The Knight spills across the floor as much as the Hollow Kni--no, no, not that name--as much as their Sibling's thoughts had spilled into their head. Heedless of the Little Weavers skittering up the walls and out of sight, they don't bother getting up; it would be practical, but their Shade Wings are hooked into the soft floor and fling bodily to their Sibling's side.
They flinch at the Knight's paws pressing against their mask. Their arm twitches, curling in like a dead thing.
The Knight draws back, stands, pats them further. Frantic assurances bounce through the Void, wordless, formless, fear and protectiveness and horror.
That likely isn't helping.
They don't know what to do. There's so much to sort through. There's so little they want to.
There is their tall Sibling under their touch, lying still as a corpse on the floor, only the fact their own thoughts have something to rebound from letting them know they still live.
Their claws mindlessly trace along the edges of one side of their mask. Their own itches. The glyphs are there too. They have them. There's a mad urge to rip both their faces open, scour them, scour it of him who their Sibling is loyal to, who their Sibling--loves.
Loves. Loves. That is what it is. Father, Pale King, what He did--what he did. They did it for him. It, all of it, they knew this, but now the Knight knows, knows more than they realize they do, memories of Pale shattering across their mind.
Loyalty. Love. Ownership. The reason for everything. The reason the Hollow Knight existed. The reason. The reasons--
The shadows of their Wings are curling around their Sibling. The rest of their family is boiling behind their mask, restrained, enraged.
They need to leave.
They need to leave.
The Knight tips forward.
They need to leave.
They tap their masks together, wrapping their arms around their face. They love you, Sibling. They'll come back, Sibling. They are no King. They're the Knight, their sibling. That's the only thing required.
They need to LEAVE.
When the Lord of Shades sweeps from Deepnest back to the City, their mask is hidden within, still whole.
The Knight finds their way to Lemm's building.
Dully staring at the mess, they wonder if he's been robbed.
No. This is deliberate. The door is locked and a sign is up.
They haven't the emotion to muster to be terribly upset. To be anything, gaze locked on the sign, and not letting their Wings catch on anything as they wade through the mess. Perhaps he's moving to a better place for a shop. There's nothing stopping him from doing so.
...The key is still behind it.
Myla's waiting for them. Everyone in Dirtmouth is. How long have they been gone? Hours. Lifetimes.
Their body doesn't feel their own as they take it and let themselves in.
The curtains are still there. The Knight nearly reaches them before they turn, shame that isn't their own twisting in their chest, followed by loathing that entirely is.
When they next give attention to their surroundings, they're tucked beneath Lemm's counter.
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syntheid
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Date: 2023-06-06 11:02 am (UTC)They flinch at the Knight's paws pressing against their mask. Their arm twitches, curling in like a dead thing.
The Knight draws back, stands, pats them further. Frantic assurances bounce through the Void, wordless, formless, fear and protectiveness and horror.
That likely isn't helping.
They don't know what to do. There's so much to sort through. There's so little they want to.
There is their tall Sibling under their touch, lying still as a corpse on the floor, only the fact their own thoughts have something to rebound from letting them know they still live.
Their claws mindlessly trace along the edges of one side of their mask. Their own itches. The glyphs are there too. They have them. There's a mad urge to rip both their faces open, scour them, scour it of him who their Sibling is loyal to, who their Sibling--loves.
Loves. Loves. That is what it is. Father, Pale King, what He did--what he did. They did it for him. It, all of it, they knew this, but now the Knight knows, knows more than they realize they do, memories of Pale shattering across their mind.
Loyalty. Love. Ownership. The reason for everything. The reason the Hollow Knight existed. The reason. The reasons--
The shadows of their Wings are curling around their Sibling. The rest of their family is boiling behind their mask, restrained, enraged.
They need to leave.
They need to leave.
The Knight tips forward.
They need to leave.
They tap their masks together, wrapping their arms around their face. They love you, Sibling. They'll come back, Sibling. They are no King. They're the Knight, their sibling. That's the only thing required.
They need to LEAVE.
When the Lord of Shades sweeps from Deepnest back to the City, their mask is hidden within, still whole.
The Knight finds their way to Lemm's building.
Dully staring at the mess, they wonder if he's been robbed.
No. This is deliberate. The door is locked and a sign is up.
They haven't the emotion to muster to be terribly upset. To be anything, gaze locked on the sign, and not letting their Wings catch on anything as they wade through the mess. Perhaps he's moving to a better place for a shop. There's nothing stopping him from doing so.
...The key is still behind it.
Myla's waiting for them. Everyone in Dirtmouth is. How long have they been gone? Hours. Lifetimes.
Their body doesn't feel their own as they take it and let themselves in.
The curtains are still there. The Knight nearly reaches them before they turn, shame that isn't their own twisting in their chest, followed by loathing that entirely is.
When they next give attention to their surroundings, they're tucked beneath Lemm's counter.