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Trumpets blared and shell drums beat. Jittery servitors hastily unrolled white carpet for the king to tread on. A pair of two kingsmold guards flanked the monarch on either side, followed by a legion of royal retainers, plus the king's royal band procession. The Pale King held his head high and suppressed fears nipping at the back of his mind. Monomon the Teacher and her private army of Ooma's awaited them patiently at the far end of the hall.
Lady Monomon sighed inwardly, would it have been too much for the pale king to send a message telling her of his visit to her archives? Her oomas and uomas floated in silently behind her, drawn to the commotion.
“Mon-mon, who’s that?” A tiny voice whispered. Monomon looked down to see little Quirrel tugging at her tendril; eyes transfixed on the outsiders.
Monomon smiled warmly, “How about you tell me? Look closely, Quirrel.” She effortlessly scooped her assistant off the floor to give him a better view.
“Now, remember your lessons, look at the bug in front, do you recognize them?”
Quirrel squinted his eyes. “Is… is that the king?”
“The Pale King.” Monomon corrected. “So you were actually paying attention during my lessons? Impressive.” She hummed, lovingly patting the top of his head.
Quirrel sighed, “I like looking at the pictures. Your lessons are so boring, madam.”
Monomon gasped. “Quirrel! They are not!” playfully tugging her students' bandana over his eyes with the same tentacle that pet him moments ago. Quirrel giggled and pushed her away, readjusting his hat. He gazed back at the crowd, still a little weary of the outsiders.
“Mon-mon, why’s the pale king here? Shouldn’t he be in his palace?”
She set Quirrel down, caressing the chin of her mask thoughtfully. “I dunno, but if I had to guess, I’d say he's come looking for my help yet again,” She sighed.
Quirrel looked up at her, shocked. “Again!?”
A pleasant chuckle escaped Monomon. “Ahh, yes, this is not exactly his majesty's first visit.” She explained, dropping her voice to a whisper as the king approached and parked himself in front of her. Quirrel hid, wide-eyed, behind her swaying tendrils.
“Your majesty, what a surprise!” Monomon bowed her head, and behind the oomas tried their best to mimic her.
“Well, yes, I needed to speak with you, Teacher... urgently.” The king said, motioning for her to rise. “You have my deepest apologies.”
A wave from Monomons tendril dismissed him. “Think nothing of it, I always enjoy your visits, though I would prefer to look forward to them.”
The Pale King took his claws out from underneath his robes and held his palms out in front of him “Again, I apologize.” He took a gander around the hall, at its high ceiling and pipe-infested walls. The soft cyan light was pleasant on his eyes and put him in a much better mood than he perhaps should have been in given the circumstances. “Is there anywhere we can speak privately?”
“Of course, my liege. Quirrel?” She looked down, ushering her assistant out from behind her with a soft push of her tendril, catching the eye of the wyrm. Quirrel met her gaze. “Yes, madam?”
Monomon nodded to the king's companions. “Escort these weary travelers to the cafeteria, the oomas will help you hand out refreshments.”
“Yes madam, right away,” Quirrel said, gesturing to the crowd. “This way, people, cookies, and gruz milk this way!”
The crowd erupted into excited voices and cheers, the musicians ditched their instruments, and the retainers lifted their long robes, chasing after the little assistant with the oomas and uomas hurrying behind them. The king motioned for his guards to follow the crowd.
“Right this way, your majesty.” Monomon had already started down a separate hallway. The king tried to save himself some dignity as he powerwalked to catch up.
------
The Pale King walked with his head tilted towards the window, admiring the foggy canyon through the glass. Somehow the hissing acid lakes were calming, it was a welcome change from the stark white of his palace and pelting rain of the city. Guess he was finally reconnecting with nature’ like his wife always insisted.
“How long has it been, Monomon?” He slipped his words to the Teacher drifting beside him.
Monomon sighed, “it’s been a while.”
“Decades?” The pale king asked, not releasing his eyes from the window.
“ One decade. Give or take a few years.”
The pale king let a troubled sigh escape him “Where has the time gone?” He mumbled more to himself than to The Teacher.
She answered regardless, “Well, you’ve got a kingdom to run, and my archives keep me here, keeping the place up and running puts a lot on my plate." Her eyes lingered on a hair-thin crack down the glass window that separated them from the outside. “Plus, this old building is practically falling apart,” Monomon observed as a school of uomas floated lazily past, ushering a wandering uoma closer to their friends with a gentle prod before turning to the Pale King and tilting her head.
Monomon inspected the king from the tip of his crown to the bottom of his bright, practically glowing, white robes. A smile graced her lips. “You know, I think you’ve gotten taller.”
The Pale King snickered and turned to her with open arms. “It’s so good to see you.” The difference in size and Monomons' appearance made for a slightly awkward, but long overdue hug.
The two stayed entwined for a brief moment before pulling away and combining their laughter.
Monomon stifled hers first. “So, how’s the white lady?”
The Pale King seemed to brighten at the mention of his wife, literally. “She’s well! We've been enjoying the months of warming back at the capital. She would’ve loved to come along and visit, but somebody must watch over the kingdom while it’s ruler vanishes in the fog canyons.”
“I understand, tell her I said hello, won't you?” Said Monomon, patting her king on the shoulder.
The Pale King nodded enthusiastically. “She’ll love to hear from you. I will!”
Two old friends continued their walk. The Pale King was appalled by the state of sheer disrepair the archives were in, pointing out the cracks in the walls and each leaky, bent pipe. He vowed to send his most exceptional workers and architects to repair her archives!
The pale king got caught up describing his daydreamed plans to her. And when the short king dreamed, he dreamed big. He described an enormous entry chamber, illuminated by a massive, sea green lumafly lantern that would be held by a colossal bronze statue of herself! There would be a new, modern, tramway cutting straight through the fungal waists to her archives. And a spire, a spire dwarfing Lurien’s in the City of Tears, one they’d shoot fireworks off to celebrate upon the final eradication of the infection. And of course, a grand observatory, now what she’d observe with it this deep underground, The Teacher hadn't a clue.
Monomon pressed a tentacle to the bottom of her mask to hold back her laughter, nodding along with everything the pale king said. She didn’t want to seem rude.
------
Eventually, they arrived at the inner sanctum. Wandering uomas and oomas became sparse, and the lights seemed to dim just a bit, causing shadows to creep down from the ceiling and lightly spread themselves on the walls. Monomon pushed open a door, revealing her study. A massive cylindrical tube of acid was situated in the center of the study; the pale king recalled that this is what she slept in, making a grim mental note of that fact.
The pale king gazed around his new surroundings, while things seemed to be tidy, there were little hints of uncleanliness littered throughout the room which shown like a beacon to the king after living in a spotless, white palace for most of his life as a bug. Monomon seemed to squawk at something and glided over to a platform the king assumed she used for eating, she brushed a clutter of food wrappings into a waste bin.
“Erm, I really wish you notified me,” she said, clearly embarrassed, zipping over to an unorganized pile of acid tubes and beginning to slot them neatly back into their holders.
“If I'd sent a messenger they’d have been traveling alongside us.” The Pale King muttered distantly, something on the wall had caught his eye.
There was a clump of photogliphs affixed to the wall near her sleeping tube. Curiosity got the better of the monarch, and the Pale King shuffled over for a closer look. The rectangular glass panels bit his eyes with the glare of their sizzling electricity. The king had to squint to make out their images. But soon enough, his eyes adjusted, and a warm smile crept onto his face.
The pale king lifted one for closer inspection. “I noticed you kept that grub.” An image of a smaller Quirrel blowing out several candles on a jelly cake glowed brightly in the pale king's eyes.
“Oh, Quirrel?” Monomon called over her shoulder. “I sure did. I’ve been practically mothering him for the past nine years. He’s growing up to be quite the smart young bug!”
The pale king plucked another photo from the walls. This time of an infant Quirrel staring at the camera, a bottle of milk grasped firmly in his tiny claws. It seemed to have faded slightly, probably due to its age.
Monomon sighed deeply. “I worry for him sometimes. He hasn’t been interacting with other bugs his age, he only has me after all, since we don’t get too many visitors here at the archives other than crusty old scholars from the city.” She rolled an acid tube back and forth on the table thoughtfully. “He seems to have developed a natural fear of outsiders... Next week I’d like to take him to the city to meet some new bugs. Remember that ice cream stand me, you, the Lady, and Lurian used to go to? I’d like to take him to that.”
The pale king put the photograph back on the wall.
Monomon snickered. “Did I ever tell you how much Quirrel likes ice cream?”
“You won’t be able to.”
Monomon paused, slotting the acid tube in her tendril back into its holder and turning to the pale king. “What?”
The pale king turned around to face her. He fiddled with his claws anxiously, angling his gaze to the floor. “As of yesterday, the whole city is on lockdown. I’ve ordered the gates closed. By tomorrow no one will be able to get in or out.”
He flicked terrified eyes to Monomon. “We’re running out of time, madam.”
Her worst fears were becoming a reality; the infection was spreading into the city. A week ago she'd heard the reports, rumors she didn’t want to believe. The stories of the crossroads being wholly overrun, of the hive closing its borders, food riots, nausea. The world was unraveling before her eyes, and Monomon was powerless to help, isolated in her blasted archives waiting for the infection to come knocking on her gates. Her mind jumped to Quirrel, and she beat her worries down, she needed to focus.
“When will the Hollow Knight be ready?” She took on a deathly serious tone, looming over the Pale King.
“Soon, but-“ the king took a seat, racking his brain for a way to phrase what he must say. “I’ve had… a vision.”
Monomon froze, the pale king was a wyrm, a higher being in his own right. If he had foreseen something, then it would inevitably become a reality.
The Pale King noticed a stress ball on Monomons desk and snatched it off, squeezing it vigorously with a claw. The wyrm cleared his throat and continued shakily. “I was in the city, it was silent, except for the rain. Oh, it was so, so quiet ” The pale king whimpered, Monomon just stared at him, horrified.
“The buildings were crumbling, the streets were filled with the infected, and their eyes,” the king paused to steady himself. “Their eyes were bright orange; they had been taken by the old light, and filled with her wrath! She was puppeteering my people!” He took a deep, rattling breath, swallowing fruitlessly, covering his face with rattling claws, shivering.
Inside, Monomon was screaming, but she kept her voice steady. “I don’t understand. You foresaw this as the right path; you were so sure of it.” Her mind wandered to the vessels trapped in the abyss.
“It still is!” He snapped.
Monomon leaned over the Pale King. “How?!”
“We just need to protect the Hollow Knight is all” The king stood abruptly, trying to find his balance, Monomon backed off. “Once my Hollow Knight has done its duty, it will be vulnerable to outside attacks.”
Monomon shook her head. “You trained them yourself; they should be more than capable of-“
“I know!” The pale king cried, “but clearly my vision proved that its skill with a nail won’t be enough, it will require more protection.”
“What, a garrison? How do you think common bugs will fare against the wrath of a goddess?”
The king was silent for a moment, “It won’t be an army that protects the vessel.”
He seemed hesitant to turn and face her. “It will be you.” The Pale King said softly, the bright light that radiated off him flickered.
“Me?” She said, taken aback, pointing a tendril at herself. Had she misheard?
The pale king paced back and forth, wringing his claws.“I plan to cover the black egg in a seal of binding, to seal it off from the outside world, but to do that will require an enormous amount of energy.” He turned to her. “an energy source that I do not currently possess...”
She knew his next words before he said them.
“Monomon, will you become my Dreamer?” The wyrm said slowly, letting his words stew in the air.
Monomon sucked in a sharp breath. So many feelings assaulted her all at once. She closed her eyes. It’s funny how shutting off one sense heightens all the rest. She was well aware of what becoming a Dreamer meant. She and the Pale king together long ago came up with the concept of sending beings into permanent hibernation, siphoning their soul energy off them as they slept. Basically turning a bug into a battery.
Her rational mind was screaming at her to accept, to accept immediately, without hesitation! What was one life compared to the lives of thousands? But her hearts told her otherwise. Quirrel was too young to lose her just yet. She wanted more time with him, suddenly all the years they’d been together seemed to have gone by so fast.
She looked up at her tank, suspended above them. “How long would I be asleep?”
“Forever.”
Monomon shook her head. “I have a child now. Quirrel needs me.” He'd be so alone without her.
The pale king frowned. “Save him.”
The whole room was now a fuzzy background for the glowing pale wyrm, who she turned away from, placing a tentacle on the side of her mask. Was she really about to go through with this?
“And you need to be thinking bigger than just your grub, Monomon. This is the fate of the entire kingdom, tens of thousands of bugs!” The Pale King strode forward, grabbing one of her tendrils, prompting her to face her king.
She looked into his eyes and found them hard to read. Hopeful mixed with despair. Fear but also commanding, all swirling together into some unreadable gaze.
“In doing this, the kingdom be saved?” She needed confirmation.
The pale king nodded slowly, “It just might, this is the best-“
“You’re asking me to put all this on a “might”?” Monomon sneered.
The Pale King took two of her tendrils in both his hands. “I’m asking you to trust me.”
Monomon sighed and thought of her little Quirrel. She knew she was going to accept. What she didn’t know was how’d she explain this to Quirrel. Would he even understand why?
“Become a dreamer and I promise you, the kingdom and Quirrel will be safe.” Monomon could feel the Pale King's claws tighten around her squishy tendrils.
This was no longer up for debate in Monomons mind. This is what must be done.
“Very well, I’ll be the kingdom’s dreamer.” The words bled out of her mouth, it was decided. She felt sick.
------
The world before Monomons eyes was a blur, just colors blending together into a fuzzy tie-dye. She couldn’t be bothered to adjust her eyes to it, and focused inward, on her own bubbling thoughts. She had plenty to think about after all, so much had transpired in such a short time. She needed to start thinking about what an archive without her would look like. Who would take her place? Quirrel was the obvious first choice, he was her assistant after all. Though he was a bit young... dropping all this on the little bugs lap would be a lot. Quirrel… her sweet, precious little Quirrel. Oh, wyrm, what would she tell him? Would he even understand at all? She was everything to him. But she couldn’t refuse, not now, it was too late, and she wouldn’t refuse anyway, she had made up her mind and weighed the consequences, this was to be.
Monomon blinked and became reacquainted with her surroundings. She’d been drifting from room to room for some time now and found herself only a few halls away from the main study, where Quirrel should be right about now.
Tiny crawlids crawled in her stomach on the way to the study. She peeled open the door and took a peek inside. No sign of Quirrel. Quirrel’s lack of presence prompted her to nudge the door a bit more. And more and more and more until she was standing in the doorway. The tables were empty, oomas drifted off in the distance, dusting off books, polishing acid vials, and generally being good librarians. Quirrel was nowhere to be seen. Monomon lifted a particularly high stack of books to make sure Quirrel wasn’t hiding behind them, in the back of her mind she was relieved that she’d get more time to untangle her thoughts before spilling everything. She let out a relieved sigh.
“Mon-mon!” Quirrel ran up from behind and latched onto her, giggling and rubbing his face in her squishy tentacles as she floated there, unmoving, just staring down at him. Oh, she’d become a statue already.
After a few motionless seconds; Quirrel began to notice her stiffness, and he stared up into the wet eyes of her mask. Gods, was she tearing up so soon? He tilted his head, “You don’t look happy, madam. Is something the matter?”
Monomon just floated there like a daft fool. What was she doing? She parted her quivering lips but words failed to come out.
“Do you need a hug, Mon-mon?” Quirrel asked.
“Yes!” Monomon cried, sweeping the little bug up into her tendrils, and cradling him close to her chest. Quirrel giggled and snuggled up to her. Having no idea why Monomon was acting so strange but that didn’t matter to him, there were two soft tentacles wrapped 'round him, pressing him to her, that's all that mattered right now.
After a while, Quirrel shifted. “Mmmmm, You give the best hugs, Mon-mon.”
“You’re just used to them.” Monomon choked out.
“Madam, What's wrong?” Quirrel pushed out of her embrace and looked up at her.
Monomon held Quirrel's confused gaze. She expelled a choppy sigh, flicking the tears away from the corners of her mask. “Quirrel…” she began, setting him down on a table, the oomas seemed to take an interest and drifted closer to the two.
“I have to go somewhere. And-” There was an ugly pause and Monomon desperately wracked her brain for something to fill it with.
“What do you mean?” Quirrel said shakily, backing up a bit, her tone was scaring him. "What are you saying?"
Monomon knew there was no sugar coating it, she bowed her head. “I'm saying... that I'll be leaving… and I won’t be coming back, Quirrel... I’m sorry.” The words stung her throat coming up. She looked Quirrel in the eyes, and for the first time seriously considered if she had made the wrong choice.
He shook his head, she noticed his frame begin to shake. “A-are you joking Mon-mon?” Quirrel whimpered.
“I’m not, I wish I was.” She croaked, reaching her tendrils down for him, but he jolted away from her touch like a cornered tik-tik. She didn't blame him one bit.
“W-why?” He was shivering.
“The king and I, we... found a way to ensure the infection's eradication but it will cost us.” Monomon found it hard to hold eye contact with Quirrel, his tiny eyes were filled with terror, Monomon couldn’t bare it.
Quirrel shook his head. “No.” He took a step back, tears welling up in his eyes. “You said you’d already found a way, you said it was already taken care of!” His bottom lip trembled and he slurred his horror-filled words.
Monomon did recall telling him about the plan to help him sleep one night when a nightmare woke him, she told about the vessel, and how the pale king planned to seal the infection inside of them, and how everything would be okay. She cursed herself for it now.
She felt Quirrels eyes on her. “The pale king wants to take extra measures to ensure the vessel’s safety. He wants me to dream for the kingdom so-.”
“NO!” Quirrel screamed, Monomon jolted back from Quirrel. He took another step backward. “Tell him no! He can’t have you!”
She furrowed her brow. “Quirrel, if I didn’t dream, do you know how many hundreds of bugs would have had to in my place? You know how much soul energy beings such as I emit. How rare-” She wrapped a tendril around Quirrel’s wrist but he ripped it off.
“I don’t care!” Quirrel yelled, “I want you!” The little bug turned and ran out of the study.
“Quirrel! Come back here! Come back here this instant!” She received a door slamming shut in response.
Monomon sighed, raising a tendril to her head. That went about as well as she expected. The prickly sensation of being watched crept up on her, she turned to the judgemental stairs of her uomas and oomas.
“What are you looking at?” she grumbled, straightening herself to look more imposing, and utterly failing at it. One of the oomas crossed their tendrils at her, subtly tilting their bell forward ever so slightly.
Monomon huffed a knowing sigh, hunching over and twisting two tentacles together anxiously. “Yeah, I know. I know. I’ll make things right with him, while I’ve still got the time.” Some of them floated closer, buzzing. “A little over an hour actually, I better get going…” she whispered.
The oomas & uomas huddled around her, buzzing sadly. She made sure to give each one a light squeeze. In the back of her mind, she considered grabbing Quirrel and fleeing to the waists, leaving this troubled kingdom behind in search of a new one to set up in. Monomon and her archives would be adrift just like old times, only now, she and the oomas and uomas would have a playful and adventurous little bug with them to keep them company. For a single moment, she considered it as if it was an option. Then that moment ended, and the idea was banished from her mind. As much as Monomon longed to watch Quirrel grow up; in the grand scheme of things, her and Quirrels lives were insignificant. She was going to dream, and the kingdom would be saved, her only concern now was preparing a goodbye for Quirrel.
------
The little scholar threw open his bedroom door and slammed it shut, rattling the glassware that cluttered his shelves. He grabbed his shell wood desk and shoved it against the door forcefully. Tears began leaking down his mask. After hastily barricading the doorway, Quirrel flung himself into his hammock, causing it to sway violently. He wanted to sleep this all away and wake up to a world where Monomon would still be there when woke up.
Why couldn’t she just say no? Why? Quirrel loved her so much, the mere thought of losing her prompted a whole other wave of tears to come pouring out his mask and soaking into his pillow. Didn’t she know that? She needed to stay, she just had to. He’d make her stay… Somehow. If she didn’t listen then he’d just go to the king and tell him himself. No, the king wouldn’t listen to him! Oh, what would he do? Gods, he would do anything, give anything for Monomon to call this off.
Quirrel curled into a ball, crushing his pillow against his face. He shivered all over, kicking blankets off him in a struggle to gain some semblance of comfort, of which he found none. He wailed, tears streamed out of his clenched eyes, so intensely that he started to feel dehydrated. Eventually, tears ran dry, and Quirrel listened to the soft, muffled flow of the acid through the pipes. He pushed the damp pillow from his face and took a halfhearted breath of fresh air. His room seemed so empty now. The drawn-up blueprints and schematics that padded the walls that had once filled him with inspiration now felt dull and empty. Oh, What was the point now? Quirrel sniffled, he didn’t feel like moving. Other than the occasional blink, he was still, eyes staring up at the ceiling, unfocused, blurry, a blank expression written on his face.
Quirrel felt each second scrape past, the world seemed to have been put on pause. His chest rose and fell, he blinked, occasionally rubbing an eye. His mind blank. He laid there, entranced, sprawled out on his hammock, waiting for something to happen.
A gentle knock on the door snapped Quirrel back. At first, he couldn’t process it, didn’t want to recognize it, and yearned to go back a few seconds ago to properly cherish that time. Another series of knocks landed on his door, and this time, a soft voice accompanied them.
“Quirrel?” Monomons muffled, an unmistakable voice called out from the other side.
He didn’t respond and kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, where it belonged.
A few seconds scraped past. The doorknob turned, and furniture whined against the floor as it was pushed out of the door's path.
“Go! If you’re leaving, just go!” Quirrel hissed.
There was a moment's pause before the rest of the stubborn furniture was pushed aside with the opening door. Quirrel rolled over. A tiny voice in the back of his mind pleaded with him to go to her, but he didn’t move, he didn’t face her, not even when she loomed over his small figure, bathing him in her shadow.
“You need to talk to me, Quirrel.” She sank down to his level, folding her tendrils on the edge of his patchwork hammock. “I want to fix this before I go.”
Quirrel didn’t budge.
Monomon sighed, tilting her head down slightly. “A long, long time ago, when I was young, I had to say goodbye to my parents, and though I can’t remember their faces nor the details, I remember how I felt. Vividly” She eased a tendril onto Quirrel and stroked his back. “I don’t want you to feel that way.”
Quirrel shifted, “Then tell him no…” he whispered.
“I’m afraid It’s not nearly that simple.”
“It could be though. You could tell him you've changed your mind. You could tell him to find someone else-”
“But I won’t.”
“Why not!” cried Quirrel, looking over his shoulder at Monomon through teary eyes.
Monomon fell silent, the two held eye contact for several seconds.
“Did this for you as well, Quirrel.” She brushed the curve of his mask lovingly.
He swatted her off and looked away, “How can you say that?” Quirrel asked, drawing a pillow close for his arms to have something to hold.
“You’re a part of this kingdom too, are you not? You’re susceptible to this infection the same as everybody else. I did this to save you.”
Quirrel whimpered, hugging his pillow tightly, tears started to flow freely from his mask once again. “There has to be another way.”
“This time there isn't one,” Monomon said. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” Quirrel snarled, turning around to come to mask to mask with his teacher. “You’re not sorry.” Monomon flinched, never before hearing Quirrel bare such open hostility towards her.
“You’re not even my real mom.” He muttered under his breath. Quirrel’s harsh words streamed from his mouth before he had a chance to realize what they were. Something deep, deep down inside Monomon twinged.
All Quirrels rage that had built up in his eyes melted away, terror widened his eyes, he now looked up at her horrified. Monomon’s expression was unreadable as ever under her mask.
Quirrel yanked his sheets over him, feeling horrible for what he had said to the only person who truly loved him. He lay there, wallowing in despair, waiting for Monomon to leave his side and forever vanish from his life. He waited, and waited and waited with the silence of the room and gentle gurgling of pipes until...
“The day I found you it was raining.” Monomon started. “For the first time in a thousand years, rain poured down in buckets. The rain beat against this building, smothering the archives with the sound of water crackling against it. But above all the wind, rain, and foam, something in the distance caught my ears. The cries were faint at first, it sounded as if someone was whispering to me, but as I honed in on the sound, I realized they were the cries of an infant. I went to the archives entrance to find a large group of oomas and uomas crowding the doors, shoving each other to get a better view out the windows. I pushed past them and wrapped a firm tentacle on the nob. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to find a tiny grub wrapped in cloth bawling its eyes out on my welcome mat. My hearts skipped beats. I brushed the crowd of curious uomas away from your face and lifted you up.”
She chuckled, blinking away the tears, “I remember how awkward that was, holding you that first time, you were so small, so delicate, and I was so worried. But I pulled you close, cradled against my chest as shown in the pictures in the books I’d read. I looked around for anyone that would claim you, but the absolute downpour of rain hampered my vision and drowned out my voice. As soon as I'd pulled the door shut and the oomas and uomas crowded around me, buzzing excitedly. As I was inspecting the fabric, taking note of the blue thread reading ‘Quirrel’ stitched into the fabric, one of the oomas brushed the stray cloth from your face, and two wide, wonder-filled eyes met mine.” Monomon giggled, recalling the pleasant memory.
“It was at that moment I knew I would keep you, and I’ve never regretted that decision, I never will.” She sighed, “No, I am not your mother, Quirrel, but I loved you as though you were my child, I hope that was enough.”
She gazed over at Quirrel, but the blankets that covered him stayed put. At least the shivering had subsided.
Even though they had at most only a half hour left together, she took her leave, she could understand if he needed some time alone. She pet his back and, silently, she drifted for the door.
Monomon turned to the sound of tapping on the stone floor.
“Momma!!” Quirrel cried, tears streaking down his mask and falling to the floor. He had rocketed from his bed and now ran to her on wobbly legs.
Monomon rushed to her child, lifting him up and pulling him close. Monomon slowly drifted to the ground with him cradled in her tendrils, his head nestled under her chin.
“Please don’t go, momma! Don’t go!” Quirrel dug his face into her cloak and wailed, moistening the fabric with warm, fresh tears.
“Oh, little Quirrel. I’m right here, don’t worry.” She nuzzled him affectionately, cooing sweet, delicate, words and rubbing circles into his back as he wailed. She let him cry. That's okay. She felt like weeping, too.
They ended up staying like that for a good while, then, once the atmosphere had calmed, Monomon spoke. “What do you want to do, Quirrel? We don’t have much time.” Quirrel looked up. “Anywhere you want to go, I’ll follow. Anything you wish to do we’ll do together.”
Quirrel hiccuped and shook his head. “I want to stay like this.”
Monomon smiled sadly, “as you wish.”
“I’ll miss y-you, Mon-mon”
She sighed, stroking Quirrels back. “I know you will, just think of me and I’ll be with you.” She tapped on Quirrels chest, “Here.” Monomon assured.
“I will,” Quirrel whispered.
Time passed, the sound of Monomons beating hearts soothed Quirrel, her tendril caressing the side of his head assuring Quirrel of her presence.
Quirrel yawned, a twinge of fear stuck him.
“It’s for the best, you wouldn't want to be here for the start of the process...”
Hot tears pushed against the back of his eyes but Quirrel held them back.
Soon his eyes began to flutter and his thoughts began to slow.
“I love you, momma.”
“I love you too, Quirrel. I lov-”
------~~~~~~-----
The wanderer awoke to the howling wind. Dust was caked into his tear-stained face. Had he been crying? Quirrel could remember that he’d been dreaming but couldn’t for the life of him remember what of. Something about his mom? He had a mother? Well, obviously he did, every bug had a mother. Quirrel would have to give it more thought later, right now his tent was flying away! The ripping winds of the wastes had torn his tent loose from one of the stakes he’d buried in the ground. He’d set up camp in the shadow of a colossal vacant shell, during his slumber the wind must have changed, just his luck. Quirrel squirmed out of his sleeping bag, grabbing the flapping tent fabric.
“Oh dear! Come on now, be a good tent!” Quirrel wined over the howling wind, wrestling the fabric back to the ground. So much for getting a good night of sleep.