#melonography

"Please," She hisses through her teeth, "please you cannot go, not yet."

Hornet's throat feels raw from the effort it takes not to scream it, the desperation in her voice still too plain for her comfort. Palm shaking, she wills gentleness into her touch she thought had long ago escaped her as she cards her fingers through The Hollow Knight’s tangled hair. Careful not to snag it on the pale claws she's sewn into her gloves, she notes with rising nausea their void oozing and seamlessly blending into the fabric. She closes her eyes tightly and attempts to bury the sob building in her chest, fighting to compose herself.

Weakness won’t do in the face of these injuries, as horrified as she is.

The figure on the floor, so curled in on itself, shudders and moves. Turning their head from where it had laid motionlessly since their dreams had gone blessedly dark, Hollow struggles to place the recognition that lances through the last dredges of infection. Hornet's voice had been distantly familiar, dancing through the sunrise coated clouds that fogged their mind and landing on a memory they had chained deep into their core; untouched by Her. 

A demanding voice sounded near the Pure Vessel's feet, much too loud for the owner's body by The King's estimation (Hollow had never agreed, they realize, it was perfect for the ball of energy it belonged to). An argument between parents rose, the warring leaders - lovers by contract only - each with their own idea of what was proper. The tugging of small hands on gowns and capes went unnoticed by all save for the vessel, and that big voice asked unabashedly to be held. They stared at the red cloaked princess pouting stubbornly up at them, and they calculated.

"Protect the princess, by whatever means necessary."

Surely it was meant for any situation, even if the agitators were her own parents. An order, yes, one the Pure Vessel sought to carry out with a sudden ferocity they couldn't grasp. There was soon warmth in their arms and in their chest, the little girl hugging their neck slipping down and beginning to doze against their winged cloak. Finally, four eyes blinked drowsily up at them, a huge yawn and tiny fangs glinting menacingly as the young demigod of their memory whispered.

"You better not drop me, Holly." 

A name. She had named them. She had loved them. And had they the word then, they would have known they loved her back, adored the ground she walked on from that moment.

How could they ever forget?

Hornet. 

Struggling to see, their remaining eye lands on her tear stained cheeks, tracking those tears upwards to find her still squeezing her eyes shut. Briefly, a storm of emotions floods them, confusing in their timelessness.

Are they allowed? To comfort, to care? Where is father, where is Herrah, why do they hurt so much? The growing ache in their chest all at once begins to feel too real-

Their thoughts quickly stumble to a halt.

What is hurting their sister? This pain should be theirs alone.

Hollow flinches suddenly in understanding. It's them; it is their vulnerability - their inevitable failure - that is hurting her. The Goddess is slain, though, and their shell of a life from before gone. They can fix one thing, at least, against all standing orders. 

If nothing matters now, they get to choose.

Agony drenches their spine as they lift their hand, silently panting with the effort to even move it. They take a deep breath, dredging up what little soul in their reservoirs they have left and focusing until enough of the fire burned through by the infection drains away to complete the movement. Their palm just barely meets Hornet's jaw, shifting with her startled gasp to cup her cheek.

Her thoughts shift rapidly, nearly unable to accept the reality of their minute recovery of self. Free hand clenching into the fabric of their cloak, she trembles in guilt as she thinks of the being that had dragged itself lifelessly across the stone floor minutes ago. What damage her own needle had wrought, when her sibling was puppeted by a goddess Hornet had sworn to see the end of. 

Here was that end, ready for her to grasp and never let go. A chance to have even a fraction of family back.

Hornet leans haltingly forward, chest heaving.

Before Hollow can try to communicate to her that they are not beaten yet, not if she needs them, not if it leaves her alone, she keens into their hand brokenly. 

Teeth bared, she chokes, "I keep asking myself 'What is one more loss in this damned kingdom? When I have nothing else, what is one more?' And I cannot, Hollow. Holly-" 

She stutters over their nickname and swallows back another bitter sob, shivering and spitting tears and saliva angrily, "I do not think I can take another, and I refuse to. I am not going to give you up so easily."

Void blots their vision, falling from their eye in a fascimile of her tears and floating into nothingness. Carefully, they stroke their thumb past one of the small scars along her cheekbone, mourning the loss of the childhood they so desperately wanted to save. They then draw back, giving her sternum a single tap to capture her attention.

She freezes, tensing as she waits for them to slowly fingerspell,

"Not. Going. Anywhere."

Fresh tears fall.

"Protect the-" They pause, wavering before hesitantly correcting themself, "Protect my sister."

Hornet catches their hand as it drops, too exhausted to keep it raised, and finally allows herself to weep, if only for a moment. She presses her forehead back into Hollow's palm, doubled over as she catches her breath. The familiar shape of cool void makes her feel impossibly small, but safe, in a way only they could, beyond any arrogant failsafe devised by her father.

"Thank you."

She stares up at the ceiling of the temple, swiping at her face tiredly and steeling herself with a smile that disappears in a flash.