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Hollow Knight
Things We Cannot Say
It was one of those nights again. It shouldn’t have been one of those nights again.
Hornet exhaled a shudder as a chill ran down her spine, as if warning her of a danger that was yet to come. Perhaps her instincts were right. No matter how peaceful Hallownest had become over the years, no matter how much she had found love and kinship with two people she never thought she’d see again, no matter how much she heard laughter and seen joy in a home that once only reminded her of anguish—and even then, it still did from time to time…
Blood was almost always sure to follow.
The weight of old memories flashing before her eyes sunk her shoulders, leaning on her until she felt her forehead touch her cold, trembling knees. Yes, it wasn’t truly that long since the Infection ended, and things were… things were so much better now than before. She shouldn’t be this affected anymore by those memories—by their reminders—by the knowledge that she would have to live with them forever…
Herrah… Vespa… gone.
Her older sibling… locked away and abandoned to suffer until…
Another sibling many years later… one she first thought of only as an obstacle until…
The White Lady…
…Even him.
Hornet squeezed her eyes shut. No, he didn’t deserve to dwell in her memories. Not after everything he did. Not after everything he did not do.
In spite of it all, she couldn’t help but huff a mirthless chuckle. Thinking of him, even so fleetingly, often made her think of her older sibling as well. But if Hollow knew about the true depths of her hatred towards their father, they would be upset again in a way only they could do. In a way that almost—almost—reminded her of him.
Somehow, the child who should have had the most reason to despise their father, still respected him after all the painful years he was left to die alone in darkness.
She paused, the hands pressing her temples tightening, before they went slack as she heaved a great, weary sigh. No, she thought, Hollow didn’t respect their father… he loved him and loves him still.
Why, Hollow? Why?
Deep down, she knew why. Her fa—the pale king…
Perhaps the ‘Pure Vessel’ was never truly pure, never truly empty, or as unfeeling nor as unthinking, as he or any of them might have believed.
Or perhaps they were… and the only reason why was because the pale king had indeed felt something for his beloved hollow knight.
A brief twinge of not quite jealousy, not quite anger, bloomed in her chest. If he had indeed felt something for at least one of his children, then it wasn’t enough. No true father would have ever sacrificed their own so cruelly. She remembered the last time she saw Hollow at the palace… and the first time many years later upon the end of the Infection.
She had not even dared to hope that they’d survive the morning after.
A weight settled on her shoulder. Her instincts controlling her like the very silk she wielded, Hornet swatted the hand away and grasped a nail that wasn’t there. Her breath quickened, senses not truly seeing nor hearing, rage and fear dancing at the tip of her tongue until—
Hornet. Hollow, unfazed, simply pulled back their hand—the hand that had tapped on her shoulder—and took a step back. Half of their fingers were showing the unique sign that meant her name, while the other a sign a question that asked…
“I’m fine.” She quietly cursed at the quiver in her voice. She couldn’t look at them—didn’t want to. Similar to Little Ghost, those seemingly empty eyes saw right through her more than anyone else since… since…
A light tap on her forehead, and when she didn’t respond, a finger gently lifted her chin. Stubbornly, she still refused to meet their gaze.
She heard them sigh, seeing them shake their head from the corner of her eye. After all these years, hearing or seeing them do things no one ordered them to do still warmed her, still made her proud, and when she was especially vulnerable, would at times brought tears to her eyes.
This time however, while she still felt a tinge of pride, her ire wanted to lash out at them for perceiving her weakness. The only thing that held it back was because she knew it would upset them, no matter how much they’d hide it so well—which would then make Little Ghost intervene and create some elaborate unintentionally deadly trap that would force them to ‘talk’ about… about feelings.
Why did you have to use those crushers from the Crystal Peak, Little Ghost? Why?
At the back of her mind, she asked more importantly: how?
Hollow’s hand hesitated before pulling back. She grabbed it before they could completely do so. “I’m fine.” She said again, her murmur loud in the silence of their little home. “It’s just…”
They were patient, her sibling. It had taken them so much suffering to have such patience.
Nightmares, she meant to say. What came out, however, was—
“Memories.”
The admission made her feel so much heavier all of a sudden, so much more exhausted, and she felt herself falling forward when she felt the warmth of Hollow’s chest pressing against her cheek. Their hand had shifted to the back of her head, while the other—the one she made with Little Ghost and the blueprints from their father’s workshop—reached out to wrap her in an embrace that shielded her from all the terrible, horrible things that wanted to take her happiness.
Her mouth opened as if to say she was fine again, yet what came out was a shudder that released some of her worries—and brought more at the same time.
That new round of terrible, horrible thoughts barely reached her mind when Hollow lifted her so suddenly and carried her to their bedroom… where Little Ghost had pushed all three of their beds and waited patiently in the center.
Her elder sibling dropped her beside their littlest one, who then immediately snuggled to her arm. It was only when Hollow laid on her other side and resumed his embrace—now including Ghost—that she finally realized what just happened.
Beneath the warmth of their blankets and the arms that held her so closely and protectively, in a way she never thought she deserved after everything she did, after everything she did not do—
A tap on her forehead. A little more harshly this time.
Hollow had flicked at her, she dumbly realized, like she was a child again—like the one who barely reached their knees and squeaked indignantly when they would cautiously move her aside with a foot.
They traced a sign on that same forehead, pulled her and Ghost a little closer, and closed their own eyes.
Sleep, they had said.
To that, with tears threatening to wobble her throat, Hornet only retorted, “Jerk.”
Ghost sighed happily, as if both of them had simply spoken sweet good nights.
Perhaps, in the way only siblings could, it might as well have been just that.