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The blue lake rippled gently as Quirrel dipped his aching legs into it. Crystalline waters reflected the ceiling above, shimmering slightly as small waves ebbed and flowed from the shore. Out of all the sights in Hallownest, Quirrel was glad he saved this one for last. Compared to the daunting caverns or marvels of machinery, at its surface the lake didn’t appear to be impressive, but that was precisely what Quirrel liked about it. There was a certain grace in its simplicity, nothing but tranquil waters and grey sand.
How should he be feeling right now, he wondered. Perhaps he should’ve prepared to continue his journey, or breathed a sigh of relief at him leaving this world. However, all he felt was a sense of guilt dampened by melancholy. The source of this came from none other than the little bug sitting beside him, also enjoying the view. What would they think? Would they care? Would they mourn him? Quirrel shuddered at the thought. The Knight had suffered enough, and he would do anything to keep from adding to their burden.
But when they left, when they eventually moved on to complete their own task, Quirrel would…
He would…
He would…what, exactly?
He stifled a jolt at the memory. Taking his life, that had been the goal. That was why he was here. He would wait for the Knight to go and then plummet into the lake, allowing the glittering waters to shatter his lungs.
How could he have forgotten such a thing? His memory had been getting worse, falling from him like grains of sand in an hourglass. They were close, but just out of reach, and he could feel them at the edge of his mind but could not quite grasp the knowledge. Such a thing left an edge to his soul, an ever present feeling of not being done while he had no clue what he still had to do.
The Knight shifted and patted him on his arm, a goodbye signal. Soon, soon all of this regret and anguish would be behind him. Soon, there would be nothing but water. As the Knight began to walk away, however, they turned to look at him one last time.
Their expression did not change. No, outwardly, they looked like the same little bug that hung out with him from time to time. Something radiated from them, though, almost on the verge of unease, teetering as their shoulders hunched and back tensed. They couldn’t have been worried about Quirrel, would they?
The guilt thrummed in his chest. All at once he wanted to flood the poor Knight with his words and burdens, lamenting about his memory and how he could not tell whether he failed or succeeded in his task, and how afraid he was of either option. He felt his eyes begin to water, but he couldn’t cry here, not now. Not when the Knight was so close to leaving and not when release was at the tip of his claws.
He broke away from their impromptu staring contest and focused himself on the lake once more. He heard the gentle steps of the Knight, but, to his dismay, they weren’t fading and instead growing louder. The Knight tapped him on his shoulder and he took in a breath that was far shakier than it had any right to be.
‘Wait.’ the Knight scribbled into the sand with their nail, then pointed at Quirrel. ‘Be quick.’ they pointed at themselves. Quirrel nodded slowly.
“Yes…” he whispered. “Yes, I shall wait.” The Knight nodded and dashed out of the cavern, leaving Quirrel alone with his thoughts.
What would become of him, if he took the plunge? Who would care? All of his friends were either dead or infected, and his memory of them had faded enough that he could not even remember their faces.
Monomon…
Of all the bugs in Hallownest, Quirrel desperately wished he could’ve forgotten about her. He did, in a way. He forgot her voice, her laugh, her personality, all of the aspects that made her whole instead of a statue sitting in the middle of the City. She existed, though, and she cared for him, and she trusted him with some monumental task that he couldn’t even remember. He threw his memory and his life away for her, and she trusted him enough to give up her own in exchange for the safety of Hallownest.
Who was he, he wondered. Who is he? He seemed to be something hastily thrown together, fragments of memory and adventure woven together into a mismatched web. Would he do it again, if he had the option? Thinking about it made his head ache, and he could almost feel more pieces of his thoughts fade into dust. What would be left of him, if he kept on sitting at the shoreline, too afraid, or perhaps not worthy, to be relieved of his duties once and for all.
The Knight pattered back into the cavern, shoulders heaving as if they were out of breath. Quirrel waved slightly. They sat down next to him on the shore once again, then rustled inside their cloak, looking for…something. Quirrel swore he caught a glimpse of an exorbitant amount of geo, a tram pass, and some rotten eggs. He had no idea how many things the little Knight could hold, and he wasn’t particularly keen on finding out.
They must have found what they were searching for at some point, though, because they stopped rustling and carefully, carefully, pulled out a flower. Its white petals glistened and pulsed gently, easily able to shatter like glass, and the gray stem twisted in a way that, if dropped, it would burst into several pieces. They carefully placed it in Quirrel’s hand and pushed it toward him.
“...Is this for me?” He asked. The Knight nodded. “I…I do not know what to say. Thank you, my friend.” The Knight clapped their tiny hands together and sat next to Quirrel once more.
They knew. They knew, didn’t they? They fully understood what Quirrel was attempting to do. They were going to sit on the shoreline, thwarting Quirrel’s plans until he eventually gave up, pulled back to a life where he was no longer of use to anyone.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” he spoke softly. The Knight shook their head and inched closer to him. He cradled the flower in his chest. “Thank you for all you have done. I hope your quest comes to fruition and I hope Hallownest’s stasis will end, one way or another.” The Knight shook their head again vehemently. “Please, my friend. Let me rest.”
‘Stay’, they scribbled onto the sand in bold letters. They underlined it three times, pointing from Quirrel to the word aggressively.
Quirrel wanted to disagree, to reassure his friend with flowery language, showing that he was okay, but it was his time to go. That was simply the way things went, and the Knight would be perfectly fine without him. Instead, all that came out was a broken whisper: “What if I forget again?”
The Knight tilted their head, seemingly caught off guard by his words. He sighed. “My memory is nothing but dust, now. Everything fades like sand in an hourglass, no matter how hard I try to grasp at it. I fear I will forget you, forget everything that has happened. What will become of me then? What is the use of a bug with no memories?”
The Knight didn’t respond for a few moments. They stared at him as guilt pooled in his stomach, wondering why the dam had to break at that moment, why he had to burden his friend with his issues. Slowly, the Knight stepped away, and Quirrel was struck with the rush of relief [and fear?] that the Knight was going to finally leave him to his business.
They didn’t leave. Of course they didn’t. Instead, they grabbed a quill and a piece of paper from their cloak, then started to scribble something down.
‘Will fix it. Live. Infection gone. Pain gone. Live. Wait. Stay. Rebuild. Write down memories. Live. Please.’ They wrote hastily, then shoved the paper into Quirrel’s face. Tears welled up in his eyes as the Knight pointed to ‘live’ again, and again, and again. He stifled a sob with his hand.
“My friend…” Without waiting for another word, the Knight leapt into his arms and gave him the strongest hug he had ever received. Though the Knight’s arms were short, they clutched his shoulders, burying their face in the crook of his neck. Their shoulders trembled, and Quirrel realized that they were crying too.
He would be leaving things behind. He’d be leaving his dear friend, and his home, and a land that he had a duty to rebuild. Even though his quest was over, it was still okay if he stayed. He was allowed to stay and take up space. Although he might forget again, it would be alright. He could stay a while longer.
“I am so sorry for frightening you,” he whispered as he tightened his hold on the Knight. “I’m sorry.”
The Knight pulled back for a moment and put their cold hands on his face. Their mask clinked against his head. They sat there for a while, taking in the gentle flow of the waves. The blue lake was tranquil, but Quirrel no longer heard its call.
“Thank you for the flower,” he said.
‘Thank you for waiting for me’, the Knight wrote.