was only one, and Hornet decided she would only have this chance to ask it. "Why now?"

They considered this.

"There's quite a bit we've yet to learn about this process," the doctor explained, "So I can't say for sure. Especially given your heritage and circumstances."

"Indeed," Hornet agreed drily.

"However, I will say, we do know - or strongly suspect - that a bug must be secure in order to begin the process. One would think that the symptoms of delay would complicate that, but- That's not relevant to you, you aren't showing any of those."

"Then what is your point, praytell?"

"From what we know of molting, you have to feel safe enough to do it. And from what we know of you, you wouldn't have, for quite some time." The weaver dropped their gaze. "So you'll pardon me, if this is too bold, but I'm glad to have needed to make this visit. I wish you a speedy recovery, of course."

Iris bowed to her, and nodded to Lace. They gathered their things, and Lace saw them out.

Hornet tucked her legs up onto the lounge, and slumped back. She hadn't felt the interaction draining her; it was only now that she registered a complete absence of energy.

"I'm a fool."

Lace tsked. "No, you're not. You didn't know. I didn't, either."

"You are a mushroom. I have enough spider in me for that."

"You asked." Lace tilted her head. "That's what you do when you have questions, isn't it? Or have I been dreadfully mistaken?"

Hornet grunted, and buried her face in her elbow. As if her questions were ever answered so easily. And yet, what else had just happened? Asked and answered, whether she liked it or not.

Lace's fingers brushed the tip of one horn. A considerate touch. Gentle. And yet it tangled in Hornet's nerves, thorny as they were. She tensed, and that sent a wave of fresh pain through her, and she raised her head enough to reveal one eye. She commanded, "Do not touch me."

"Oh, I'm sorry, love."

Hornet saw Lace hop off of the armrest, where she'd come to rest, and wander into the bedroom. Hornet lowered her face again. She counted her breaths, trying to force her pulse into submission.

Lace came back. Hornet did not look up at her, and Lace spoke before Hornet could make any inquiries of her own, "One question."

"Ask it."

"Aren't you cold like that?"

"I'm sorry?"

Hornet looked up, and Lace unfurled a quilt with a flourish, showing all the colors as if it were the proudest banner.

"Oh. Not especially, but I'll take that."

Lace waved the quilt high, and let it settle over Hornet. Hornet grasped it and pulled it up to her chin, curling up tighter to make sure it was covering her.

"Thank you."

"You needed something, yes? And I know better than to let you brood."

Hornet looked up at Lace and flicked her fangs in a rather rude gesture. Lace smiled at her.

Hornet scoffed. "I should have known, Lace. Such a simple thing, and I have done it before."

"Alright, two questions."

"Yes, yes. Ask."

"Did anyone tell you what was happening? Did anyone ever talk to you about it, or did they simply mind you?"

"That was three." Hornet thought, anyhow. "I don't know that they minded much." This time, consternation showed in her twitching chelicerae. "I hardly recall much, one way or the other."

"Well, there you have it. Even if you were told, you were otherwise occupied."

"That is one way to put it."

"You were a child being shuffled around like a doll moved from one shelf to the other?"

Hornet snorted. "True enough."

"You're here now, and here you'll stay."

Lace perched on the armrest again, and slid down onto the seat proper. Hornet lifted her head, and let herself down again in Lace's lap. Now, Lace stroked down one horn.

'It is customary," Lace told Hornet, "to have a treat after one does well with the doctor."

"For children, yes? Though I think most children do better than I did."

"And many adults do worse. If you won't give yourself credit, then I shall," Lace proclaimed. "So what would you like?"

"It would hardly help anything."

Lace tilted her face into one hand. "I don't think you understand what a treat is."

"Perhaps not."

"Fortunate, then, that best way to learn is through experience!" Lace repeated, "What would you like?"

Hornet teased the quilt in her clawtips, tearing open a seam and then binding it again. "There may be something I have been missing."

"Perfect! What is it?"

"Goodness, give me a moment to say!" Hornet huffed. "Those meat buns. From the dragonfly's stall."

"Just over the way? Oh, certainly, certainly-"

"Wait. A feast, they said? Did they not?" She hit upon a rare streak of petulance, bitter humor dragged out of her by this mixture of exhaustion and comfort, lying on the lounge. "And it would be foolish of me to ask for advice and not heed it. So I want a dozen, when I can eat again."

Lace's mouth twitched, and then settled into a smile. She giggled. "That can be arranged. But I won't help you eat them, remember that."

Hornet turned onto her side, settling more comfortably in Lace's lap. "I shall."

Now she had something to look forward to.

The infection had resurged. The stasis held Hallownest squirming in its grip, trapped but not yet dead. Unable to die. Her own mangling metal was less cruel.

And so this had come upon her once again. Likely it had been creeping up on her slowly, and only just reached her.

Shivering, wrapped in her cloak like a blanket. Until she shredded it off. Her flesh went not long after.

Days lost in a webbed-over den.

Shades of color behind her clenched eyelids, blue and orange and beyond naming. The taste of blood in her throat.

And when she was done, she stood up.

Days lost.

The ache had set in. A deep, bitter thing, pinning her.

At least she had something to occupy herself. A comparative study of various kingdoms' weaponry. Entertaining, and simple enough. She read.

But these blades were often poorly balanced, unless the grip could be...

She marked her place in the book with one claw and scratched at her side, avoiding the knot in the chitin there. Lace caught her hand, anyway. Hornet mumbled something vaguely grateful and flipped the book open again.

But these blades were often poorly balanced, unless the grip could be...

Her new limbs. Better not to disturb them, to let them do the last of their growing. It was something to look forward to, greater than even the promised feast - what new tricks might she master with her needle and thread, with the number of arms a weaver ought to have?

But these blades were often poorly balanced, unless the grip could be...

Except now, the mere thought of movement left her tired. This was a slow unraveling; various discomforts and pains picking her apart. She longed to strike back at these, to lash out at anything at all - perhaps movement would finally tear her open, when her body seemed to be stalling. But the doctor was clear about that, delays were not her concern.

Yet if Hornet could marshal her will for even a moment, stand and grasp her needle now, recall her own power, then perhaps she could best this. This fraying form. This lapsed shape.

She did not. She could not. It was not within her power. She hadn't eaten in days. She had slept no better. For this to be what pushed her, what broke her, was infuriating. It was normal, perfectly so, painfully mundane.

And here she was. She couldn't even focus well enough to read anymore, not really.

At least she was healthy enough to be bored.

"Shh," Lace soothed.

Hornet hadn't realized she'd made a sound. She wondered what it had been. Pitiable, no doubt. She said, "This will pass. I know."

"But that doesn't make it easier, does it?"

Hornet pressed her arm over her eyes. "I'd just rather it have passed already."

Just another memory, vague, nearly absent, the details blurred by their intensity.

"What if I promise you it will be over soon?" Lace lilted.

Hornet groaned. "Then I shall grant you a swift death when I am able. Anyone else would not be so lucky."

"What mercy. I'd have gutted anyone who tried to tell me that, were I in such a condition."

"You have always been more ruthless."

"Why, thank you."

Hornet laughed. Short and strained, but with unmistakable fondness. "You'd be right, in any case. I'm sure it will be soon."

Lace was silent, at first. And then she asked, "You'll need to be alone, won't you?"

"I believe so. Yes."

"Then you will tell me when you're ready. When you're done. Call for me."

Hornet only nodded.

Days lost in a webbed-over den.

Shivering, wrapped in her cloak like a blanket. Until she ripped it off. Her flesh went not long after.

Shades of color behind her eyes, blue and orange and beyond naming. The taste of blood in her throat.

Days lost, and not Hornet's alone.

Hornet spent as much time as she could curled loosely in on herself, with her aching head in Lace's lap. She understood that this could not continue.

All she wanted was a little warning. "When will you be resuming rehearsal?"

Lace said, "Hmm? It isn't as if it's stopped."

"Mmm. Let me know… Only let me know before you depart, then?"

"Before I… Oh. Oh, no." Lace hummed. "Did you think you'd be rid of me that easily?"

"I was not trying to be rid of you," Hornet answered frankly. "But you are busy. I know."

The train of thought had her already half-upright, pushing herself away to let Lace up. Lace merely scratched between Hornet's shoulders, and the sudden relief had her sprawled out again. Lace drew the motion out, from the base of Hornet's neck to the small of her back, and Hornet made a noise dangerously close to a whine.

"I was teasing, sweetness." Lace assured her, "I gave them all the warning they need. They know I have more important matters to attend to."

"Nonsense," Hornet muttered.

"What is? That I'd rather be here with you than anywhere else?"

Lace said it so easily. Hornet sighed. "I'll be alright. I have no wish to keep you from your responsibilities."

"Of course you'll be alright. I'm here. I'm here," Lace repeated, "because I want to be. You couldn't keep me from anything I wanted, and right now, that is to give you what you want."

"And what if I did want to be alone?" It was ungracious, and Hornet knew it.

"Then I would leave you," Lace said. "But I would come back if you changed your mind, or when you were ready. Do you want to be alone?"

"No."

"Then I'm not moving, and neither are you."

The taste of blood in her throat. Shivering. Wrapped in her cloak.

Tearing it off. No longer able to stand the passive sensation of fabric on flesh.

It wasn't long after that.

Hornet's heartbeat spiked. Again. Harder. This time was different. She could it rippling in her own blood, the membranes of her organs quivering from the force of it.

She stiffened, and pushed herself out of Lace's arms.

"I. Need a moment."

She staggered forward, toward the bedroom, into the coffee table, the coffee table which had been their since before she had lived here and which she had always known was there and which she was now damaging, her claws digging into the wood for purchase as she fought to rise.

Her nerves existed in duplicate, each sensation rang twice, blindingly. She was breaking. She was going to die. Her heart was beating as though a blade was bearing down on her. She was going to die, if, if she didn't-

Lace caught Hornet around her waist, and she cried out. Lace did not lift her gently, knowing better than to try, and in doing so prolong this. She moved with speed, instead, cradling Hornet against her chest.

Hornet's claws rumpled Lace's puffed sleeve.

Lace asked, "Come on. The bathroom, yes?"

Hornet nodded, her fangs clenched tight. Lace took her there, but after she crossed the threshold, Hornet convulsed. There was a crunch. Squelching. A stain spread down Lace's shirt, too pale for blood.

Hornet hissed, "Put me down!"

"Let's just get you-"

Hornet thrashed. Unable to loosen her fist, she claimed the chunk of fabric she'd been clutching from Lace's sleeve.

" Now! "

Lace only lingered enough to make sure that Hornet was on her feet before she left. She closed the door behind her.

Hornet was alone.

"You will call me when you're ready, understand?" Lace called.

Almost alone.

Hornet did not answer. She stood there, and she needed. She needed something. No. Somewhere. Her gaze swept the bathroom. Something, somewhere.

She reached the bathtub. She stood trembling, feeling herself, feeling how she would break, with her hands braced on the edge. She stepped into the tub, and even there, her focus was not something she could switch off. She could not merely permit herself to collapse.

She lowered herself against the back of the tub. Her head dropped back against the porcelain, resting on her horns. She reached up, and set her clawtips against the sides of the tub. The silk came readily, thread after thread drawn over the top, sometimes dragging her body forward on the strands, until the top was shrouded over.

At last she lay down on her side, then rolled onto her stomach. Her heart was stuck pounding in her throat, the sensation of her own pulse thick enough to gag on.

Her shell gave. Her nerves, too.

chapter 3

No pain. Just ripping. A sucking sensation as the too-tight carapace slid down the sides of her back. She fought to get her hands under her, pushing up into the convulsions, her fangs parted in a snarl she had no air for. They couldn't even part wholly, trapped in their old casing.

Then she sucked in a mouthful of fluid.

Coughing, she fell into the side of the tub. Her limbs tensed, crackled, and ripped like damp paper. She kicked, and her legs came free. Her arms next. She could feel shredded strips of chitin trapped in and around her joints. But otherwise. Otherwise, she was free.

chapter 4

Hornet slid down to the floor of the tub. The tension went out of her limbs at last, those that held her. Now she had no strength to keep herself from collapsing, her head spun, her body was something soft and strange to her.

She had so many nerves. She'd never really noticed how many nerves she'd had until that moment, and now nerves where there had been none before, too.

Her new arms were loose, unfurled over and under her sides, but the muscles were so weak that they seemed jointless. She made the effort to stretch them, to turn onto her back.

It worked. She swore loudly. It left her trapped on her back, helpless and sick, eyes wide.

Eyes and eyes and eyes. She brought her hand, one of those familiar to her, to her face. It was at once clear and shrouded in a milky fog. Her perception fought itself.

She pressed her hand to her face and scrubbed away the film over the lenses. Then she could squeeze her eyes shut, all of them.

She didn't know how long she lay there. Long enough for the remnants of fluid to grow sticky over the tub, and on her.

Long enough - and with such a complete lack of awareness, of time passing, of lingering soreness, of anything at all - that she must have slept for some of it. She opened her eyes, hoping to prevent herself from drifting off again.

Her head protested, ringing soundlessly. She closed her eyes again, but, no, pried them back open. She couldn't stay here. She could have stayed there, possibly for days, but she didn't want it. The fluid was drying onto her shell.

She remembered: You will call me when you're ready…

Was Hornet ready?

Did she need it? However great her discomfort, it was only that. She'd be fine soon enough. Better for her to be patient. There was no blood, nor missing limbs. None of the complications she'd been warned about. This was hardly a matter of life or death now, and apparently it never had been.

And what might Lace think of what she saw? All this gore and trouble, and Hornet's own discarded shell, lying limp beside her.

No. Even in this condition, Hornet dismissed that thought. Lace would think what she always seemed to think of Hornet, which was: handsome.

Then what did she need?

A list, some structure. Pull herself together. Determine the steps she must follow. First, she needed food.

Food, and.

Gods she was so hungry.

Now that she thought of it, she needed something to eat. She needed food. She dug the claws of one hand into her palm. They were too weak to make much of an impression.

Food was but one thing. Surely there were more. There had to be more. But it was no use. Her hunger was sharper still, such that it had turned rapidly to nausea. She could not evade it.

The steps would have been clear, before. A few days recovery. Take up her needle, tear free of her hideaway, prop herself up until she could find a slow enough crawler to eat.

But now was not then. She was not bound to a ruined kingdom. She was in an apartment in a thriving city.

And she was not alone. Lace.

She forced her eyes open again. She hadn't meant to close them.

Enough of this.

"Lace?" She did not call out, as such. It was a question, in fact more to herself. To hear how the name sounded in her mouth, to test her resolve - could she handle being seen, right now?

But Lace must have been waiting nearby. Perhaps right at the door, because there was an immediate answer in that melodic voice, "Yes, Hornet?"

So immediate, in fact, that Hornet hardly understood. She had no time to process, she simply hadn't expected-

There was a polite knock on the door. "Hornet? May I come in?"

"Lace-" Hornet caught her breath. She wasn't sure how she'd lost it. "Yes. Come in."

Lace stepped inside, and smoothly closed the door behind her. Footsteps echoed in the small room, and then there was another tap, soft against the webbing over the tub.

"Darling?"

Again only, "Yes… yes."

A gloved hand tore through the messy thatch of silk, and Lace leaned over the opening.

Hornet looked up at Lace. Lace looked down at Hornet.

The old shell lay crumpled beside her, a warped, papery echo. Scraps of silk had fluttered down and stuck in the molting fluid, and her chitin was dull under the mess, fragile, tender. But all her eyes met Lace's with too much alertness.

Lace's hand curled over the rim of the tub, her fingertips tapping silently. "You're not going anywhere any time soon, are you?"

Hornet shook her head.

"It's a good thing I brought this, then, isn't it?" Lace held up a limp lillifly, its blood still wet around a single puncture wound. Fresh in the extreme.

Hornet pushed herself upright, so driven that she caught herself on both arms on one side. She shook with her own weight. Her fangs quivered; she was hungry enough that they dripped venom. She rasped, "Give it to me."

"It's all yours." Lace passed her the bug with a smile.

Hornet snatched it. This left her with only her new arm to support herself, which didn't last long. She fell onto her back, but it didn't matter. She smothered the offering in silk, and dug in.

She pumped it full of venom. The organs softened into nothing, the membrane of heart and gut dissolving into the blood. The smell was more divine than anything she, personally, could recall experiencing. She hissed into the creature's flesh, starving even with food in her face. When she pulled free, strands of melted viscera glistened on her fangs. She tipped the contents of the shell into her mouth, and drank. It was gone in too-few gulps.

She hadn't even set the shell aside when Lace handed her another. She was panting from eating too fast to breathe, but that received the same treatment, and then a third went a little more slowly.

Lace cooed, "There now. That's better, I hope."

"Yes," Hornet agreed.

Lace peeled away more silk. "May I join you?"

"Yes… Oh." Hornet frowned. "You. You will certainly get dirty."

"Oh, however will I live?" Lace lilted. She hopped into the tub and slid down beside Hornet in a single, graceful movement. "Can I hold you? I won't hurt you, will I?"

"I think not. I am. I should not be so fragile as. As that."

She gathered Hornet into her lap, heedless of the dark smudges this left on her bright outfit. "Poor dear. You must be exhausted."

Hornet clutched at her, and shook her head. "It. It's done now. That's all. It's done. I'm alright."

"Mhm." Lace held Hornet as close as she dared. "You were screaming."

"Ah. I just," Hornet tried, "Just. I'm alright. I just need…"

"Tell me," Lace murmured, "Tell me what you need, dear, and you'll have it."

"Such a simple thing. Is it?"

"Of course. I just can't say no to you."

"You could."

"Fine. I don't want to," Lace conceded. "Now, tell me what you need."

"Mm." Hornet sighed, "Sleep."

"Hornet." Lace sounded. Something. She certainly had a specific tone. Affronted, perhaps.

It was hard for Hornet to distinguish much about Lace, beyond how soft she was.

Lace pressed, "Is that all?"

"A bath. Perhaps."

She did feel disgusting. Now that she thought about it. Now that she was no longer so ravenous that she could think about it. There had been quite a lot of fluid. There still was, so. She could do to get rid of that. But such things would have to wait until after a long nap and, likely, yet more to eat.

She added, "But it can wait until I get a chance to clean up in here."

"Hornet, beloved. Listen to me."

"Mmm? What is it? "

"I am entirely capable of cleaning out a bathtub. Would you like me to do so, my dear?"

Hornet gave her a bemused look. "I will be capable, soon enough."

"Oh, ma petite araignée." Lace leaned down, and purred into Hornet's ear. "Would you like me to clean out the tub while you rest, so that you can have a warm, lovely bath?"

Hornet opened her mouth, but Lace did not stop.

"And then I'll bring you some fresh pajamas? I've just brought in some laundry, you see, it's still warm from the sun..."

"I suppose…"

Lace put a finger to Hornet's fangs, and finished, "And then you can sleep as long as you'd like in those soft, clean sheets we have out there, waiting for you on our very own bed? Doesn't that sound simply delicious?"

Delicious did not begin to describe it, as Lace well knew. Hornet murmured, "You're an awful temptress."

Lace giggled, "I'd like to think I'm rather skilled."

"Doubtless," Hornet said solemnly. "I suppose. If it is not too much trouble."

Lace turned her gaze up, and lifted her free arm as if to entreat, "Oh! Oh, what a troublemaker you are, to ask for even the meanest help after you've just kicked free of your own flesh!" And then that arm was around Hornet, too, and Lace's gaze, flawlessly serious, met Hornet's. "You're worth a little trouble, Hornet."

"Lace." An admonishment, although Hornet wasn't sure what for, and spoken into Lace's chest as she was held close.

And Lace just had to ask, so innocently, "What's the matter?"

"There's no cause for that," Hornet tried.

"Why, yes, there is. Did I not just say? For you," Lace went on, as if she were musing, as if she hadn't already thought all of this out, "I'll bring you all the food you want. You can sleep in for a few days. Let the rest of them worry about the hunt. Just until your handsome shell hardens."

"You're fawning on me," Hornet accused.

"No," Lace assured her airly. "I'm giving you nearly the minimum of care that you deserve. But now that you mention it, I ought to fawn on you. Spoil you, perhaps."

"It isn't as if I could stop you."

"It isn't as if you would want to," Lace teased, and then, once again, grew serious. She invited, "Do you? Perhaps I misunderstood?"

"No. No, you didn't. I only expected…"

"Nothing?"

"I suppose. Nothing."

"Then allow me to defy all your expectations," Lace sang. "To start, the promised bath, yes? Give me just a moment. Ah, and I suppose there's but one barrier to begin-"

"And as you so wisely observed. She is not going anywhere any time soon."

"We shall see. Can I lift you safely?"

"Careful of the joints. Especially those new."

Lace leaned forward and secured her arms under Hornet. She stood, balancing easily on the slick floor, and stepped out. Next to the tub was a pile of towels and old blankets, worn soft. When she had assembled them was a mystery, but one Hornet quickly forgot about, once Lace set her down again.

Hornet curled up on her side among the bedding. The cold porcelain had done her no favors, and this, haphazard as it was, was like paradise. She secured an armful of blanket and buried her face in it.

Lace hummed and fussed about the bathroom. There was the sound of running water, blending with her thoughts, turning them gently to fuzz, and then-

"Hornet? Are you awake?"

"Mm! Now! Yes." She scrambled at the bedding, pushing herself upright, gasping as her arm threatened to fold.

Lace caught her shoulder. "Gently, gently."

"Right. Yes." Hornet flexed the arm gingerly. "I'm alright. Everything is still the right shape. It's alright."

"I'm very glad to hear it," Lace said primly. "I'm sorry for waking you, but your bath is ready."

"Ah. Thank you." She felt the blankets shift as Lace knelt, and shook her head into them. "Wait. I must try…"

Hornet held out a hand. Lace took it, and allowed Hornet to brace against her.

Hornet stood. The simple motion came apart into several, more complex. Her balance was not where she expected it to be. Her arms stretched out, but the one Lace supported made it worse on that side, such that she tilted forward and grabbed Lace's waist with the lower arm to catch herself. Her chest heaved with exertion. Her legs quivered; she could feel her own weight on her limbs - they could bear her, but she could feel them threaten to bow where there was no joint.

She stepped forward, and Lace stepped back. Lace let Hornet lean on her stepping into the tub, and helped her settle back into it - into the water this time. The warmth enveloped her. She inhaled sharply, and then measured the air on its way out.

"Thank you," she said again.

"Of course. Take your time."

Hornet scrubbed herself lightly. The water soon turned murky around her, and each sweep of sponge was rougher than it should have felt. She persisted, and with each pass, she observed. Many of her scars were gone now, save for faint traces of the most heavily marred tissue.

She soaked only enough to let the frayed fragments of shell soften, too, and pick them from her joints. The water had cooled around her by the time she finished.

Lace gathered up the blankets and shoved them into a laundry bin, and finished some swift mending of her own, to have clothes ready for Hornet. Loose-fitting and well-worn, the nightshirt's side had been cut partway, from the sleeve down. It would easily accommodate all of Hornet's arms.

She changed into it as soon as she was dry. The fabric was no longer warm from the sun, but it was clean, and so was she.

Lace said, "Time for bed?"

"Past time."

The blankets folded around Hornet like they had missed her. If the little nest Lace had arranged for her was like paradise, then this was the truth of it. Her bed, their bed. Whatever desperate chemical in her blood had kept her awake was faltering now. She was going to sleep. Not an action, an inevitability.

Lace was by the window, drawing the curtains shut, banishing the light for an afternoon nap. She was, for a moment, a haloed silhouette. And then shadow restored her definition - her flouncing steps, the smile she wore, always a little cutting, the way Hornet loved, her own fondness for sharp things unerring.

Hornet reached out. Two hands one one side, unintentionally; one of them caught under the sheets. "Lace?"

Lace was already coming over. She sat down, and pushed back the sheets just enough to take both offered hands. "Yes, darling? What is it?"

"What is it…" Hornet echoed. She'd had something in mind a moment ago. Watching Lace. Being here. A fluffed pillow under her head, and a comforter almost as plush over her. No matter her condition, she was cozy - it was as undeniable as it was unbelievable.

And yet, selfishly, she wanted more. Right. That was what she'd thought.

She tugged on Lace's hands. All direction and no force. "Stay with me."

"Of course! Of course, I will. Anyone who tried to remove me would taste my pin."

Hornet only repeated, "Stay…" She was falling asleep. Not an action, an inevitability. "I do not…" Her grip tightened. "Don't want to be alone."

"Then," Lace said, as if it was simple, as if it was as plain as could be, as if it was anything like how the world worked, "I won't leave you."

The mattress shifted as Lace did, easing closer to gather Hornet into her arms again.

And when she was done, she stood up.

Hornet stirred in the same place where she had fallen asleep. Lace was lying high on the pillows, so that Hornet rested against Lace's chest. Hornet shifted, nestling closer, encouraged by a hand rubbing her back.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty. How are you feeling?"

Hornet only sighed, "Lace..."

"And none other." Lace repeated, "How are you?"

Hornet tipped her head back. She saw too much of the world. What had once been periphery now filled her vision; there was too much of the wall and ceiling above Lace. She would adjust, but for now, it made her head hurt, and she buried her face against the other woman again. There was nothing she could say.

"Mmm. Just a moment."

Lace nudged away. Hornet tried to hold on, but Lace said, "I'm only going to get you some water, dear."

That did not sound so terrible. Hornet nodded, and relaxed her grip. It made little difference. Lace could have freed herself easily.

Hornet maneuvered herself into a sitting position, hunched over, with her head in her hands. The old two. The top two.

No. She already had a headache.

She accepted the water when Lace brought it, drained it, and dropped back onto the pillows. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome. To that, and more; I'll see to it." Lace set the cup aside, and drew the covers back up to Hornet's chin.

Hornet sighed. She needed Lace to understand. "No.... No. Thank you for staying."

Lace tilted her head into her hand. "I said I would."

"Of course," Hornet murmured, with that specific kind of honesty brought on by exhaustion, "But you see, you are the first to do so."

Lace's eyes narrowed. Her hand settled on her hip, although her pin was elsewhere, and those who hadn't stayed were yet farther, or dead.

"There is no worthwhile vengeance," Hornet said quietly.

Lace hummed. "I see. So instead I shall have your company all to myself. How lucky I am."

Hornet said nothing. How she had spoken was a testament to something rooted deeply in her, something from far beyond the soil she tread now. She couldn't even wish to dislodge it. She couldn't know this in herself.

She could only lean into Lace, and that was answer enough. Because Lace was still here. Hornet wrapped her in a tangle of fragile arms. Lace held her back in the dark of their room, feeling Hornet's claws fix in her shirt.

Hornet needed to sleep. She tried to, and perhaps that was the problem. But now she had recovered enough to be aware of how vulnerable she was, and whenever she drifted close enough to rest, she lost touch with her surroundings, their room, their bed, Lace's arms.

Back on that old soil, too familiar with isolation to be lonely. Or back in the brightest-gilded places of Pharloom, high up and hunted, before they had done their work. In the Nest, before Hallownest had changed her and she'd called it Deepnest like the rest of them.

Lace noticed, felt Hornet tense, felt her slow breathing turn short and sharp again. Knowing her arms were not enough, Lace sang.

Not a song Hornet knew. Not words she needed to understand. Nothing of the past. All that mattered was, Lace would not let Hornet's sense sit empty. Lace sang in her delicate voice until Hornet finally relaxed.

Hornet was growing, now that her shell was soft enough for it. And this meant a great deal of soreness and stumbling, when she did try to move.

Which was more often than she should have done, but otherwise she'd have done nothing but to curl up and wait, and when she grew stiff that was an issue best resolved by stretching anyhow.

Ten repetitions, twisting at the waist. A simple exercise. Lace watched her, sprawled out on the bed, her satisfaction undisguised.

Hornet flexed her claws. "Some might find a beast's nature frightening."

"Some people are cowards. Are you accusing me of cowardice, my love?"

"Never," Hornet answered solemnly. She dropped back into bed beside Lace. Already it hurt less than it had yesterday.

But it still hurt. She reached out. Her hands tightened; one around Lace's hand where it found hers and another on the same side, rumpling the sheets. She buried her face in the pillow, further muffling a faint groan.

Lace stroked a thumb over Hornet's knuckles. "What is it, dear?"

"I would like some tea."

"Anything else?"

"My needle."

"Far be it from me to stand between you and your needle. I can bring it. But-"

It wasn't as if Hornet was in any danger. "I know, I know. You are on watch, as such. Tea, then. Please."

Lace kissed the back of Hornet's head, and hopped out of bed.

Hornet was left alone in their room to wait.

Their room. Walls around her, not just dirt and moss, and within those walls, almost anything she could ask for. Tea to calm her tormented nerves, and food to nourish her. Their bed with its clean sheets. Even the book she'd abandoned in the living room, so that she wasn't bored while all she could do was curl up and wait. Lace had brought it to her.

She flicked through the pages with a clawtip. Here, within these walls, she had time to worry about being bored. Even her restlessness seemed like an indulgence. As much as she longed to move, she did not have to.

She pressed her hand to the cover of the book. It took up more space there than it had a few days ago. Lace found Hornet testing the joint of her wrist with her thumb.

As Lace set the tea down, Hornet asked, "Is this what it's like to have such soft flesh? How do you stand it?"

"By being too fast to cut."

"How bold. We ought to evaluate such a claim."

"I'll prove it to you soon enough." Lace pressed a mug into Hornet's hand. "But for now, drink your tea."

Hornet took a slow sip, and then held the mug close to her chest. The warmth spread through her shell. The smell was bitter, clarifying. Even inhaling the steam unwound some of the tension in her. She stared into it, watching the liquid settle again.

"I am glad I stayed."

Lace pressed a coy hand over her smile. "We're of a mind about that, then."

"I suppose I should not be surprised." Hornet took another sip of tea, and frowned. "Why am I surprised?"

"You've never been appreciated. Poor thing."

"When you put it like that, it only sounds pitiable."

"It's sympathy, dear. Or it's meant to be, anyway."

"I see. Well, enough of that."

"I can hardly switch it off, can I?" Lace tutted. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Hornet set down her mug, and opened her arms. All of them. "I love you. I'm glad that I do."

Lace beckoned Hornet into the kitchen. "Come now, my love! You've waited long enough!"

There was a plate on the table. There was a foil-wrapped bundle on the plate. There was a flickering candle jammed into the food, through the foil.

Hornet recognized the packaging, and the mark holding it shut - a lattice like a dragonfly's wing. She barked a laugh. "Truly?"

Lace bowed, and swept an arm out at the table. "Remember what I said about your treat?"

Hornet sat down. "I do. But it was hardly necessary."

"You're feeling better. That's certainly cause for celebration." Lace fluttered into the chair across from her, and instructed, "Blow out the candle, and be sure to make a wish when you do."

Hornet regarded this gift. She leaned forward on her elbows, with her lower arms folded over her stomach.

"I have no interest in wishes," she said.

"Oh, no?"

"No. I have more than I had ever imagined having right here before me. I have no interest in more." Hornet considered, and then smiled faintly. "But if it pleases you. I have decided."

Lace nodded coyly.

Hornet blew out the candle. Then she stood and braced herself over the table on both pairs of arms, which brought her mostly to Lace's side. "Kiss me now. That is my wish."

Lace threaded her fingers behind Hornet's neck, and pressed her mouth to Hornet's. Then she whispered, so close that Hornet's raised fangs brushed Lace when she spoke, "Your wish is meant to be a secret. But just for you, I'll break the rules."

She gave Hornet another quick kiss, and plucked the candle out as she pulled away.

Hornet tore back the warm foil, and the scent of fried dough and meat was overpowering. Not that it sickened her, she just had half the bun in her watering mouth before she comprehended it.

Her delighted exclamation was caught against the perfectly-seared pilplit inside. She forced herself to slow down and chew properly, to savor this. She needed to breathe, at least.

Lace plucked a bag from under the table, and withdrew another bun from the bag. She placed it in front of Hornet. "No, no, go on." Lace sighed, "Well, I suppose it wouldn't do for you to make yourself sick. But there's more than enough."

"Indeed, I would rather avoid that," Hornet said, once she'd finished. She eyed the bag Lace held. "Lace. How many of these did you buy, exactly?"

"One dozen," Lace announced proudly. "Don't worry, I ordered them in advance."

Hornet laughed. "Why ?"

"Because you asked, ma petite araignée."

"Ah. That I did," Hornet muttered. Then she jammed the rest of the first one into her mouth, finished it off, and said, "Fine then. I'll have another. And you have one. More, if you'd like."

"Hm! I seem to recall saying I wouldn't help you with this."

"I am not asking for help. I am asking to share this with you." Hornet gestured with her bun, giving it her needlepoint's gravity. "If it is my celebration, then you will join."

"Oh!" Lace laughed. "I couldn't possibly deny such an invitation."

They ate until neither of them could anymore.

chapter 5

Needle and pin joined. The clang of metal against metal resounded over the rooftop, echoed by the light song of Lace's laughter.

Hornet leaped back. Her cloak flared around her as she caught herself on her lower hands. She held her needle in the top set, and with her balance so well-kept, she recovered and had Lace on the defensive in the same breath.

Her needle came down overhand. "Ha!"

"Oh!" Lace caught it on her own blade, and smiled up at her.

Hornet only changed her grip, pulling her needle down in both right hands and slashing inward. The flat came to rest against Lace's side.

Then Hornet smiled back. "Match."

"Hmph. Only because you're having too much fun."

"Nonetheless, the match is mine."

Lace bowed, before twirling her pin into its scabbard. "So it is, ma petite araignée."

They stood together, breathless as much with delight as from their bout. Lace laid a hand on Hornet's shoulder, and traced down to her upper arm. She squeezed appreciatively through Hornet's cloak.

"Though I suppose you're not as little anymore."

"But I have no hope for another term of endearment?"

"No," Lace giggled.

"I thought not." Hornet nodded wisely. "Then I'll have to claim another prize."

She scooped Lace into her arms, one under her knees and one around her back. Lace threw her arms around Hornet's shoulders. "Oh my! What is it you have in mind?"

Hornet strode to the edge of the roof. The wind whipped cold and cutting, where they stood. Hornet pointed with her needle. A tower, on the other side of the courtyard.

"There." Hornet mused, "I wonder who it's really a prize for… But I've been stuck in one place for too long. Would you like to fly with me?"

"Oh, yes!" Lace tightened her hold, and stretched up to kiss Hornet's cheek. "Take me soaring!"

That was all Hornet needed to hear. She cast her needle out, and it caught on the tower's window ledge. She yanked on the thread. It held firm.

She jumped twice. First onto the parapet, and from there, into the air over the courtyard far below.

For one instant they plummeted, and their hearts and stomachs did, too. Lace shrieked with laughter.

Hornet grasped Lace close to her. She laughed, too, as the sensation of height turned to speed. She wound them both up on her thread, and then it was the very next instant that she caught the side of the open window in her free hand and swung them through. Her needle came free of the wood cleanly, and she pulled it in after them.

Lace did not let go, or make any move to get down. She was still giggling. "Marvelous, oh! Marvelous! Can't we do that again?"

"Oh? Would you like that?"

"I most certainly would."

"Hmm. Perhaps I shouldn't, then. Perhaps it should be your prize, for next time. If you can win, that is."

"Oh! Oh, you're dreadful!"

"Am I, now?"

"Yes! And I love you for it!"

"How fortunate, then, that I love you, as well."

Hornet sat back on the windowsill, with Lace in her lap, and tilted her head down for a kiss. Lace obliged her eagerly. They kissed, Lace caught up in all of Hornet's arms, and Hornet held in place by Lace's fingers threaded behind her head, and all Hornet wanted to do was stay.

#hollow knight #silksong #lacenet #hk hornet #hk lace #my fanfic

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