Chapter Text
Hornet wielded strength all her life. From the days of her youth, when her small claws first grasped a needle still too large for her – to the countless harrowing battles against bug and beast alike. Her progenitors readied her full well to the dangers of their world.
But this? This goes above and beyond the simple strength she used to possess. After binding the entirety of Grand Mother Silk, usurping that cruel Pale Monarch, Hornet drinks in deep the rich font of silk and divinity that now envelopes her. Even semi-conscious, she can feel the pulse of change coursing through her veins. Foreign sensations, the crunch of her shell as it splits and grows. This cocoon, no, this divine womb is developing her into something more. How fitting, that this region be known as the Cradle.
Eventually, everything stills, and with an echoing roar, she bursts from the husk. Her body is revitalized. Different.
She assesses her new shell, and with delight, flexes the claws on her four additional arms (it used to be a sore subject, her lacking limbs to match her weaver kin, a detrimental slight of Wyrm heritage, until she learned to train around it). Even her senses are sharper, the world gaining extra depth, more field of vision, as six eyes easily adjust to the darkness, taking in the remnants of the battle she had with Silk. It was a difficult battle, having to dodge her gigantic pins, along with her ensnaring threads. Twice, she felt the sting of her outraged swipes. But like all other challenges Pharloom presented, Hornet conquered them. A god, slain by her claw and needle. Dominance sings through her entire being, the thrill of a victory well earned.
Now, she stands tall and proud, a true heir to the Weavers; a new Queen to this ruined kingdom. She was raised by three queens, after all. Fitting, that after so long, she may lay claim to the title herself, even if it isn't to rule Hallownest. Perhaps there will come time for it to rise from the ashes, but Pharloom is a kingdom with potential.
A soft gasp from behind has Hornet whipping her head around to find the pale child bearing witness to her new form. She still has the scars of their duel amidst the roses – rips and tears adorn her small and frail body and the hood on her head discarded to reveal long, frayed strands of silken hair not unlike that of the Pale Monarch. “Ah spider, dear. It seems you are not so little anymore.” Though still taunting, her words lack the usual mirth and haughty tone. Solemn, almost.
Languidly, Hornet walks over, towering over her. “Indeed. Your mother is no more.” She kneels, and places a claw under Lace’s chin to lift her head so that she can stare deep into the fascinating pale depths of her eyes. Another clawed hand rests on her head. “You should bow to your new queen.”
The silken bug does not comply. Instead she gives an indignant huff. “Hmph! So that's it then, spider? You tear through our Citadel, spouting heroics about saving this kingdom from a tyrannical god, only to take the throne for yourself? You are not a savior, but a usurper!" Even in this battered and beaten state, her rebellious spirit shines through. A part of Hornet savors her defiant personality. Tame her, break her down until she submits, says a side of her that was easier to ignore prior to her transformation. Such is the result of embracing her Pale nature.
She needs only one hand to lift the offending creature by her wrists, above her head, causing a surprised yelp to erupt from her.
“Unhand me! You uncouth beast!” She struggles, kicking at Hornet’s body and failing to reach. Injured and unarmed, she can't put up any true resistance, the action more of an act. Though her squirming does tickle the hunters instinct in Hornet. Prey, squirming in her grasp, how fun.
She tightens her hold, and her prey flinches, crying out. “Cease your complaints, foolish child. I've ended the curse in your kingdom and now wield the means to rebuild.” It takes all of Hornet’s willpower not to tear into the silken bug. Unravel those threads with her claws and fangs – and teach her a proper lesson in respect before her superiors.
“Stop! Do not refer to me as ‘child’, you've liberated me of that role. I do have a proper name.” She stills, merely hanging by her literal threads in her grasp. “It is Lace, spider.”
She raises Lace so that they are eye level. “Then you will address me as Hornet.”
“Fine! Fine, you win, Hornet. Do as you will with this pitiful ruin…At least allow me the dignity of a noble death. One last duel.”
“You continue to seek destruction by my claw, it seems. But I will not grant it.”
“What more do you want from a broken, orphaned husk?” she spits vitriol, but even now, it's more directed at herself.
Hornet leans closer, until their masks nearly touch. “You are no mere husk, and there is use for you, yet.”
Lace narrows her eyes. “You slay my mother and assume her reins over me. You too, demand my worship? My complacency?” There is a fury behind her voice. Something that sheer intimidation cannot squash. Delicious.
“It is not worship from you that I seek.” Lace gives her a dubious look. “Though you attempted to take my life, I acknowledge that your interference freed me of that runic cage. Thus, I offer you an accord.” As she speaks, she sets Lace down, who sinks to the floor on her knees, to Hornet’s bemusement. “Your mother is gone and without her, you will wither away. But I can remake you. A life less frail. A purpose more than just a child. This is your opportunity to become your own bug. Or,” Hornet hooks a claw around one of the exposed threads in her body, giving it a light tug and earning a small cry from the silken being. “I can grant you that end you so desire.”
Something glimmers in Lace’s eyes, though Hornet can't detect what. Fear? Revolt? Hatred? Excitement? A mix of emotions that stem from her complex relationship to her creator and own self. She's quiet for a while, staring at the floor while musing the offer. Then she laughs, throwing her head back in her iconic, manic manner. “Ahahahaha! Is that so? You see some kind of potential in this rotten construct?” She opens her arms wide. “Show me what new purpose I should serve then, oh mighty queen.”
“A wise choice.” Using four of her arms, the weaver easily takes hold of each of the silken bug’s limbs and pushes her down to the floor, keeping her pinned and spread. Her two remaining hands drag sharp claws down her body, tearing her white garment to shreds, baring the fragile shell underneath.
“Ah! I'm starting to think you enjoy handling me in such a rough manner!” she grumbles.
“Quiet. I need to acquaint myself with your physique.” Two more large clawed hands trace the curves and grooves of her “shell” making Lace shiver, which doesn't go unnoticed. It's an odd material, not quite carapace or chitin, and yet not quite flesh either. In the various cuts and tears, the white light of silk shines through, patchwork thread in place of blood and sinew. She really is a marvel, a wholly unique form of life. “How small. How soft,” the Weaver muses aloud, squeezing gently, the entirety of her thin waist fitting rather snugly in her hands. How would it feel to sink her fangs into this delectable little morsel? How easy it would be to devour her like this. “Perhaps I should leave you this way, keep you as a toy.”
Lace gasps indignantly. “A toy?! Oblivion would have been a kinder fate. You truly are cruel, spider!”
The Weaver chuckles lowly. “It would have been a fate wasted on you. Now keep still.” Hornet begins to weave. Normally, she binds others to herself, but in this instance, she must do the opposite and share part of her own essence with Lace. The silk, her silk, begins to wrap and bind Lace's body, tighter and tighter, fusing into every fibre of her being. The tears and holes on her shell mend, the stitching immaculate, erasing her wounds. But there is more to be done. The silk that comprises her carries the trace of her mother, delicate and thin. She was woven incomplete, no doubt on purpose, to keep her child on a short leash, and dependent on the pale being. Time to fix that. Hornet digs deeper into her, channeling more power from new, deeper reserves.
“Nnh! Ah! S-So much!” Lace couldn't hold back groans and whimpers, shaking and trembling as Hornet’s silk fills both her mind and body. Regardless, Hornet drinks all the noises in, that itch of dominance being scratched with each wail and tremor. Whatever and however much Hornet gives, Lace takes, as if feeding a neverending spool.
Through the silk, the two connect on a level that transcends the physical. Thoughts, memories, and feelings from both of them mingle and exchange: The longing to be seen and loved by your creator. The heavy burden of tending to a kingdom’s corpse. The fear of being discarded like your older sibling. The many nights spent near a mother’s dreaming body. The bitter jealousy stemmed from neglect. The desire to craft a home by her own claw.
In the core of Lace’s being, a gentle pulse emerges. Condensed thread forming a heart made of silk, and it beats, steady and strong.
With a final, echoing scream and burst of light, the binding completes and Lace falls limp.
Even Hornet is momentarily dazed, binding is an incredibly taxing and intense process. Beneath her, Lace is unconscious. Her body has likewise changed from the ordeal, which the Weaver studies with fascination. Hornet slides her claws under Lace to lift her from the floor. She feels warm.
Lace’s limbs elongated, body filling out, taking the form of a bug finally past their juvenile state. Her shell is still plush and soft to the touch, though now the layering has been reinforced. She bears a striking resemblance to Grand Mother Silk, and despite trying to create a child in her own image, Lace is independent in her design. Elegant, less fragile, and still unique.
It takes a few moments before the silken bug comes to. Waking with a gasp, looking at Hornet, and then clutching her claws to her own torso.
“How do you feel?” Hornet inquires.
“...Strange. There is a feeling in my chest. It is…heavy?” She inspects her claws, her abdomen, and marvels at her shell.
Hornet gently presses the tip of her claw to her chest. “You own a heart now, Lace. Protect it well.”
For a rare moment, Lace is speechless. Then she locks eyes with Hornet. “Why? Why extend such a gift to one such as I?”
“I tire of seeing gods imprison their own children in impossible duties. It led to the ruin of not one, but two kingdoms. I will not tolerate it in mine.” Hornet stands to her full height. “Your will and life are your own. Live well, Lace.” She turns to leave the Cradle. There is still much to be done, after all.
“Wait!” Lace, using both hands, grabs Hornet’s wrist, making the weaver pause. “What purpose do I serve now?”
“That is for you to decide.” Hornet slips her arm out of the grasp and leaps off the platform to the ruins below.