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The little ghost is testing her. Hornet is certain of it.
She finds them asleep on a rusted bench nestled deep within the Queen's Garden. She's hesitant to approach at first; it could be a trap to lure her in, something staged by one of the many maddened creatures wandering Hallownest, or even a lure put in place by the Mantis Traitors. Nothing is impossible these dark days and so Hornet waits, crouches in the shadows of a thorny thicket nearby and watches the little one from a distance.
They look so small up there, perched in the centre of the bench with their claws dangling far above the ground. They're motionless for the most part but every now and then their head twitches, just a small movement as if they're dreaming, as if they're the same as any other bug. It's almost sweet. Dangerously so. For a time Hornet breathes deep of the pollen heavy air and merely watches, letting memories pass across her mind, coming and going like the innumerable lumaflies in the air.
(Her claws hadn't touched the grey stone floor of the tramway when she had hopped up on one of the shiny new benches. She had swung her little feet and watched the shadows dance below her. A simple pleasure. A more innocent time.)
The little ghost's feet begin moving slowly. They swing back and forth like pendulums, brushing the long overgrown grass beneath the bench. Hornet is already halfway between her hiding place and the bench before she realises she's been moving, inching towards those dangling feet like a predator drawn in by the twitching of unsuspecting prey.
Fool. Don't let your guard down.
So she thinks. She keeps walking anyway. There's a heaviness in the air, not unpleasant but comforting, a soft quiet that seeps through her shell everywhere the golden light illuminates her. Her dress rustles as she walks, an elegant susurration from memory.
(Herrah approaching her with open arms. A mother's love on the fringes of her memory. Warmth. Safety.)
(Vespa's feet whispering across a golden floor during training. A queen's dignity held dear in her heart. Pride. Strength.)
The gardens have gone quiet. Peaceful. It feels unnatural. It feels like home.
The little one doesn't react as she reaches the bench, nor as she hops up beside them to sit down. Their head twitches, once, and Hornet reaches for her needle reflexively, frozen in a battle-ready stance. The moment passes and the ghost continues to doze. Hornet softens her pose and sets her weapon down beside her.
“Wake up.”
Her voice sounds too loud, too sudden and she regrets speaking immediately. Beside her, the ghost stirs, their head raising to look towards her, a flicker of life in those empty eyes that she couldn't describe if she tried. They don't speak but she can hear the question anyway.
“Don't make any assumptions. And don't just rest out in the open like that. It's dangerous to let your guard down.”
Another tilt of the head. The silly thing is going to tip off of the bench at this rate, fall right onto their horns. Hornet looks away and clears her throat.
“But if you must rest, I will stand guard. Just this once. Understood?”
The ghost nods and shuffles closer to her, making Hornet freeze again in surprise. She watches in confusion as the ghost gets comfortable again and then leans against her, their head once again dropping to their chest. No questions, no doubts, no suspicion at all.
“Fool,” she whispers, but her tone is fond.
How long has it been since she had felt the weight of another against her shell? How many years since anyone has been close enough to trust her?
(Her mother's fleeting warmth. Her mentor's guidance. Her nurse's care.)
(The dreams of her siblings claws in hers, of playing in the palace halls, of knowing one another without needing to say anything at all.)
The air rings with a sudden click as her own head dips, her head touching her sibling's. She jumps, startled, and looks around sharply in case of attack during a moment of weakness she knows she shouldn't have been lulled into.
There's nothing there. No one but the two of them. No sound but the whisper of their feet through the grass below. Hornet takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly and then forces her body to relax.
“Just this once,” she repeats in a whisper and then leans fully against the smaller creature beside her.
Her sibling might have been testing her, she thinks, as her thoughts begin to slow, just not in the way she had thought. And if this was a test, she thinks she must have passed.
Not that it matters anyway. What matters is the warmth of the moment, spreading gently towards her hardened heart from the outside in.