The warmth stayed with the Knight even after the embrace ended, but it was reluctant to leave its mother's side. This did not mean they were still; now free, she seemed intent on a journey.
"Your touch returns my vision," the White Lady remarked, a hand-shaped root wrapped around its small stub. "Regret blinded, in sight and mind. Come, little loved one. I pray I am not too late."
Escaping the gnarled mess of hardened roots posed a challenge for her, one solved by a lash of tentacles.
"You still have void?" she asked, looking at the now-white skin of her child. "But... you are alive... gendered... the void listens still? It is obeisant?"
"Cold," the Knight answered. Its mother grasped its hand slightly tighter, brought it slightly closer. "Gendered?" it said, its voice now containing enough tone to ask the question without additional words.
"Life begets life," said the White Lady. "True life is gendered. True life can propagate. Half-life cannot. Half-life is neutered. A dreadful dead end."
"Dead end?" it... he asked as they stepped out into the open air of the Queen's Gardens.
"That is..." her eyes fell upon a corpse. "Death is... oh no." She kneeled down. White roots traced stab wounds on the empty carapace. "Dryya." More tears. "Rest well, my dearest protector."
"Rest?" asked the Knight.
The White Lady gently picked up the remains. "Eternal rest," she said sadly.
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Heading directly down, the White Lady took them to the shallowest edge of Deepnest.
"Maskmaker," she said in tones of gentle command. "There is great need of your services."
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The many-armed creature hardly hesitated to follow.
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"Repair work?" the spindly creature asked, a touch of scorn in its voice, as it looked upon the floor of broken masks.
The Queen, however, was too heartbroken to speak. She held one of the empty shells to her face as she wept.
"Siblings," said the Knight, looking upon the shades that approached.
"Yes," said the Queen in a deeply quavering voice. "Hardly alive. Birthed by void. But if it succeeded once..."
A mote of light rose from her form. One of the siblings was close enough to touch it-
A shrill wail pierced through the air.
"Maskmaker!" the Queen commanded.
Spindly hands grasped the broken mask she'd been holding, jammed it on the source of the cry, and a whirl of brushwork and white substance sealed the cracks.
"Was that the right mask?" mumbled the Maskmaker as it worked. "Perhaps focus is drawn to memory." It looked at the sea of masks making up the Abyss's floor. "Work. There is work to do. Much work. Not just repair work. Search. Match. Identify. Intriguing..."
The cry became a whimper, and the Queen pressed the now-living Sibling to her chest, white-skinned just like the knight. "Shh. Shhh. It hurts, I know. It hurts, but that means you live, and you feel. You are finally here, my dear child." She looked at the many floating shades. "As you all will be."
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Omake: Ruthless Void (Or, a darker version of this chapter.)
When the root ball containing the White Lady was torn apart, Void remained. Void is regret given power, and the White Lady is full of regret. As if by instinct, the eight-eyed God of Gods grasped the White Lady by the roots of her head, dragging her through her gardens, through thorns and roots, towards the source of the void in her heart. The thorns were no longer alive and infected, but the dead sharp branches cut into her.
The Queen did not resist, though tears continued streaming down her face. The physical pain only amplified her regret. That her child would will this to happen...
The trip to the basin was long, and the God of Gods did not allow the White Lady to plant roots along the way. Every attempt was snapped by a flick of a tentacle, or a slash of claws, or by pulling the White Queen with force.
The descent through the Ancient Basin was inexorable, the White Lady's resistance weakening by the moment as her regret amplified. Upon reaching the platform to the abyss, the God of Void unceremoniously tossed its weeping prisoner into the pit lined by the broken corpses of her children.
Like father like son, she thought as she fell. I deserve no less.
The God of Gods closed the door with the King's Brand, forever trapping the God Mother with her regret.