You are aware of the fact that you are the only troll on Alternia with a mother, though for all you know you could be the only troll on Alternia. You've never interacted with anyone other than your mother. You don't mind that though; she is most likely the only troll you will ever need to interact with. She has told you stories about the world outside, outside of this safe haven you call home. There is nothing but evil out there, she promises. It is a world that exists purely to hurt you, and you don't doubt this at all. You have no desire to ever leave the sanctuary this forest provides. You hate venturing outside of the cave, though you know one day you must. When you're older, perhaps. But not yet. You know you'll have to leave one day, and though you fear that time at present, but a sweep ago you used to take great joy in weaseling your way out of your mother's grip and running wild through the woods that surround you; you have put that troublesome time behind you. You consider yourself immensely smart for someone of only four sweeps, though you have never spoken to anyone else, so have no way to justify these claims.
Your mother tells you that you're smarter than she was at your age. She tells you that you're prettier than she was too, though you doubt that very much. She is breath-taking. Her skin is a much brighter grey than yours, her hair glossier, and her eyes the most perfect shade of green you have ever seen. Occasionally you swear you have seen them flash a vivid yellow, you've seen her glow a pure white, but you never know if these are genuine memories or dreams.
She's holding you now, stroking your hair and telling you of her past; it is a simple, somewhat cheerful story being told with the intention of lulling you to sleep. Any other occasion and it would work, but not now. Your thoughts are too busy to focus on her words and her words alone. Though her gentle, melodic voice usually has you captivated you are far too riddled with guilt to allow yourself to surrender to it. You wait, somewhat awkwardly, very quietly, for her to pause, and eventually she does. It is obvious she believes you asleep, and she rises with the intention of carrying you to your recoopracoon. It is then you finally speak. A hand clenched around the soft black fabric of her dress, your eyes fixed on the jade flowing through it, you say, in barely more than a whisper, "Mother?"
Though you cannot see her face you know she is smiling. "Yes, darling?" she answers, shifting the way she's holding you in order to see your face.
"I just wanted to apologise," you begin, with some degree or genuine regret and awkwardness. A confused expression comes over her face, and she places you down, before asking you what you are apologising for in a bewildered manner. You play with the hem of the cloak she has lovingly made you and mutter, "I'm apologising about the sweater."
She has crouched down so that she is at your eye level. A slender eyebrow raises and her face contorts even more with the force of her confusion. "Sweater?"
You nod. "I'm sorry that I never thanked you properly for it."
"Kankri, darling," she shakes her head, "please, explain to me exactly which sweater this is?"
"The one you made for me." You finally look up at her, and it is clear to you she doesn't understand what you're talking about.
She gulps, licks her lower lip, and glances down. When she looks upwards again, it is to state simply, "I've never made you a sweater."
"But you did! I remember!"
She sighs and sits down once again, opening her arms. You fall into them, resuming your position in her lap. You nuzzle into her torso and she places a hand in your hair, the other wrapping around you, resting on your back. "Why don't you tell me about this sweater then? See if you can jog my memory."
You nod. "It was cold. I was cold. I was cold and alone and no one wanted me. But then you were there and you said "Kankri your trousers look stupid pull them down" and I said "no you pull yours up" and you said "put on a shirt" and I said "no" and then you left and I was cold and alone again. But you came back. You came back and you gave me the sweater and I refused to wear it and I insulted you and I insulted it and I was horrible and mean and I'm sorry for it."
Your mother begins rubbing your back. "That doesn't sound like the sort of thing you would do, Kankri."
"But I did, and I'm sorry for it. I said horrible things to you just because you'd made me this jumper and I didn't want it and it was red and-"
Her muscles tense. She freezes, before doing something she seldom does; interrupts you. "Darling, I have never made you red clothing."
"But you did," you protest, the memory of the jumper, of how it felt, how warm it was, how it bunched under your neck and you could rest in it, all too present on your skin. "And I used it being red as an excuse to yell at you."
"Kankri," she has moved you from her lap, "I have never made you anything red."
"But-"
She is once again at your eye level. She holds you at shoulder-length, her hands grasping your shoulder and her eyes locked with yours. "I have never made you anything red. I would never make you something red. We have discussed this."
"But mother-" You begin to feel your eyes cloud with tears, red blurring your vision slightly.
"No buts, darling. I have explained to you that you cannot wear red due to how special it is. If you were to go outside wearing red, if you were to be seen wearing red, one of the other trolls out there would assume it was your blood colour. They would get jealous. They would get so jealous they would cull you and-"
"They would cull me," you look away from her again, a precaution against her seeing your tears, "but not because of jealousy. They would do it because of horror and disgust."
"No." Her voice is suddenly harsh and stern. "Your blood is not disgusting. I have no clue why you would think such a thing. It is beautiful. So beautiful that it was decided you were the only troll on all of Alternia worthy of it. That is why you have a mother." She gently takes your chin, and brings you to look at her. With the hem of her veil, she wipes your tears. She smiles at you, clearly trying to get you to do the same. It's forces, and you worry she might cry too.
You say the only thing you feel capable of saying. "But I remember the sweater."
She sighs. "I never made it for you, Kankri. I have never made you a sweater, and certainly wouldn't make you a red one."
"But I remember-!"
She shakes her head. "How long ago was it?"
She is humouring you, hoping to find some flaw in you recollection so she can prove the jumper was never real. "A long time ago."
"How can you be sure you remember it if it was a long time ago?"
"Because, I remembered it last night, when I was sleeping."
You cannot believe she doesn't remember. She tilts her head to the side and smiles. "It would appear that you dreamt this sweater, darling."
"I didn't! It wasn't just a dream it was a memory too!"
She shakes her head, stands, and holds out her hand. "No, darling, just a dream. I can make you a jumper, if you like. It shan't be red though."
You take her hand, and she leads you to your recoopracoon. "Thank you mother," you say, climbing into it, "but it will never be as good as the other one."
...
"Kankri?! Hey, Kankri!"
"Merciful Mother Grub, Maryam, what do you want now?"
She stands before you, placing her hands on her hips, though they rest behind her back. "Kankri, you and I both know that I find topics relating to the Mother Grub and the role of jade bloods somewhat triggering."
"Yes, yes, of course, how could I forget?" you dismiss her comment with a flick of your hand. "The point, however, wasn't to trigger you (which apologise for doing, and regret that I did not tag myself before making that comment, though, rest assured I shan't do it again), but to determine what exactly you wanted."
She smiles. It isn't often she smiles at you in such a genuine manner, and you are worried momentarily. If she's going to ask to be your moirail again, you're probably going to lose it. You already have a speech prepared on how many sweeps she has to find a suitable pale partner, and how you, as a pale aromantic, can no longer stand her offers of moiraillegence. You also have lecture prepared on the dangers of tattoos and piercings, both of which she has expressed an interest in, and has informed you she plans on obtaining one day. "I made you something!"
Her voice is so cheerful, so light, so excited. You almost feel excited with her. "And what, exactly, have you made me?"
With a flourish she brings her hands from behind her. Resting in them, neatly folded, is a jumper. A red jumper. You take it from her slowly, noting her thrilled expression, and merely stare at it. It's soft, gentle, pleasant to touch, and oh-so-red. You would go as far as to say it was your own, mutated blood colour. But the sweater does not look mutated. On the contrary, the colour is so vivid, so wonderful to look at, so beautiful, that you are momentarily filled with joy and pride. Despite that, you look up at her with horror. "I hope you're not expecting me to wear this."
Her face contorts into one of confusion and hurt. "Why wouldn't you?"
"Look at it!" you shriek. "It's red!"
"I am aware of that, Kankri," she rolls her eyes, a lopsided smile playing at her dark lips. "Funnily enough, I noticed that I was using red wool when I sat down and thought, 'hmm, I shall make Kankri a red sweater'-"
"But I can't wear it! It's my blood colour-"
"Oh, and what are you afraid of? Everyone in this area is more than aware of your status as a mutantblood. And even if they weren't, the second you met them you'd launch into some speech about your rights as a mutant."
All reasonable arguments disperse from your think pan. Smiling, the girl before you seems to believe she's won.
"Don't you want to make a statement, Kankri? I know I do. I want to show the world that I'm more than just a jade blood. I don't want my entire life planned out for me just because I happen to be one of the few born with this blood colour. I thought you wanted that too; I thought you wanted to be done with the hemospectrum, done with elitism, done with hemophobia-"
"I do want that, Porrim, honest." You play with the jumper, pulling the hemline. "It's just-"
"Just what?" she scowls."You don't want to trigger anybody? Kankri, you talk so much about equality and yet you deny yourself it when it's given to you! Every other troll wears their blood colour with pride and dignity! Hell, even I do! Why shouldn't you be allowed to wear yours with the same pride? Why, Kankri?"
"I..." You don't know what to say. No one has gone this far out of their way to do something this kind for you. "Thank you, Maryam," you mumble.
She rolls her eyes again, smiling, before tugging you into an embrace that you do not enjoy at all. "It's nothing, Vantas. I'm sick of looking at your high-waisted trousers. I figured if you weren't going to do something to stop me seeing them, I'd have to do something."
She finally lets you go, and when you meet her gaze, you see all her pale affection in her slowly jading eyes. "Besides," she states softly. "I see you shivering when you think no one's looking. It's obvious your cold. Whether that's because of the way you dress or because of your blood, I don't know. I just wanted to make the shivering stop. Someone needs to start taking care of you if you refuse to do it yourself."
"Porrim," you begin a statement you have told her a thousand times, "you are not my moirail-"
"I never said I was," her voice is growing in anger. "All I'm doing is looking out for you, Kankri, because someone needs to, and if it's gonna be me, then it's gonna be me. You haven't seen the last of Porrim Maryam, boy. With or without your pale affections, I'm taking care of you, and I'm not going to half-ass the job."