The young knight sits before me. Her name, as I understand it, is Madarchen. Understandably, she is skeptical of my claims. Understandably, she is upset with me, parading around her friend’s corpse. I need to convince her, somehow, that I am speaking the truth. However, with her in this state…

Madarchen is kneeling on the ground, crying into her palms. She can barely contain herself. I get up from the bed, weak as I am, and kneel beside her. Taking her into my embrace, I allow her to cry some more. “I don’t believe it…” she mutters. Her hands are clasped around mine; her touch is warm and faint. I can barely feel anything at all, with my body in this state. My skin is pale, my vision is blurry. My muscles barely function, only moving due to the support that my mycelium threads give. To her, I must truly feel like a corpse. I don’t even think I have a heartbeat, as I am now.

“I offer you my deepest sympathies, Madarchen. I can sense that Fals meant a lot to you. But I can’t bring her back. Her soul has already moved on.” Although it was still a struggle to speak, my tendrils had finally wrapped themselves around the nerves of her throat. Speaking would become easier, now.

“You wouldn’t even… You don’t even know how much she meant to me. To see you speak using her face… It upsets me greatly. It nauseates me. But everything about you is so different from her, at the same time. I don’t recognise a hint of her in the way you speak, or move.”

I wouldn’t dare presume on her behalf, but she’s not exactly subtle about it either. They must’ve been lovers, to some extent. Perhaps that is why I feel this painful pronging in the back of my mind whenever I see her. My host, Fals, although dead, must still be influencing me in some ways. I wonder how much of my current thought process is influenced by her, actually.

“She laid down her life in prayer. I heard her, and attempted to reach out to her in any way I could. Alas, I was too late. I could only commune with her body, long after she had gone cold.”

Madarchen makes eye contact with me. She seems to be searching for something within my eyes. A spark, or a shred of familiarity. I meet her gaze with my own, unflinching. If anyone would believe me, it’d be her. If I must convince people that I am Lady Coedraig, it has to start with her.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“So… what happens now?” she asks, scraping herself together. I guide her hand towards my face, and she softly places it on my left cheek. I pry her fingers off my face, and place them over the fungal bloom within my eye. She feels it out, briefly, before pulling her hand back. It’s covered in a deep crimson liquid, viscous and sticky. She seems startled by it for a little bit.

“Don’t worry, it’s not blood. This is why I have come down to the village. This… substance. It’s a cure for your plague. For your illness. And, more importantly, for your hunger. Consider this… my blossom. My fruits, if you will. Go on, taste it.”

Madarchen hesitantly looks at the fungal honey clinging to her fingers. Anyone would be grossed out by the thought of it. She smells it, briefly. Her facial expression relaxes a little, and she carefully touches some of the honey with the tip of her tongue. She feels it out, swirling it around her mouth carefully, before licking up the rest of it slowly.

Very good. If I can get one of them to eat it, that means I can convince more people. How lucky I must be to have stumbled upon her so soon. Madarchen blushes a little, strangely enough.

“I’m sorry… this makes me feel very warm, being so close to you again. Even though you are nothing like her, I… miss her so much.” Madarchen reaches out for my fungal bloom again. For a second time, she takes some fungal honey and eats it. Quickly, this time. “This stuff is.. delicious. It tastes just like the fruits you once bore, Lady Coedraig.”

Then, a third. And a fourth. I let her indulge in her passions. WIth each dosage of the fungal honey, she becomes more and more excitable. Alert, warm. Her heart is beating faster, her breath is heavier. She seems to be suffering some other, unintentional effect from the honey as well. With every passing second, she gets touchier. Closer.

I push her away a little. “Madarchen,” I exclaim. “You can’t.” It would be bad to get tangled up in her emotions now. Especially when she’s so vulnerable.

I can’t say I feel good about using her in this way. But I need to proliferate somehow, in some way. My appetite is too large for one measly tree.