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Lace’s head felt like lead.
Ice-cold tile bled into her hands. Their cracks were not silk; already proof that what had just transpired, that horrific scene, had been a reality after all.
As she came to, she sat up and saw Hornet staring at her from some feet away.
Hah! So she was here too! Of course, of course that spider remains even now!
And yet, she could not draw on her envious rage anymore. Why…?
And then it came back to her in vivid, unwelcome flashes. Lace remembered hurried exchanges between Hornet and… her mother; the words she could not make out through her coma, but there was silk—So much silk.
It clicked, then. She wished it hadn’t. The incredulity of it made weak chuckles escape from her.
“No..” She whispered to nobody in particular, her voice broken, cracking with her despairing realisation and halfhearted, involuntary laughter. “No, no… Why?…”
As she sobbed on the floor, she heard the shuffling of Hornet shifting position; still silent, though, as expected. As always, she only watched her grief unfold.
And it did unfold.
Lace thought of her mother, truly, for the first time in a while. She had not been the best of carer’s. She disgusted Lace with her smothering and the way she would hold her up like a ruler’s idol; a prize. Lace was no bug’s prize, and certainly no similar slave to her own mother.
But that was how it was, for where Phantom faced exile, she faced a god’s first-hand attention. Something worse than divine wrath, she figured then. An unyielding interest in one’s body.
Her mother’s spindly claws pressed here and there, chipping away at her psyche little by little; like plucking the petals off a bloom until its core remained exposed and vulnerable—That was how it felt. And for the longest time, Lace was suffocated by such attention.
To think that, before Hornet, she had envied her sister’s ability to mold and change herself, on her own terms. Fancy that! Lace would muse. A life where you could pull your own strings! To be your own puppeteer… To grow, and live!
Oh, Phantom… She would always retort that Lace at least had some semblance of love from their mother. This always resulted in the inevitable argument; where Lace would protest that it wasn’t love in any shape or form, but rather artificial, detached interest.
But she would never truly get through to Phantom, for she was too stricken with age and duty. Lace had wished for the day where they could both escape together, beyond this mortal plane, by ascending to the heavens above in secret.
Alas, the day never came. Phantom was cut down.
Lace wept into her hands, muffling her cries.
And now her mother, who’d fashioned Lace into a child so cruel and crude, was gone forever; essence scattered to the winds. Absorbed by the relentless black seas below them.
How is this a fair end? Our kingdom is finally free, but I cannot enjoy it with you.
‘You’… Was it Phantom or her mother she was addressing? It was unclear. Through the blurring tears and wracks of disdain and misery it was still unclear.
She jolted when a touch found her shoulder.
Hornet was looking into her eyes. Her gaze was almost tender, grounding Lace in her storm of wild sadness.
“You cry, Child,” She said, voice low and soft. “But a necessary action it was. Your mother—“
Lace slapped her hand away. “Don’t you dare address me as a child!”
Hornet went rigid, recoiling but mot moving away.
“You know not of my age! You know not of what I have seen nor experienced in my years of being a simple ‘child’!” Lace cried. “Now, they’re all gone and dead! And all that remains for me here is you, spider! A weaver!” She sized Hornet up, now wanting to truly understand something. “Was it out of gloating? Did you think dredging me up from the darkness would brand you a noble hero?!”
Hornet chose this moment to push back. “It was your mother’s wish, child. I honor the wishes of the fallen, and had no intention at the time to rescue you.”
She paused for a moment, glancing at the lake of void beside and all around them. It was unfairly calm now; waters steady and still. “However, you must know that I do not regret the decision. In equal part to quell your mother’s dying rage, I refused to see you claimed by such darkness.”
Lace barked another weak laugh. Here they sat, facing one another after Hornet had just admitted to voluntarily saving her. How fruitless and pathetic this scene was…
“Platitudes? From you, spider? Don’t be gross.” Lace remembered that she had said the same thing a while back; right before Hornet went off to face her mother for the first time.
“Lace.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Hornet answered. “I am merely shifting habits. I will endeavour to call you by your name.. If you will call me by mine.”
“Oh.” Lace could not deny that hearing her name spoken by her for the first time made her feel something strange and soft.
“You were not wrong before.” Hornet met her eyes. “I do not truly know you. But, since you are here now, I wish to understand it better.”
Lace just watched her a moment longer, unsure of how to respond to such kindness. Her earlier rage still lingered, but it was quickly being overrun by the settling weight of her grief.
“Why then,” she demanded, “why not cut me down right now? My place in this world has been uprooted and discarded. I have nothing.”
“You speak untruth,” Hornet said firmly, placing her hand again on her shoulder. “It might have been your mother’s wish to see you escape, but it is mine to see you live.”
“Hornet—“
“In addition,” Hornet added. “If you choose to stay with me, you will have far from nothing.”
Stay with her? Lace thought wistfully, hopefully.
“Do you mean that?” She asked, voice shaky and demanding.
Hornet hesitated. She no doubt saw before her in this moment nothing but a silken husk of a bug. A pathetic, sorry excuse for a lifeform. Lace saw it possible for her to flee now, to leave her in this ditch to die.
Instead, Hornet answered in her usual, insufferable truncation, “I do.”
And before Lace could protest any further, Hornet stood and held out her hand.
Lace just stared at it. Outstretched, entreating, here lay a beacon of escape, of hope..
Of growth, Lace thought happily.
She remembered all that she’d wished for over the endless years, of differentiation and distinction. Of love and true affection. She remembered the face of her dear sister; weathered as she toiled away as a discarded slave. Lace couldn’t resolve their latest argument, but she would cure them both.
Finally, she saw her mother’s face; an ink-black slate of pure divinity and rich beauty. Despite all her ills and shortcomings, she had chosen to die for her offspring. Now, if they were truly lost from this world and only Lace remained, she would progress. She would fulfill her longtime dream of aging, of adventuring, of belonging.
She would be… Her own master. Here, in a kingdom cured of its ailment forever. She would live on, not by herself, but with company; Hornet’s company.
It sounded so nice she was compelled to cry again.
Her own hand reached out. A bar of sunlight hit her skin and lit it aglow.
Lace—wielder of her own strings, vessel to no one, friend of a weaver.
She took Hornet’s hand, and was helped up and off the dirty floor.
Forever.
.
.
There is a strange irony in finding companionship in a bug you’d thought was your worst enemy.
I have been lost for so long; an empty shell drifting on a plain sea, with plain seafoam and plain, cloudless, sunless skies. Oh, dear sister… The poet you had made me!
Hornet let me into her home in a settlement of bronze bells—Yes, bells! I could not fathom such a place either.
…
I wish I could have told you that day how much you were my idol. How much I loved you. But see it now, sister… I’m on the path of growth! I am no longer mother’s plaything… I have a house and am still fashioned with my lethal pin. I keep yours on the shelf by my head now, and your discarded mask.
I hope you find peace up in the heavens, dear sister. And.. Send me a sign. Tell me what it's like up there. I promise I will, this time, listen to everything you have to say.
I miss you still, and always.
With love, Lace.
“Lace!”
Lace rolled her eyes, setting down her pen. “Coming!”
.
.