Chapter Text
"You’ve been in there a long time.”
These words have been said over and over for days– weeks– months– years. Each morning, each evening, Mantis speaks them to the unresponsive golden cocoon. It sits at the center of her garden and is treated with more love than any of her plants. Tonight, she kneels next to it as she runs a comb through her hair.
“Not much has happened,” She continues, “It’s hard to remember what I haven’t told you now. It still feels lonelier without you.”
Various flowers are growing in the space surrounding the cocoon. Daffodils, zinnias, roses, star lilies, whatever Mantis could get her hands on and keep alive. She is grateful that despite her damage, she continues to be able to care for the space. For all she knows, she and her plants may be the only things alive in the garden. The gentle pulse of light from within the cocoon, though dim, gives her hope.
There is privacy within Adam’s cocoon. She could treat him like an insect, shine a light within to see the shadow of his healing, but she won’t. It’s his own little, cramped world there and she cannot bring herself to invade. Even if it may bring her peace of mind, she assures herself that he will emerge once he is ready. Will he remember her? She tries so hard each day to remember him only for the possibility of the opposite to still exist.
“Peter visited today,” She tells the cocoon, “He thinks you’re gone. I don’t agree with him.”
She gently places the comb to the side and adjusts herself. She prefers to face him while she speaks. Her fingers trace the soft wood-like texture of the cocoon as she continues on.
“It’s hard for him to accept things like that, you know. You must be really worrying him,” As she pauses, she puts on a big smile, a performance just in case he can still see her, “But I know you’re still there, Adam. You’ll be out in no time at all.”
“He did try to offer… a comparison, I think. In the way that he does.”
“When I was- I was a real little kid, right? Back in Missouri,” He started to say to her that afternoon, “Bear with me here, it’s real fuzzy. ‘Had to have been, what? Maybe five? But it was big. Big enough that I have to tell you now.”
Peter paced around her kitchen as he spoke. She watched from the dining table, antennae occasionally flicking in his direction.
“Hated that summer. All these bugs, creepy things– of course, not you, of course, you’re beautiful– came crawling out the ground and swarming.”
The light blue skies of the Earth darkened by thousands upon thousands of cicadas. Only for the earliest parts of summer, no longer than two months. Constant humming, day and night. Mantis propped her chin on her hand as she listened to him go on.
“I figured out that that swarm, it’s a regular thing, right? Happens every dozen years or so. Missouri has it the worst. Right in the center of a dozen of ‘em.”
He was certainly trying to get at something. Stubborn as he is, he does eventually lay it out straightforwardly.
“Look. I’m only saying… Adam, he may… not come around for a while. If he is alive in that thing,” He said, “You might as well be a different person if he comes out. He could be different. He will be different.”
It wasn’t all he said, but it was what lingers on Mantis’ mind now.
“I’m not sure if he’s right,” She says to the cocoon, “I’m sure I’m the same. You’ll look at me the same.”
She is slow to stand, bracing herself against the stone walls of her garden.
“You’ll be back soon, won’t you, Adam?”
Her antennae flicker towards the cocoon in an attempt to sense something, anything. Nothing. She pushes down the sting of disappointment. Through the glass ceiling of the garden, the night sky shines brightly in deep blues and purples. The remnants of a distant supernova. Looking up before she exits the garden, she wonders if the falling stardust could coat her home like snow.
It’d block out the stars, then she will only have the light of Adam’s cocoon. It still pulses as she shuts the door to her garden.
Mantis lets out an uneasy breath. Her house feels so empty lately. She wants Adam to step back into her life and brighten the dull halls with his presence. She keeps walking despite her wants. The world grows fuzzy around her. Her antennae flick before she places a hand to the wall. A symptom of grief, she reasons. Episodes like this, or worse when warmth washes her vision, have happened only since Adam went into his cocoon. Her heart races.
Rest will ease her ailing mind. It usually does. Her movements grow more sluggish but she manages to bring herself to bed. She keeps the lights off, the room only dimly lit by the stars shining through the thin curtains.
The feeling of static begins before she pulls herself into the empty bed, burying herself in the pillows and blankets. She holds tightly onto a soft yellow quilt, keeping it close to her head. With her eyes closed tight, she lowers her antennae in an attempt to not pick up any stray signals. Minimize the world. The bed feels so large. Mantis feels so alone. She curls up tighter.
When the first lightning pain of a migraine hits, it’s dimmer than usual. She doesn’t get her hopes up that it will stay light. She remains curled up, hiding from light, letting the golden softness soothe her through it. A steady pulsing heartbeat lulls her closer to sleep, further from pain, waiting for her in her dreams.