ţ̶̛͖͖̐͌h̴̡̭̽̾͝e̷͎̔͆͝ ̵̪̎̇̈́ w̷̦̃ỏ̶̘̇r̸̥͊͂͑l̴̮̦̮̆͝d̶̚͝ͅ ̵ ͑̋ ḯ̷̪s̵̮̏̚ ̴͖̦̫̀b̶̲̦̅̒̚ȓ̶̤o̸ ̧̟ͅk̷̫̙͍̅͠ễ̴̛̙n̷̏̅ͅ,̸ ̘̆ ̵͉͂̀n̸̒͠ ̤o̸̥̤̍̇̚t̶̥͔̅ ̴̝̘̅̾́y̵͇͛̓̕o̶̧͛̈́ǘ̸̐̕͜.̶̠̉̓͆

Even with the moon droid translating, the Sage’s words were initially difficult to make out, but ultimately clear once processed by her willful and weakening mind.

—Yes.
She spat. With each unanswered question, the Seeker’s spirit withered and her, once, calculated plans transmogrified to nothing

—"This is known." She said.
She swallowed a hard lump of despair in her throat, quelling back inevitable tears. With only one question left to ask, she already knew the answer she would receive, and feared she would lose her grasp on what little modicum of composure she miraculously still had under her control. The delicate etiquette in her speech wavering, she closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath inward—the fog felt like ice in her chest.

Releasing the air, her eyes opened and stared, unblinking into the vatkhtis (VAH-tiss) fly’s anima as if to find hidden answers, unsaid within. Even the arthropodic Sage appeared to express something resembling surprise by tilting its cephalothoracic anterior ever so slightly. The Seeker steeled her nerves. None had been answered of the queries she set before the Sage and the stinking pulpit made of the un-hatched eggs, carrion, and shit that it guarded. The silence of the forest was made deafeningly loud by the blood roaring in her ears. Blinded by tears, she didn’t know what motivated her any longer when she spoke the only question she had wanted an answer to.

—Please. can you help me?!

Her hand nearly slipping from the moon droid. She wished it had. Chittering back in its dialect, the Sage’s words hobbled and stuttered emotionlessly back at her through the droid in her own translated tongue.

C̶̅̎̚ ͈͚̻̯͍̤́͊́̉̒͘͜ͅḧ̵̡̪̙̬̓́̉͗͊̋̔̚͝ ̧̡͉̖͓̰̰̺̗̰ȋ̶́̔̅ ̡͉̝̪̯̫̰̟̼̣̜͍͙͇̲̀̔͝l̴̢̺͉͇̗̞̻͓̝̘̞͔̂̋͂͊̂͌̔͒́̚͝ͅd̴̢͕̱̥̤͓̟̃͌̈̒̔̆̓͆͐͘͠.̶̧̛̹͔̼͕̜͓͒̄̍͛̍͗̽̌̉̚͜ͅ ̵̲͔̓̀͌̉̅̄͋̇͌͑̒
̵̜̬̮͓̯͊̄̆̕̕Y̷̧̨̡̠͓͙͕̤̞̪͋ò̵ ̨͓͔͇̫̻͚̱̎̀́̍̈́̂̏̆̈̃̆͑͘ü̶͚̟͆͆̀̔͝ ̴̛̰͖́̇͌̉̋̀̀̎͑́̚͠ ̭̘̰͕ ̪͇̞̠͜h̸̅ ̧̾̋͘ͅǎ̶ ͂̌̏̎̏ ̫̘̔̂̐̈́̄̏͝ṿ̶̡̓̔͗̐̍ͅe̶͙̩͇̋͆͊͜ ̷̢̰́̀͛́̽͂͜ ̧̨̺̻̜͕̲̖̻̥̠ẅ̸̢̘̰̮̤̥̟̝̒͒ͅa̸̡͎̭̞̣͎̖̭̠̬̜̝̥͛͆͝ś̷̢̧̧̖͈͖͎͔̟̗̲̩̹͗͗̈́̈̽͗͐̓͠ͅt̵̢͙̀̈́ḙ̴͍͖̹͎̟̱̱̤̇̽͆̂̃́̀͗͗̾̃̈́͜͝͝ͅď̶̛̲̬̭̐̓̉̉̇̽́̅͒́̏̚ ̵̛̀̍̓̅͗ ͝ ̧̻̩̻͜ͅé̵̡̙̝͇̯̥̮͙͚̖̺̇̈͂́̇̔̏v̷ ̧̝̘͓̮̗̮͈̤͍̙͈̞̹̓͝ę̸̺̯̻̮͎̥̘̘̟̟̭͛̆̒͂́̄͌͊̂̚r̷͕̗͉̲͇̹̻̠̞͚̻̱̲̾̾̔̾̏͐͗̀͝͝͠ͅy̶̮̭͖̅o̵͓̥̠͑̒n̵͠ ̲̮̒ ̠e̸̢̡̜͔̫̖̘͎̞͐̈́̓͘ͅ’̴̠̮̣̭̈s̶̖̻̫͐̽̉̀͑͑͂̈́ ̴̡͈͎͖̥̜̜̹̰͂̒̽͂̉͜͠t̸͇̖̯̃̒ĭ̸̛̲͕͎͇̯̈́͝m̵ ̺̼̝̟͒̔̆e̸ ͑̈͒͑̒͑͂̍̈̚̚͝ ̡͍̯̯̲͔̜̱̩̺̞͎̜̮͔.̴͓͓̰͍̙̺̜͖̃͑͒
̵̮͓̆̆̓͑̓̓͒̉̉͌̄̍̕͝Y̸͍͇͚̻͐̇̈́̈́͌̾̈̇̌̅̋͗̕͘ͅờ̶̗̈́̆͋͆̒̕͘̚u̶̧̝̭̙͍̘̲̩͚̣̱͕̍͋̾ͅ ̶̡͎̭̙̱̔̃̇̇͐́̎͐͂͋̅̚͝h̵͔̝̤̥̱̟̹̞̄̀̔̾͂̌͆́͂̀͘͠ḁ̴̢͎͈͙̦̤̇͗͑̇̐͗͊͑̍̚͘͜v̸̆̑̇̓̈́̀̅̈̈̂́͝ ̮̓͝e̷̋͋ ̛̥͙̬̯̰͖͍̬̲̹͈͇͉̐̌̂̍̋̐͛̅͜ ̵̝͓̝̩̯̝̖͉͑͊́̄s̶̙͓̲͙̫̙͈͌͛̍͑̋͑̄͆ȏ̷̤̓͋͂̉͘u̴̢̘̲̞̲̪̭̱͉̞̤͓̖̩͂̈͗̎̉̓̋g̵̩̈̓̌h̷͔̟͙̾̂̍́̑͛͒̂͌̅͂̾̈́̕t̶̩̉͂͗̽̐̄̒̂͊͠͝ ͇̖̻̲͎͈ͅ ̶̢͈͔̯͎̗̞͍̫͚͂t̶̛̘̘̥̭͙̓͠h̸̺̖̖̜̼̮̟̙͔̬̭͍͚̔̽͜e̷̤͔͖̮͇̙͖͈̮̒̓͗̒̀̽͛̓̕̕̕͝͠͠ ̵̈ ̻̪̍͗̀̀̀̔w̶̨̝͔̲̤͇̝̮̄̔̏̀̋̏̽͐͘͘ ̧͔͕r̴̓͐̆̆̇ ̩̹̯̝͔͇̣̔̓̌́̽͘͝͝͠ó̶̋̒ ̧̢̛̙̯͇̩̹͑̽̃͑̀͝n̷ ͇͔͊̒͂̓́̈͗͘̕ͅ ̼̬͎g̸ ͔̩̮͓̯̖̙̫̝͚̯̇ ̵̨̱̻͓͓͔̩̟̖̆͐́̂̓͆̑͊͌͆̏͘ ͔͚p̸͎͕͉͌͝ ̘͕͕̦̪̤̮ȩ̷̫̩͇͛̓̀͒͊́͜ͅŕ̴͌̓́̾́̔ ̧̛̛̩̬̺͖̞̀͠ş̷̢̙̥̺̘̙̼̘̖̟̪̯͈̦͌̂̔͘̕ò̶̼̙̬̼̬̤͓̤͎͑̄̽́̂̃̒̂͠ͅn̵̽͘ ̥̘̣̩͉͎̤̼̼̠ͅ

The Seeker dropped to one knee and her body listed to one side as if she had been shot in the side. She felt like she had been shot, and rightly prayed for death. The pain was all the same. She let her arm lose it’s connection to the droid and fall to her side. Her ghost arm, unseen, did the same, throbbing in unimaginable agony and yet it paled in comparison to the pain that eviscerated her remaining will to continue drawing breath.

The Seeker collapsed to the ground in the fetal position. The Sage regarded her body–concluding that she was, simply, incomplete after noting that she was missing several internal organs, the blanket of scars that made her flesh appear quilted, her missing right arm–but did not regard her as broken. Her body may have been at a disadvantage, but as an individual, had accomplished far more than most were capable with the fully intact, un-modded, body free from disfigurement that they were born with. The Sage momentarily fluttered its wings beneath their carapacial covering and it assumed a posture that could most closely be described as a seated position atop its birthing mound. It began running several delicate antennae through its mandibles to clean them as well as taste the filtered molecules they had collected from the fog. The Seeker lost consciousness amidst the mixture of mud, shit and rotting flesh.

In the damp embrace of the forest's underbelly, the Seeker remains prone, the mire seeping into her, becoming one with her shattered form. Her mind, once a fortress of resolve and fiery intent, now drifts through the vestiges of what was and what could have been.


~~~
I cry every time I work on this one.
Lignamira and all concepts, characters, and critters therein belong to me