Chapter Text
The Moth is walking down the streets, she has a large backpack full of random items that she found. Some of its food, but most of its items that she found and thought were pretty neat.
She knows that picking up this stuff isn’t really worth its weight, but she just likes how they look. Maybe she’ll put them on the coffee table, or find something to repair some of the more broken ones.
She thinks that would be nice. She’d probably have to explain herself to the Worm though, which soils her thoughts almost immediately. He’ll probably drone on about something stupid, or try to analyse it. Maybe she’ll just ignore him.
As she is walking back to the apartment she spots the small shop front that her infected self had run to. She supposes she has time, and is curious about what attracted her other half to this specific building.
She walks into the building, immediately getting hit by the sheer amount of dust. It is to be expected; it looks like it was some sort of fabrics store. As Well as carpets, and fabrics meant for arts and crafts. What she really has her eyes on though are the cushions; she could really use some on the couch, get some better sleep.
She’s definitely coming back for some, that’s for sure. She puts the umbrella down against the counter, and begins walking up stairs. She notices the acid stains from her infection, and idly puts her hand to her mouth. She ascends the stairs and walks into the bedroom.
She begins to wonder about what it was that brought her here whilst she was infected as she walks into the bedroom. She walks over to the bed and looks at the dried corpse of a moth, and tells by the acid burn stains around every gap in their shell, they died from the infection. A shadow of guilt begins to dawn on her, but she chases it away. Guilt serves no purpose in her eyes.
She looks one more time at the moth's corpse, spotting their hands clutching something close to their chest. Likely an idol of the Usurper, she thinks bitterly, Making her feel slightly less guilty. Curiosity drives her to find out for certain though, and a small part of her that is scared the idol may be for her.
She begins to pry open the dead moth's dried claws, then sees a three- pronged crown. She withdraws like she’s been burned, suddenly her curiosity has been extinguished. Her mind races as she turns around and walks away. Why? Why would they abandon her, yet keep an idol of hers? She can't understand. Something doesn’t add up. She needs to stop thinking about this, she tells herself.
Maybe it's not an idol of hers? Three-prongs could be any ones, or even one of the worm's idols, just damaged. Yes, it must be that. She doesn’t have the guts to check, though.
She walks out into the rain, intending to return to the apartment, still shaken up by the idol.
It doesn’t take long for her to arrive back at the apartment block. There are plenty of landmarks for her to memorise so that she doesn't get lost and Though she is not particularly comfortable navigating the physical plane, she is not so foolish as to not know the basics of navigation.
She climbs the stairs to their level, and walks down the hallway to the apartment. She walks through the busted doorframe and spots the Worm on the couch. She hooks her raincoat on one of the racks, then goes to deposit the goods on the kitchen counter.
“Out again? Is my company really that bad? “ The Worm asks sarcastically.
“Yes.” She confirms.
“More junk. You brought back more junk than food, Moth.” He reprimands in an exhausted tone.
“We are fine on food, and until you have the strength to make supply runs it is up to me to decide what i take.”
“Very well. I concede; However I just don’t understand why you are collecting all these unnecessary items.” He says as he holds a small ball in his hand, which she snatches from him quickly.
“In the dream world, even at the heights of my power, I still lacked all physical sensation; I am making the best of my time in the physical realm.” She explains, whilst she squeezes the rubber ball between her claws.
“That would mean all sensation is new to you, then? I find that difficult to believe, Moth, you seem familiar with most things.” The Worm replies matter-of-factly.
Her mind stops, and she visibly freezes. She feels like her subconscious is trying to dredge up memories that simply aren't there any more, and it is causing her great confusion. Her mind skips like a broken record, continually trying in a vain attempt to pull that memory from the depths, but is either hidden far too deep below or simply does not exist anymore.
She faintly hears the Worm, She feels him shake her, but it's all so distant. She stares into the middle distance, as a hurricane of confusion spins through her mind. Then, suddenly, everything snaps into focus; the hurricane vanishes and focus has returned to her.
She turns to face the Worm, he looks concerned. Frustration flares through her, the very idea of him being concerned for her disgusts her. Her brow furrows and her gaze hardens, and she slaps away the Worms hand from her shoulder and storms out of the kitchen. He looks on in confusion.
She walks out onto the balcony, into the cool rain of the city and clutches her head. She doesn’t understand what is happening to her, she is the master of her own mind, is she not? Then why is there so much unaccounted for? Trails of deja vu leading to a gigantic empty valley in her mind. It wasn’t a void, as it felt as if there was something there that had been removed.
With her access to the mind and soul of a bug, she has always believed that bugs are defined solely by their experiences and moreso memories. But there's something beyond the memories she recalls, the signs repeatedly point to there being more.
She is snapped out of her thoughts when she hears the balcony door open behind her. She sighs in frustration, but otherwise doesn't make any move to leave.
“Was it your memory again ?” The Worm asks, She looks back at him to gauge his intention, but is met inevitably with the same unchanging neutral expression. She nods.
“Do you understand what's happening with your memories?” he continues to press. Frustration lights quickly in her mind.
“What do you care ? I am not another interesting thing for you to pick apart in your laboratories, Worm.” She bites back.
“Need i remind you that the last time you lost control of yourself you quite literally almost mauled me to death.” She has mixed feelings about that.
The Worm continues on; “I believe that it is in my best interest to make sure that you are as far as possible from losing control again, at all times.” If he does have that as his main interest, which is believable, then she supposes it may be beneficial to explain. A quieter part of her just wants to vent a little, though she pretends that's not the reason why.
“I'm sure you’ve seen me space out a lot. Maybe you’ve seen me be better at things than I otherwise should be.” She begins to elaborate.
“The nail, back in the basin. You held it as if you were familiar with it, even though as far as I know you’ve never had a physical form.” The Worm cuts in, annoying her. But something else garners her attention.
“You’ve been thinking about it.” It's not a question, she really shouldn’t have expected anything else.
“The mind is my domain, Moth. I have a few theories as to your situation. He then breathes deeply as if to continue, but she interrupts.
“Can you let me elaborate before I hear your theories?” He shuts up promptly. She sighs and rubs at the space between her eyes.
“I feel like… I'm missing parts of my memory.” No, that's not it. She struggles to place words on the feeling. She pauses for a few moments, thinking. Looking for a different perspective.
“I feel like water that's been poured into a far smaller jug, Then poured back into the same jug. I only feel how much I've lost, but I don't know what it is. “ She doesn’t like speaking this way, she sounds like one of those pompous philosophers with their vague terminology. But it felt accurate nonetheless.
The Worm shuffles to stand next to her, overlooking the city. She breathes a slight sigh of exhaustion, preparing herself to hear whatever rabble he calls a theory.
“Alright then, speak your mind. Let’s hear it.” She shifts sideways to face him, still leaning against the railing.
“Well, one theory that I had thought of briefly was that you simply are unaccustomed to being a mortal body, but that wouldn’t account for deja vu or what you just said.”
“The second theory that held some weight, was that due to you and the Hollow Knights … close proximity,” she snorts, that's certainly one way of putting it. “That some of your memories could have either switched entirely or blended together.”
She considers this for a moment, but quickly finds it to fall apart under scrutiny.
“No, That would mean that I would likely feel about you how they did. And I can assure you, Worm, that I do not perceive you as a father nor do I desire your company. “ The very idea sounds laughable, and sarcastic venom is laced through her tone. The Worm notices, his typically stoic expression becoming that of surprise. She notices quickly.
“What, you don’t think they were actually hollow, do you?” She says snidely. She knows this is a touchy topic for him, but she needs something to distract herself. Tormenting the Worm is the perfect thing.
He stares silently over the city for a few more moments, then continues.
“They desire my company?” He asks, in a quiet tone. This catches her off guard, the vulnerability in his tone. It’s almost as if he’s forgotten that he's standing next to his nemesis. A small part of her feels bad for him, and wants to say something comforting. The rest of her wants to drive the knife in deeper. Perhaps it's the exhaustion, but she feels as if everything that's happened to her, has happened because of her worst impulses. Maybe she will listen to that small part this time. She breathes deeply in preparation.
“Yeah. They did. You and little Hornet were all they ever thought about.” Sadness, and perhaps even sympathy twinges in her heart, recalling the memories of her cellmate.
“They were loyal to the end, you know. I’d kill to have a Knight like them.” She smiles, feeling nostalgia for her time imprisoned with them is a strange concept. They were the first person she had talked to since the moths had abandoned her, she hadn’t realised how terribly lonely she had gotten.
That same small part of her felt terrible when they inevitably fell to her infection. They had been fighting it for long, but exhaustion had inevitably tripped them. And just like that, she didn’t have anyone to talk to anymore, just another bug caught in her orange web.
His composure breaks entirely, and he is hiding his tears behind his hand. He quickly shuffles back into the apartment, and she is caught completely blindsided. She stares in utter shock as she watches him leave their apartment, to somewhere more private.
She slowly turns back around to face the city again, struggling to process what just happened. She continues staring out into the city.
She struggles greatly to piece together who exactly the Worm is. She had always considered him a heartless, cold and distant ruler who cared not for those he ruled but instead for power. However, she is shown time and time again that there is more.
She hates that there is more. She wants him to be as rude, as unforgiving and as terrible as she is being to him. But he hardly fights back, just takes her barbs and insults like some sort of dying animal. It makes her uncomfortable and it makes her somehow even more confused.
Even worse, he asks if she is alright. He helped bring her back to the apartment when she was too drunk to walk properly. He allowed her to maul him, just so he could get close enough to clear the infection. He told her his motivations; to ensure that his children are faring well in this world. But that can't be it.
The risk he took, allowing himself to get mauled. There was no certainty he would survive it, no certainty that he would be alive to ensure his children are faring well. Why did he do it? She can't wrap her head around it.
She thinks, frustration building. He is the God of knowledge, therefore meaning that he has some level of intelligence; There must be something she hasn’t seen, something that blows the whistle on his plot.
But none if it adds up, none of it at all. He could have let her drop to her death, back in the abyss; but he didn't. Perhaps her survival is vital to his goal? It wouldn’t make sense. If anything, she would be a threat.
Perhaps it doesn't make sense because she does not see the full picture. She knows that Grimm and whoever it is he is working with needs her alive, but she does not understand why; nor does she understand the Worms intentions. It means that in the future, they will intend to betray her, or intend some other horrid form of torture.
She had almost fooled herself into believing that there could be allies to be made, but she now remembers the truth. Beset upon at all angles, she is always and has always been surrounded by foes.
But she can’t believe in that with confidence anymore. His actions have confused her, and now she is torn between that small part of herself and the angry, spiteful, hate filled boiling sea that she has been for so long.