Work Text:
~ •°• ~
She was still there, standing still like stone. A statue staring up at another of its kind. Oblivious to the rain or the oppressive presence of the city.
She'd already been there when Hornet had arrived, her white skirt already soaked through, drooping like a dusty spiderweb. The vines and leaves that grew from the top of her mask stood high though, impervious to the downpour, having grown more lush in recent times than ever before.
She looked miserable and stoic at the same time.
Hornet herself was perched atop a lantern overlooking the memorial plaza. This way she was hidden from any unwanted gaze, free to observe unnoticed. There weren't many bugs outside - the rain had pushed citizens inside for the most part. And the ones that did have incentive to rush across the plaza never really stopped to observe its centrepiece, too busy fleeing the rain. Too used to the fountain’s presence. Most of them wouldn't remember its significance anyway: their grandparents had been little more than grubs when the stasis had begun.
They took notice of the sole bug looking up at the fountain though. Part mosskin as she was, she easily drew the attention of bugs who'd never seen beyond the city’s streets. They still stared, even after generations of her little trips. They ought to have gotten used to her by now.
Suddenly, Hornet felt a little zap on her leg. She looked down and saw a lumafly buzzing right beneath the glass surface of the lamp she was standing on. Curious of the rare intruder on its dreary life no doubt. Hornet could sympathise.
Curious or not, the lumafly’s proximity had begun to burn the hairs on Hornet's legs after having stood atop the glass for so long. She slid down to hold onto the metal post instead.
Her movement must have alerted Isma or at least nudged her to acknowledge Hornet’s presence. The latter felt more likely for a knight of her standing.
“If you wish to chat, darling, may I suggest you come down?” Isma said without turning to face the spider. “It'd be rather difficult to shout through the rain.”
She wouldn't have needed to shout - Hornet’s hearing would have picked up even a whisper, as it had now. Still Hornet conceded, and jumped down, gracefully landing next to the knight. Her dress, woven from water-resistant silk, flowed around her.
“Where is Ogrim?” Hornet asked without preamble.
“A pleasure to see you as well, my princess,” Isma giggled in response and gave Hornet a polite little bow.
“As for Ogrim: I asked him to leave me be while I settle my affairs in peace. He obliged of course, the darling. He's right there resting with a roof above his head if that's what you're worried about.” She motioned at him slumped over beside the entrance to the waterways, snoring loudly. “Why?”
“You’ve been here alone for hours.”
Isma hummed like the fact surprised her.
“I have? Oh.” She didn't sound surprised at all. “Curious how time flies isn't it. All it takes is a blink of an eye and generations have passed you by.”
Hornet had no idea what to do with the last part, so she chose to ignore it.
“I find your continued presence here much more curious than that. Today is no anniversary.”
“Are you implying our dear knight would deserve my company only on an anniversary?”
Hornet would have rolled her eyes at that had she not considered such behaviour beneath her.
Oh, Wyrm, not this again.
“I would not dare,” she said dryly. “I merely noticed that, even though you ‘keep them company’ almost every week, you've been here today for so long I stand in awe the rain has not washed you away yet.”
Isma tsked, gentle disapproval in the sound.
“The heart does not pick and choose specific dates for mourning,” she proceeded to quote. “It commands respects be paid when it is ready to weep, neither sooner nor later, and has the bug remain in grief for however long it finds appropriate.”
Hornet sighed.
“The Moth Tribe’s scripture, I understand?”
“Yes. Courtesy of darling Ze’mer’s exploration of their culture. Poor thing threw herself into any and all writings on death and mourning after the passing of her beloved.” She sighed. “Oh, how I miss her.”
“We all do,” Hornet agreed before finally figuring she should get Isma out of the rain and back to Ogrim. She walked over to her and put her hand on her shoulder. “Come now. You've paid your respects thrice over, and I know of no moth scripture that would dictate a mourner should stand in the rain until they melt.”
Isma chuckled gently and brushed Hornet’s hand off, instead walking forward to sit down on the fountain’s edge. The perch was less stone and more puddle, but she didn't seem to mind. It wouldn't have made much of a difference anyway, as she was already soaked.
“Sit beside me if you wish, darling,” she offered, ignoring Hornet’s words entirely.
“I’d prefer to remain standing.”
“Suit yourself.”
They managed to stay in uncomfortable silence for a beat then two. A guard glanced at them curiously, then went back to her business with haste when Hornet glared at her.
“Hornet?”
“Yes, Isma?”
“Can I ask you a question?” she inquired carefully. She seemed a little uncertain. “It might not be a pleasant one though, so you can refuse, of course.”
“...you may ask.”
Isma hesitated a bit, kicking her legs like a girl, spraying water about herself. When she finally spoke, she kept her gaze trained on the puddles on the ground, but her words could be heard loud and clear.
“Do I sicken you?”
Hornet just stared at her for a solid minute, shocked into silence.
“...why would you ask such a thing?”
Isma shook her head and seemed to dismiss the whole thing with a wave of her hand.
“Ignore me. It's of no importance. Must be all this rain getting me down. Besides, I've grown a tendency to blurt nonsensical things in my old age.”
Hornet hissed, taking a step closer as she glared at Isma.
“Don’t. If there's anyone I refuse to believe would ever speak nonsense, it's you. So tell me: why would you ‘sicken’ me?”
“Or should I go get Ogrim and have you ask him instead?”
Isma shook her head and finally looked up. She wiped a vine from her face, allowing Hornet a good look at her. All her earlier humour was gone from her eyes. They were a dark blue now, reflecting her surroundings: the statue cast her in its pronged shadow, hiding her greens and whites in the blue oppressive shade of the city. The water in the fountain reflected on her mask like a web and rippled as more rain fell, threatening to overflow. All of it made for an eerie sight.
She looked drowned.
“I assumed you'd know. After all, you were there at the palace to witness a brief stretch of it.” She hummed, tilting her head. Reconsidering. “You were but a child though. And sometimes it's easier for a child to forget terrible things.”
“A child or not, my memory remains sharp, and yet I fail to recall these ‘terrible things’ you speak of.”
Isma nodded.
“How fortunate. In my weakest moments, I wish I failed to recall it all as well. But even then I'd probably find myself wandering back to this plaza to be met with the sight of the bug I'd hurt the most.”
Hornet couldn't help but let her surprise show.
“The Vessel?”
“Yes. Little knight.” She smiled a tiny rueful smile at the stone perch beside her and began to draw loops with her claw into the puddle atop it. “The Hollow Knight project… I was a willing participant in it even if I didn't spearhead it myself. And them, that child at the centre of it all… All us knights played our part in preparing them for their inevitable sacrifice.”
“Yes. You played a crucial part in ensuring this kingdom’s longevity. The means through which the Vessel was created were heinous indeed, but I fail to see what's so terrible about your role in it all.”
Isma scoffed.
“I played a crucial part, yes, that I did. A crucial part in conditioning a child into believing they weren't a person."
“A child? A person? What are you going on about? The Hollow Knight is but a vessel, its entire purpose is to lack personhood. How else could this stasis have lasted for generations if it isn't so?”
“I envy your conviction, darling. I do. But if you'd looked into that tiny grub’s eyes the day our King had first brought them to us… I like to imagine you'd reconsider.”
Yes, Hornet had seen those eyes herself. And those of other ghosts as well. There was nothing but darkness inside.
“Isma… while I respect your empathy, I must point out you'd attribute a personality to a candlestick.”
Her comment seemed to startle Isma out of her reverie. She looked up from her doodling, and her sharp gaze met Hornet’s head on.
“How very blunt,” she said, almost spitting the ‘t’. “I like that. In a world of liars like myself, bluntness is an admirable trait. It does pain me though, that you'd compare them to an object.”
“How could I not. It is a Vessel. It was created and trained to fulfil one function and one function alone. This memorial branding it all as some great sacrifice is nothing but an unnecessary reminder the plague has been dealt with.”
“Do you find my guilt unnecessary as well, then?” There was a tinge of disappointment in her voice, but Hornet wasn't going to back down.
“Of course I do, Isma,” she tried to say gently, but it just came out impatient. “I do care about you. And it pains me to see you torture yourself over something as pointless as this.”
“Pointless. How apt a word,” Isma mused with false humour. “Speaking of pointless, how come you've made a habit of stalking me when I come here to pay my respects? Have you considered visiting them of your own volition?”
Hornet scoffed.
“Why in the world would I do that?”
“To mourn them, of course.” She tilted her head like a curious spiderling. “Have you ever done that?”
“Why–”
“Don't worry. I'm not expecting an answer. I know you haven't.”
“Of course I have not!” Hornet spat, finally getting her wits about her. The words came out louder and fiercer than she'd intended. “Why would I? There's nothing to mourn here. A statue of a shell of a bug with nothing inside. What reason could I possibly have to mourn it?!”
“They are your sibling,” Isma said back in a sharp whisper, meeting Hornet’s anger with calm. “I believe that's plenty reason if you need one.”
Hornet shook her mask violently.
“No. Any siblings I might have had died pitiful deaths the day our poor excuse for a father threw them into the Abyss.” She pointed up at the statue’s mask. “That birth-cursed mockery of one that managed to crawl out is no kin of mine, let alone someone I could grieve for.”
She stopped abruptly, breathing heavily. Isma’s eyes still bore into her soul like spikes. Hornet had to fight the urge to look away. In the end, it was Isma who looked away and went back to doodling on a puddle.
But nothing could have prepared Hornet for what she said next.
“I know you hate them, darling.”
Hornet blinked once. Then twice. As if she could blink away what she'd just heard.
“...what did you just say?”
“I understand why too, so I could never blame you for it,” Isma continued, unbothered by Hornet’s shock. “I remember you, a tiny red thing, pitter pattering behind your sibling, fully aware you'd lose your mother soon, and unwilling to accept they'd go along with her too.”
“Isma, listen–”
“I remember you barging into their room, demanding they hug you, and afterwards crying in my arms because they hadn't done it of their own volition. And I remember you waving your needle around, following their katas as they trained, pretending they were teaching you. Even if they never could quite pick you up when you fell as they hadn't been instructed to.”
“I was a foolish child–”
“Yes, you were a child, Hornet. But no more foolish than the rest of us. Don't deny the hate within yourself. It's just as much a part of you as the love that spawned it. Believing anything else would do a disservice to them and to yourself.”
Through sheer force of will, Hornet managed to keep her breathing steady and her hands from shaking even as something big and clawed took hold of her insides and squeezed.
“You speak of this as if you understand what it is to resent them,” she managed to hiss out through gritted mandibles..
That, at last, shut Isma up. Hornet allowed herself a sigh of relief. It would do. She didn't expect to receive a response, let alone an affirmative one, but that hardly mattered. The inquiry was a desperate attempt at derailing the conversation, one she wasn't proud of. But at that moment, there’d been nothing she’d wanted more than to redirect the painfully bright spotlight of judgement from herself back onto Isma.
How terribly selfish, princess.
Only when she'd stopped expecting Isma to speak and was fully willing to just dash away, she finally got an answer.
“I wish I could say I don't.”
Hornet blinked, shocked.
“What?” she asked lamely. “You?”
“Yes. I resent them. It's neither fair nor kind, but I do.” She scrubbed at her eyes. Hornet wondered if she was close to tears and regretted her remark immediately. “I tried to get through to them, you know. Locate that little bug hiding within. Like the fool you think you were, I spent years prodding at their facade sometimes through direct confrontation and sometimes through schemes and tricks that'd put darling Emilitia to shame. I'd try to surprise them into dropping their facade. Other times I'd sit them down in darkness where His gaze couldn't reach, explain everything, explain what fate would befall them if they were truly just pretending. I'd even offer them options. All they had to do was nod if they wished it all to stop and I'd turn the world upside down to make that happen. I started doing this when they were but a grub and continued up until the time of their sealing.”
She was talking fast, forgetting to breathe in between sentences. It felt like a dam had started to leak and would give entirely after the few weathered stones still holding it up broke off.
“And nothing. I felt in my heart there was a person in there, and I couldn't get them to show even a fraction of themselves. If they'd truly been just pretending… then the pain I've caused them through my prodding must have been excruciating.”
She laughed then. Sudden and loud and unsettling, startling a nearby guard out of her slumber. Hornet barely stopped herself from jumping.
“But why, why did I need a sign,” she moaned, almost pained, and dropped her mask into her hands. “Why was I looking for an excuse to betray my kingdom, when, person or not, the mere fact they were being groomed into a living sacrifice should have been enough for me to remove them immediately.”
She shook her mask in frustration and looked up again. If Hornet hadn't been sure before, she could never have mistaken the acidic green tears in her eyes now.
“And still, to this day, I resent them for never giving me a sign. As if it's the responsibility of an abused child to know how to cry for help.”
She smirked something ugly then. Nothing about that expression fit her kindly features. Hornet debated shaking her by the shoulders, shaking thoughts like these out of her until she smiled again. Then Isma continued.
“There's such terrible ugliness inside us, Hornet, even if yours pales in comparison to mine. It's a writhing swarm within. Stinging. Infectious. A plague. Something we can't be rid of but we mustn't deny.”
She looked over to Hornet, beyond her. Her face softened. The smirk relaxed into half a smile. Hornet followed her line of sight and found her gazing lovingly at a snoozing Ogrim. He was leaning onto the wall beside the entrance to the waterways, clearly waiting for Isma to settle her affairs.
“I dare dream sometimes that there's bugs in this kingdom free of such ugliness though.”
Finally, exhausted, she fell silent. The torrent calmed, quelled by Ogrim’s reassuring presence, even if distant at the moment. Hornet debated bringing him here. He'd be able to offer Isma better comfort than Hornet ever could. She didn't go though, feeling like leaving now might pop this fragile bubble of trust they'd inadvertently built between themselves and make Isma return to her usual jolly self no matter how fake it may be. So, ignoring the puddles and the paintings Isma had made of them, she sat down beside the knight, in the shadow of the memorial. That seemed to surprise Isma as she gave a fragile little smile.
“Isma… I could never guess what goes on in your mind. In spite of your open nature, you remain more of a mystery to me than a distant kingdom. But I will dare assume, your dark mood today isn't something that came out of thin air,” she inquired as carefully as she could. The gentle words felt odd in her mouth, getting stuck on her fangs like fragile string.
“What's going on, my friend?”
Isma sighed. The air seemed to grow thick with all the weariness she exhaled.
“You’re right, of course. So very right. My guilt had been weighing down on my mind for some time now. I haven't had anyone to talk it through with since Ze’mer had left us. It's why originally, before my thoughts spiralled into unwanted places, I’d come here to… say my good-byes. Get some closure before I leave. I don't know when I'll next have the chance to visit them again. If ever.”
Hornet tiled her mask, part confused, part alarmed.
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing important. Merely… an inevitability turned into something a little bit more useful if all goes as I expect it too. You see, my darling?”
“No, I don't see,” Hornet replied, dryly.
Isma hummed. Nodded to herself.
“Good. It’s of little importance anyway.”
Hornet shook her head and took hold of Isma's shoulders, hissing into her face:
“If this is some form of self-flagellation you're planning, then I beg you reconsider. For Ogrim’s sake, if not for mine or your own. Does he know, at least?”
“No, of course not. I'd never burden him with that.”
“I understand why you'd keep it from me, but he deserves to understand the full extent of all this.”
Isma sighed again and patted one of Hornet’s hands.
“I don't know if I have the heart. Sometimes, I feel like there's so many horrors I've been keeping from him that this last one couldn't hurt.”
Hornet had never imagined she'd ever feel pity for Isma. Almost impulsively, she wanted to ask whether all these horrors had driven her mad yet and how she'd been able to keep it all a secret for so long.
She refrained though. She felt as if this once-indomitable pillar of empathy might crumple beneath her hold if she squeezed too hard. The thought hurt more than Hornet cared to admit. Another of the old pillars holding up her world crumbling with time.
“Let us not speak of the future yet,” Isma said. She removed Hornet’s hands from her shoulders to instead hold them in her own. “I'd rather dwell on the past a little while longer, if you'd allow. Though painful, it brings the kind of peace uncertainty never could.”
“After all this, I'm unsure if it’s actually peace of mind you're after,” Hornet couldn't help but comment. She couldn't bring herself to regret it though as it made Isma smile.
“Now, who's the perceptive one of the two of us.”
She hesitated, unsure like a young bug again in spite of her age.
“Will you let me hold you, child?”
Hornet didn't recoil at the question as much as she might have expected.
“I haven't been a child in two generations, Isma.”
“Oh, well then. Forgive silly old me. I must've grown sentimental with age.”
“You've always been sentimental.”
Isma giggled like a young bug. The sound carried so much nostalgia it squeezed Hornet’s heart in a fist.
“So true, my darling. So true.”
Hornet just watched her for a few minutes. Six eyes, opalescent black. She'd never noticed it before, but beneath Isma’s eyes, the chitin had permanently wrinkled. She'd spent most of her life smiling. Hornet doubted she'd ever be able to guess whether it was all genuine or if she'd just been playing pretend like her ‘little knight’.
Still, in spite of herself, she was reminded of her mother, smiling down at her. Wouldn't it be nice to feel like a child again? Just this once and just for a moment?
She leaned into Isma’s side tentatively and felt two arms come around her. Gentle and comforting like they had always been. She didn't hug Isma back, but she did allow herself to sag a little against her.
Rain continued to fall and lumafly lamps dimmed as the time for rest neared. The bugs still present on the plaza grew sparser by the minute as did the number of guards buzzing around. In the end, Hornet and Isma were the only ones left in sight.
“If I–” Hornet began, emboldened by their solitude. She couldn't continue though, her throat a knot of barbed spiderweb. Isma squeezed her shoulder.
“Tell me.”
After a moment's silence, Hornet tried again.
“If I tried to grieve… what would it even be for? I never knew them. The sparse memories I have of them are all moments I'd orchestrated myself to mean something. I can't even be sure that things would be different if they’d not gone through with the sacrifice. There’s nothing. No one. No nostalgia, no potential. Just…”
“...nothing.”
She took a steadying breath before continuing.
“How am I supposed to grieve if I can't even be sure I'd lost something in the first place?”
She fell silent. Isma wasn't saying anything, and Hornet felt silly about her questions. She ducked her head and closed her eyes to try and squeeze away the embarrassment her momentary vulnerability brought.
Then…
“I do understand, darling.”
Hornet looked up again.
“...you do?”
“Of course.” She sighed and turned her gaze up at the statue that towered above the two of them. Silent and stoic and utterly without personality, just like the vessel it depicted.
“We did lose someone, you know. Even before the sealing. Either to the Abyss before they'd even hatched or to the conditioning they were subjected to at the Palace. Or both, maybe. A double annihilation of a person in that case.” She grimaced. Another expression that didn't fit her face at all. Hornet squeezed her hand subtly.
“All we have now is silly dreams of who they might have been. And it's only through their continued sacrifice we are allowed to indulge in those. The least we can do in return is grieve for the person we never got the chance to meet.”
Hornet conceded, nodding hesitantly. Isma gave her a gentle smile.
“I understand how difficult it is for you. But I'm sure deep down you know you need to grieve, not even for their sake but for your own.” She giggled. “Why else would you be stalking me every time I visit their memorial?”
Hornet didn't deign to answer that.
Thankfully, Isma fell silent after that. Lost in thought, staring up at the memorial. Hornet followed Isma’s gaze up to the Hollow Knight’s two sunken eyes, rain spilling over in rivers. If she dared to stretch her imagination, they might have looked like tears.
“Do you think they're crying up there, in the Temple too?” she asked suddenly, surprising herself with the question. It occurred to her she'd wondered about that many times before, she'd just been loath to admit it.
Isma let out a shaky breath.
“I… I hope for their sake… they truly aren't capable of feeling anything that could make them cry.” Her breath hitched. “If they are… if– if I've missed all the signs… then I ought to be stoned to death where I sit.”
“Don't talk like that.”
“I know, forgive me, darling. Forgive me.”
Hornet heard Isma start to sob silently. She didn't dare look at her face, just put her arm around her waist and held her back.
“Oh, by the Wyrm, forgive me.”
Hornet could feel the minuscule burn of acidic tears falling onto her mask, but she made no comment of those.
“I hope that whenever the stasis may end, it's within my lifetime,” Isma said through her tears, grim finality in her voice. “If I've abandoned them to an eternity of suffering, I want to know for certain.”
Hornet couldn't have thought of a response to that if she'd tried. But she didn't need to say anything in the end because right then, Ogrim must have woken up and was running towards them, confusion and concern written all over his face.
Hornet carefully extricated herself from Isma to give Ogrim more space as he knelt before the other knight and took hold of her hands.
“Isma, love…” he asked frantically yet still as gently as he knew how. “Please, tell me what's wrong.”
And, wiping away her tears, Isma just smiled and said:
“Nothing much, darling. It's just the rain getting me down, is all.”
Hornet took that as her cue to leave. She was gone in a flash of thread and needle before either of the knights could protest.
Some things don't change , she mused. We’re stuck in a stasis, after all.
But at least she'd be back to visit her sibling’s memorial. Of her own volition this time. That had to count for something…
Right?
~ •°• ~