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A tear in the membrane, allows the voices in.
Cold breeze swept through the well kept greenery of the Queen’s Gardens. During the great plague, this earthly paradise was once seen as a living threat due to the Traitor Lord’s presence and his tribe, made of those known to support his foolish cause. Not many outsiders dared to venture further on this territory, not even the bravest. For its beauty and relevance, it’s hard to believe such place was forcibly taken by hostile creatures. That was until a small ghost, born of God and Void, mindlessly stood up to their role and slaughtered the mad Lord who lost his mind to the infection and with it, the useless hope of being able to control it. Since then, only a few native bugs remained, making the place suitable for visitors. However, no one knew that beyond the thick layer of flora, a tomb was built and raised on ashes, hiding beneath the surface a pale being, now silent in both voice and strength. Thousands of cycles have passed since then.
The gentle wind might feel like a caress to one’s carapace, the floral scent caused by the pollen as well for the bright colors might fill with joy and serenity the senses of whoever decided to step in this wilderness. But for Hornet, this place resembles nothing but memories of those she lost. Her surroundings kept changing between the seasons as she watched generations of bugs and offspring grow. In those years, she had learned how to adapt to it, and regretfully accepted she’d be the only one who would stay the same. What a curse, she thought, one of a kind. Solely reserved to the blasphemy of her birth.
Standing on an iron platform, Hornet plays her Needolin. Holding tight to her needle, the silk thread vibrates to her claw’s touch, playing the beloved song of her ancestors in the same way she remembers. Her movements are the same, and so is the vibration of her silk string. There is only one different detail.
The notes sound distant, muffled. As if someone was trying to copy the same melody from miles away. Her movements are uncertain, her claws twitching slightly, as if to doubt what she had learnt. The music she once played with such confidence and integrity, now seemed flat and strained. Surely her mind was playing tricks on her and the song sounded perfectly fine, she just couldn’t hear it. Thus, what troubled her most was the fact she wouldn’t be able to notice an enemy approaching.
It was the very first transition she observed in her body. It wasn’t the growth of her limbs, or the sharpness of her eyesight. It’s safer to say that her hearing issue was the only significant change worthy of attention. A small price to pay, she had thought, for living so long without expecting consequences. It happened gradually: the first time she had noticed her friend’s voices being duller than usual, she had just thought that her restful night was unbeneficed, that maybe she got a bad hit during a fight. But then it worsened by the days, followed by a ringing so loud, Hornet could barely hear her own thoughts. It has led the spider to feel lost and with no time to think or even to react. Both Pharloom’s and Hallownest’s technologies and medical fields were not so advanced yet, the solution being no remedy to aging. Therefore, nothing could be done to stop the progressive worsening of her condition.
It filled her with frustration, having her vision of the world dreadfully distorted. For the first time she resigned herself, left defeated by something she couldn’t control. At the start, the thought of getting used to it filled her with hatred, against everything that was unfair. It felt difficult to deal with something without being able to do anything about it. The hunter kept her friends close, treasured their help, and held back the urge to scream whenever everything felt like “too much”. She had to start living her life as if inside of a bubble, with the high risk of running out of oxygen and where each breath could be her last.
Still, Hornet tried to stay positive, for both herself and those who surrounded her. She tried to look at the bright side: she could take advantage from this situation and use her remaining time to learn, refine and improve other skills, as well for her senses. She’d correct the incompetence caused by the lack of her hearing with better, distinct abilities. Having one sense down did not mean taking the others for granted. She would improve her eyesight, learning how to scan an entire new area while searching for threats. During those cycles, she had already noticed her sight getting sharper and her visual range grew: maybe her body was trying to mimic the same capacities inherited by the wavers who used to have six eyes. With her touch, she would be able to sense vibrations through the ground, calculating the distance between her and an eventual opponent. With her olfaction, she would smell a bug’s pheromones to even try predicting their intentions. However, nothing came to her mind whenever she thought about taste. It did not come useful to battle, so she just assumed to leave it like that: it still proved its worth whenever Hornet would eat something rotten, even if she rarely felt the urge to eat or even drink. She would find a way to be faithful to both her beast and weaver’s essence, even in this aggravated state.
Doomed to a lame fate, she was. One day she would not be able to remember any song, any voice, any face. Hornet could not remember her mother’s face now, she would not stand the thought of ever forgetting her lover’s visage. It devastated her, the mere fact of not being able to hear her lover’s kind singing anymore, or at least not as perfect as it used to be. It filled her with gloom and dismay, for also being so hard on herself, she’s supposed to know better. It even got to a point where she pondered on the purpose of her life, now that she won’t be able to meet the expectations of the renamed heroine she’s so well known for. There’s no need to deny it any longer, she would never be the reclaimed hunter she once was, even again. Would her mother be ashamed? To see her moping around and for being so disappointed in her own nature? Feelings were never something that got in the way of Hornet’s missions, she would not hold back for the sake of sparing, unless it benefited a bigger cause. Like this, she could magnify both her hunter’s being and Vespa’s teachings. But who was Hornet, now that she had fulfilled her duty of saviour? Was she really approaching her own demise?
A Mother before the mask, Herrah used to say, to declare the value of such role above others. Hornet was a daughter no longer, her roots uprooted since.
A teardrop fell on her red cloak, leaving a trail behind her pale mask. If it wasn’t for the spot of darker shade, she wouldn’t have noticed. As long as everyone was safe, it did not matter. Before she could spiral in the sea of her own thoughts, Hornet felt two light arms wrap around her shoulders and a light pressure on her back. She would have jumped into a fight already, if she hadn’t recognised who those belonged to. The soothing smell of silk filled her nostrils, her agonising thoughts already fading into nothing. To her conclusion, she would not bear this suffering alone.
Hornet was a lover before the risk. Perhaps Lace made sure she’s reminded of that too.
Hornet could feel her wife’s lips moving against her own shell, she knew that she was whispering sweet nothings to her ear with no expectation of being heard. Still, she spoke regardless, hoping for Hornet to gather at least a small portion of her affection. And she did, forever thankful for her lover’s unconditional efforts. After all this time, they still shared an unwavering fondness for one another. How could Hornet let her go, after all? To find someone who could match her in each single aspect of her existence, was nothing but an impossible task. She would hold her close until Lace decided it was enough. However, that moment seemed to be a long way off, or at least she prayed it was.
Hornet stops playing her needolin as she reaches for her wife’s claws. All of her worries seem to disappear in an instant, making her feel ridiculous for even ruminating on such sad possibilities. A soft smile grows on her lips, taking in the scent of her mate and the grateful feeling of her precious presence as well. There is no need to think about the future and there is no need to dwell on the impossible. Hornet had everything she has ever needed right here. She’d enjoy these moments, one day at a time.
You can do no wrong, In my eyes.
“I love you” Hornet whispers, or at least she hopes she did.