As she is, she has never needed those. Friends. They are a useless thing, really. A weakness. She knows this. Many times in life and in death, she has used the friends of her enemies as ways to hurt them. She has seen people fall to their knees upon finding the dismembered corpses of the ones they loved, left for them on display by her cruel hands. She has seen the pain sweep through them, knowing that they could not protect the ones they love, that they have failed.

She relishes it.

And just as she does, she knows that there are others like her, who would be in pure ecstasy were they able to make her feel such complete and utter helplessness.

As though they could.

Emeni is a princess. She has always had power, and she will always have power.

She will see to it that she is never removed from her construct again. Rathan will see to it, too. He recognizes how good of an ally Emeni is.

And she recognizes him likewise.

It is not friendship.

If their enemies caught Rathan this second and tore his bones apart, leaving him scattered across a battlefield, Emeni would not bat an eye. She would massacre the culprits of course, but their days would have been numbered regardless.

She is confident in this, in her strength, in her prowess on the field of battle, and in her ruthlessness.

And when she comes to the Butcher Block and does not find Rathan present, she is not concerned with his absence, but annoyed by it. She has gathered more teeth from the creatures of the Maw and she wishes to be made even more fearsome than she already is.

And yet the stitchmaster is missing. The other constructs offer shrugs and rumors that contradict each other as to where he might be found. They are lucky that they are on the same side, for she is tempted to add a few of their names to her list.

Instead, she heads into the Seat of the Primus.

Rathan aids the Maw Walker from time to time, going out on missions the mortal deems him well suited for. If he is gone, it must be because he is doing something on their behalf.

Some fool suggests she ask one of the other stitchmasters to assist her with whatever she needs, if it is urgent. They suggest that her construct may need repairs—a foolish thing, as she made sure long ago that the skin used to make her construct be the most durable in all reality.

She has worked eons to make herself into something of pure perfection and the idea of just any wretch with a bit of knowledge in fleshcrafting can perform even the most basic of maintenance on her is laughable.

If not a little insulting.

Emeni decides that if she finds that fool on the battlefield, they may suffer some friendly fire, depending on her mood at the time.

No, she will not have anyone other than Rathan assist her with her upgrades.

It is irritating, but she accepts that she will have to wait.

The ongoing missions are easily tracked, and Emeni settles for evaluating the teeth she has obtained for any signs of imperfections to help the time pass more quickly. Two dozen mortals each bringing her the most fearsome teeth they can find has made for a pretty pile to scrutinize, and Emeni takes pleasure in testing them on a haunch of flesh she has gathered from earlier in the day.

This would go faster with Rathan helping, but she accepts that she must make allowances for his absences from time to time. There is a war going on, after all.

Emeni has gone through her teeth pile thrice when she finally tires of it. Bundling her spare parts into a satchel, she stomps her way back to the Butcher Block.

Rathan is not there.

Again, the other constructs are useless.

Again, she goes to the mission table.

Again, the fools loitering around do not know where Rathan is.

The one thing they do know is that he should have come back by now. One suggests that the mission was a failure, though he stops short when Emeni gives him a withering look.

Rathan is not some incompetent fool. He would not fail in his task, whatever it may be.

Emeni takes in the details of the mission and then takes her leave, ignoring the miserable creatures who try to talk to her. She doesn’t need their words.

She needs her new teeth.

Her stitchmaster was sent off on a mission in-realm, at least, and she storms down the main roads to where she should find him. He will not tarry from a direct path back to the Seat of the Primus. He is smart enough not to waste time like that.

The closer she gets to her destination, the more agitated Emeni becomes.

He should have been back before she left, so each step she takes where he does not come into view is a sign that he has gotten himself into some type of trouble.

She replays the mission’s details in her head, reviewing the objectives and the enemies likely to be encountered. None of it is something that should cause such a skilled soul as Rathan’s to be in any legitimate danger.

By the Primus, his task was boring at best.

And yet he is missing.

Emeni picks up her pace.

The few creatures that dare look her way—ones she would usually gladly stop and make suffer for their arrogance—she instead ignores. She does not want to get distracted and end up missing the bag of bones as he heads back.

Agitation builds up inside of her with each step, a tiny voice in the back of her mind whispering that maybe something did happen to him. Maybe he was dismembered and strewn across a battlefield. Maybe she will have to find a new stitchmaster to tend to her perfect form.

Just as she feels her anger boiling up to a level she has never known, a faint laugh sounds in the distance and instantly it is as though someone smothered the wicked fire inside of her.

Rathan turns a bend in the road, walking beside some others, looking a little worse for the wear, but alright overall.

Her anger comes back. This time, there is no amorphous what-if enemy to taunt her with the possibilities. This time, the source of her rage has a face, and it is Rathan’s.

She stomps up to him, satisfied with the way the smiles slip off most of the faces of those around him. However, even as she readies to let into him for his tardiness, he pulls out an entire mandible, covered in wicked looking teeth. “Emeni!” he calls to her, as though he needs to, and hobbles forward—his leg seems to be damaged just enough to cause discomfort, though he ignores it as he presents Emeni with the mandible. “I know you were talking about adding a row of teeth to your construct, but look at this! Fearsome, no?”

Emeni’s expression is unreadable as she stares at the slimy part presented to her. Rather than answer his question, she tosses her bag of teeth at him. “I already took care of that.”

She is tempted to point out that she would already be sporting them, too, if not for his absence.

Rathan, however, seems oblivious, instead opening the bag and inspecting a few of the newly acquired accessories. He weighs a few in hand and then nods. “Alright. I can fix you up as soon as we get back.”

“I have things to do,” Emeni snaps, turning toward the countryside. She needs to kill something. She leaves her teeth with him; he will need to prepare them anyway.

When she finally makes it back to the Butcher Block, she finds Rathan in his usual spot, cleaning a few meaty pieces of something that he intends to use later. He offers her only a quick glance as she approaches and waits for her to be close enough that he need not raise his voice before speaking. “I apologize for my tardiness, it just seemed too good an opportunity to harvest some new parts.”

Emeni stands beside him sullenly.

He continues, moving to set aside his current project and get out the teeth she has been waiting for. “I’m sorry if—”

“I was not concerned.”

“I was going to say if you had any plans that I held up,” Rathan says.

Emeni lets out a displeased grunt, focusing on her new parts that he is laying out carefully.

She does not have friends. She does not need the weakness that comes with them.

Rathan turns to her and motions for her to step closer. “Let me get a look at you. I want to make sure my measurements aren’t off…”

But if she had to have a single friend, a single weakness…

If she had to have one, she could think of no one better than the bag of bones before her.

Not that she’ll ever say such a foolish thing.

Rathan is far too sentimental, and she doesn’t need him getting skewered on something unpleasant just because he’s distracted with such ridiculous feelings.

No, better to keep him on his toes.