the webs we weave

is their life falling apart? Spider could make a pretty decent case that it just might be. Bas hasn’t been sleeping in his usual quarters, his scent growing stale and his lack of presence like a scooped out hollow in the centre of their chest. that’d be their heart, wouldn’t it? yeah, their heart - it doesn’t feel like everything is in working order. why else does it try to rend itself from their chest every time they pass Ig in the Col? it’s just…she smells like Bas. as in, smells like him more than you’d expect a slave to smell like their master. in fact, she’s practically covered in his scent, ear to tail like she’s taken a fucking…Bas-bath or something. fuck. bile rises up their throat, and they swallow it down. they just have to keep it to together for another week or two; then they’ll be a fully fledged adult, and they’ll be more equipped to deal with the giant fucking split tearing itself down the centre of their life. Spider mouths the word to themselves as they exit their den that morning, stamping their feet against the cold. fuck.

"Speech"