Noun; The conversion of something into its opposite.

The strings drop suddenly and he has to breathe on his own again.

He crumples onto the floor with a thud and it's only by instinct that he throws his hands out and avoids faceplanting into the ground. Pain is a foreign and perplexing feeling-he's fascinated by the way the ache in his knees and palms arcs upward like tiny bolts of lightning. The rapid rise and fall of his chest tugs his attention elsewhere - air tastes heavy and unnatural on his tongue and although he tries to rise repeatedly, his legs refuse to budge, so he stills and focuses inwardly.

Thinking is an overwhelming process-it's as if a flood of questions brimming at the edge of his mind had been waiting for his eyes to snap open so they can pour themselves into his head all at once. Instead of sifting through any of them, he concentrates on his surroundings. Finely woven silk strands whisper against his fingers as he runs his hands over the floor. Meanwhile, light streams in from above him, below him and every way he twists his head.

Lifting his eyes, he finds that he isn't on the ground, like he'd thought, but in some strange cocoon of silk. He glances upwards to the thick ropes hanging from the top. Were those the strings that held him together? Who had created the cocoon in the first place?

His head begins to hurt the more he contemplates so he moves onto the next question that pops into his mind.

Had he existed before this?

Another interesting question that jams needles into his brain. He moves on.

Who is he?

This is a question that bears promise and he searches for a name, a face, a memory, anything to grasp and ground himself, but there is an unbearable empty lightness in his mind that even the flood of questions cannot mask.

The throbbing pain in his temples intensifies and splinters his head like cracked glass. He tries to recoil from himself, flee back to the strings, but he is a soul stuck in a body again and whereas it had costed nothing to cease, it takes everything to be. The burden of being, he thinks dimly as he presses his palms to the sides of his head, is too much to handle. Too much noise, too much light, too much-

A piercing shriek sounds short and sharp in his ears as something careens into the cocoon. He's too surprised to do anything other than gasp as the cocoon rips open and he tumbles out onto the ground in mess of silk and tangled limbs.

The world above him spins in a blurred mess. Wheezing, he stares upwards blankly, gulping down air. He chooses to let out a groan just as several other things skitter past where he landed.

There's a halt in the rhythmic patter against the ground and he feels a shadow fall over him as he rolls on his back and opens his eyes.

Four pairs of violently red eyes meet his as an ominous clicking fills the air. It's not quite a spider but it's close enough though much bigger. His eyes move to the plates of steel-like skin canvassing one half of the spider above him while the other half is a mangled mess of corded scars and rotting, exposed innards.

Then his gaze shifts to the pincers grazing the sides of his throat. Inky venom seeps from its pincers onto the ground in a hushed dripdripdrip as the spider studies him.

With a rapid click, it pulls away and lingers for only another moment before it and its partner take off after the other spiders.

Somehow, he staggers to his feet. His legs quake underneath him, his stomach churns, and every fiber in his body pulls him opposite of the direction the spiders went in but the scream of whoever crashed into his cocoon and ran off echoes and scratches against his eardrums. They'd been afraid and alone.

They don't stand a chance against the spiders.

Neither does he, for that matter.

He follows.

Maka has spent too much time among the dead to hope she's still alive when she opens her eyes but she does anyways. An aching throb pulsing in her head makes it difficult to concentrate but she sees enough to tell she is no longer on the road to her house. Her hand inches to her chest.

The familiar beating of her heart is absent.

It's what she expected, she tells herself as a useless breath hitches in her throat. Death is what happens. There was never a time when she was alive that she didn't know it would happen to her.

She squeezes her eyes tight.

(It doesn't erase reality.)

She drags her hands to her face and digs her nails into the soft skin beneath her eyes until the pain is only a numbing buzz.

(It doesn't hide that the tears streaming down her face aren't from the pain.)

She flattens her palm against her mouth, swallows the scream building in her throat and feels it burn in her chest.

(It doesn't change the fact that she is utterly and completely alone.)

Maka opens her eyes.

"Alone," she breathes out. She tries to remember the last thing she told her papa but their conversation dances out of her reach and fades away.

She rubs her face with a ruthless kind of anger. It doesn't matter because he is nothing but a ghost now. Even if she screamed for the rest of eternity, he nor anyone else would hear her.

No one will ever come.

Maka curls inside of herself and strangles the broken sob on her lips. Her hands ball into tightly wound fists. Death will not break her-she repeats this to herself until her tears run dry and a cold calmness settles over her.

Shoving aside the fragility seeping in her bones, Maka pushes herself up into a sitting position and casts a look around. She's not sure what she expected out of death but the soft grey-white haze that steeps the world in a gauzy blur doesn't surprise her. The only thing she can make out are trees the color of ebony looming over her head-although there is no wind, the leaves sway back and forth and let loose a low, rasping noise that sounds like a death rattle.

Her hand sticks when she tries to move and she looks down to find herself sitting on thick strands of spider silk. Ropy threads of the white silk, viscous and elastic, cling to her palm as she rips her hand free. Maka's gaze traces the strands to where they are anchored on the trunks of the trees surrounding her and then below her, where dozens of cocoon-like shapes hang from the strands.

She's sitting on a giant web.

Licking her lips, Maka twists her head slowly and spies the mammoth opaque shadows lying like statues on the web. Even in the dark, she can see the bloody hourglass glinting from the middle of the spiders' bellies.

Horror slides icy and razor-sharp into her stomach. Maka fights the urge to panic and stills her movements, pressing her hands together as she eyes the web. There's a gap between the webbing about twenty feet away that's large enough for her to drop through without jostling the web too much, but she has no idea whether there will be spiders waiting below.

Unwillingly, Maka's gaze rests on the fangs of the nearest spider-her body would easily fit between its pincers. With a sharp intake, she grinds her teeth and forces the thought from her head.

It still takes several minutes for her to muster the courage to move. Maka lifts herself in increments, eyes darting around herself with every inch she rises. Her calves start to burn as she pushes herself into an awkward crouch and begins to work her feet from the web they're enmeshed in. Fear beats in place of her heart the longer she tries to pull herself free with little luck - the smallest movement sends ripples through the web and her stomach plummeting.

Blooming panic makes her actions clumsy and impatient. Maka yanks her foot too hard and not only succeeds in wrenching herself free but stumbles backwards and nearly falls over, clamping down on the cry that springs to her lips.

The web bounces up and down as Maka steadies herself. Dread congeals in her throat-there is nothing but the sound of her ragged breathing as she flicks her eyes from left to right for the sight of shifting shadows rising up.

The spiders remain as motionless as headstones in a graveyard.

Maka counts to a hundred in her head before she exhales in relief. Breathing is unnecessary but it threads her fracturing composure together and she begins to carefully inch forward. The web continues to jiggle slightly from her near-fall and tiny steps towards the hole, bringing her pace to an agonizingly slow rhythm of stops and starts.

A few feet in, a low clicking noise sounds from behind. Maka pauses and the clicking stops. Cautiously, she looks over her shoulder but none of the spiders lie out of place. She takes a deep breath and resumes walking.

The clicking starts again.

This time Maka does not stop nor does she look behind herself. The taste in her mouth turns bitter; her pace quickens to the time of her breathing, which has transformed into a refrain of rapid and jagged gasps, and her knees quaver as the clicking is joined a soft hissing. The air comes alive with a cacophony of clicks and buzzing as the outlines of the waking spiders shift and roil angrily.

Terror snaps Maka's self-control; she abandons any attempts to muffle her movements and bounds forward as the web trembles with the momentum of several spiders barreling towards her. A shriek falls from her lips as a spider lands forcefully in front of her and launches her into the air.

She has no time to do anything but feel the swoop of horror in the pit of her stomach before she's crashing back into the web. The world spins and twists-Maka catches a glimpse of scarlet glowing eyes and bared pincers before she hears a tearing sound that halts the approaching spider.

There's a moment of perplexed silence and then the web beneath Maka splits open and sends her tumbling to the ground; a yelp escapes from her as she slams into one of the cocoons connected to the web and slides off of it, smacking into the ground facefirst.

Blinding light erupts in Maka's vision while pain envelopes her in a crushing embrace. She moans and gags on the crunch of dirt mixed with blood on her tongue; the taste clears her head enough to force herself up on her elbows and she cranes her head upward to see a steady river of spiders streaming from the broken part of the web.

Her knees scrape against the ground as she drags herself to her feet and lurches herself straight into a cocoon. Yanking her hands free, she kicks the cocoon away and hurdles forward into another cocoon. The clicking behind her turns furious-Maka swallows the whimper on her lips and shoves herself forward without looking back.

Panic deafens Maka to everything but the rapid ticking of her breath and the painful stretch of her muscles, cocoon silk grabbing and catching at her clothes as she fights her way through the maze of cocoons. She's elbowing through the narrow space between two cocoons clumped together when something cold and steely grazes against the back of her neck; she twists to find a pair of fangs snapping violently inches from her face.

She screams and whirls around to run and is greeted by a second pair of pincers nosing towards her. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she drops to her knees, closes her eyes and stifles her breathing, as if that will save her.

Seconds draw out into moments and then minutes and Maka is still curled in a ball between the two cocoons, whole and breathing through clenched teeth. She opens her eyes first and when she doesn't sense any fangs snapping over her head, she dares to lift her head.

Being wedged in the middle of two cocoons makes it hard to see much but through the tiny gap between them, Maka can see the legs of several spiders pacing back and forth in front of the cocoons. They move agitatedly around, but none of the spiders do anything to disturb the cocoons, and eventually they settle a short distance away from her.

Maka doesn't question the miracle and relief briefly loosens the knot of dread in her chest before she realizes that her two options are to remain stuck here for eternity or to be immediately devoured upon stepping from the safety of the cocoons. She clenches her hands to stop the trembling of her fingers, but she cannot stop the thoughts ricocheting in her head.

What's sown is always reaped. Her mother's favorite saying to hurl at Spirit during their fights rings in Maka's ears and across her vision, the images of her ghosts and her parents hover and waver before disappearing like a mirage.

Maka's forehead presses against the tops of her knees, nails digging into the muddy ground. She'd killed every single one of them or had driven them so far away they were as good as dead, whether she had meant to or not, and everything they had ever done for her is dust and ashes.

She pushes back the angry tears that well up in the corners of her eyes. She doesn't deserve to shed them.

"Hey," a voice whispers.

She inhales sharply and lifts her head, seeing nothing.

"Up here."

She looks up and locks eyes with a boy a couple years older than her. He's dressed strangely, brown hair slicked back and in a pinstriped suit that she's only seen on rich people in black and white photographs. He holds out a hand from where he's perched on the top of one of the cocoons.

She doesn't take his hand but she rises. "Who are you?"

He considers the question for the moment, pulling back his hand. "I'm not sure," he finally says. "Who are you?"

"Maka," she replies and although the answer is true, it doesn't feel quite right in the way he asked the question. She glances back toward the spiders-they don't seem to be perturbed by his presence like they are with hers. "Why aren't they trying to get you too?"

"I'm not sure of that either," the boy replies but he frowns. His eyes go distant and pointed teeth gleam at her as he opens his mouth slowly. He re-focuses on Maka. "I think it's because I was in one of those things."

She looks to a cocoon; revulsion churns in her stomach. "You were in one of these?"

He nods. "For a long time, I think." He doesn't elaborate and his expression becomes veiled. "Here."

Maka automatically reaches up to grab what he drops down. Her fingers sink into silk and she examines the hull of cocoon the boy tossed down. It's nearly as long as her and half as wide. "What do I need this for?"

"The spiders won't be able to track you with that masking your scent," he replies. "Probably."

"Probably," she repeats, raising an eyebrow. "And how am I supposed to put this on?"

"Shove your head through it?" he suggests. He shrugs. "That's all I got."

She scoffs but begins to work open a hole large enough to force her head through, pausing every so often to check the spiders haven't noticed her movements. For all of the softness of the silk, the hull is rigid and hangs on Maka like a stiff poncho once she manages to get it on.

Maka huffs, pulling stray strands of silk off of her face. "Okay, I'm ready."

The boy extends his hand towards her again. His fingers are oddly warm for a dead person, Maka thinks as she tightens her grip on his hand before she realizes that she is just as dead as him. Her brows knit together and she concentrates on nothing but pulling herself up. It's not easy to navigate clambering up the side of the cocoon, but the boy doesn't loosen his hold, not even when she loses her footing halfway to the top.

Even after Maka hoists herself onto the top, he doesn't let go until she's holding onto the rope of web suspending the cocoon. Her hands wrap around the web and she doubles over, sucking in a breath. She raises her head to find the boy already looking at her; anything she had thought of saying suddenly vanishes. His eyes are a strange mix of brown and red, and although they are somehow more unsettling than his teeth, she can't bring herself to look away.

They stare at each other in silence. The boy breaks first. "Fancy outfit you have there."

Maka's not sure if the giggle that bursts out of her mouth is because he's genuinely funny or the situation is finally cracking her hold on sanity. "Thanks," she answers, composing herself. "It's the highest fashion for not getting eaten."

"That doesn't sound ideal at all," he says. He glances upward. "Which is why we should get moving."

Maka follows his gaze to the web. "You're joking."

"Not at all."

"Then you've lost your mind."

"Possibly," the boy agrees. "But it is our best bet."

She doesn't give in. "And how is that?"

"We'll get caught eventually if we go on the ground and we can't stay here forever," the boy answers. "So we hole up in one of those," he says, pointing to the trees holding up the web. "If we can make it up without any of the spiders noticing, there's no reason they should search for us there."

It makes too much sense to Maka and she doesn't like it. "Have you considered there's probably spiders up there?"

"Yes."

Her look sharpens into a glare when he doesn't say anything else but finally she sighs. "All right."

The boy interlocks his fingers together and offer his palms to Maka. "Want a boost?"

Maka allows herself to look down at the spiders once and then she places her foot on his hands. She lets out a grunt as she pulls herself higher onto the web rope and begins to climb.

If she were alive, Maka's hands would be sweaty and her heart would be hammering in her chest. Instead, she feels the hollow stillness in her chest and the web silk clings stubbornly to her fingers. She grits her teeth and keeps her eyes on the web above her as she moves at a crawl, the boy following when she's high enough.

They're three-quarters of the way up when Maka feels it. She pauses and looks down to the boy, who has fallen behind. "Do you feel that?"

"Wha-" The boy breaks off when the rope wobbles dangerously before sagging slightly. "Shit."

Maka starts climbing again, moving at a faster pace. "Hurry."

The gap in the web is barely big enough for Maka to fit in when she reaches the top. With every hard movement it takes for her to pull herself through, she winces, sure it's the last straw that will snap the web rope. She stands and scans the web after she yanks her foot free before turning to reach through the gap for the boy. "Here."

The rope trembles as he scrambles up and Maka sees the base of the rope pulling apart. She stretches her arm further. "Hurry up!"

The boy's hand wraps around hers just as the rope gives way with a sharp snap. There is a muffled crash as the cocoon connected to the web drops to the ground. Maka gasps as she loses her balance against the sudden weight pulling her down and falls on her face, arm protesting painfully as she holds tight onto the boy. She grinds down on her teeth and pushes her free hand through the web to grab the boy's other arm. "Don't let go."

He laughs once, fingers lacing around her forearm. "Isn't that what I should be telling you?"

Maka lets out a groan in response, fighting to rise to her feet. The boy loosens his grip once he is close enough to grab hold of the web but Maka keeps a hand around his wrist as she helps him widen the gap.

He scrambles up onto the web on his elbows and rolls onto his back with a muted grunt. His eyes meet hers. "You think they noticed that?"

Maka rises on shaky legs and glances at the ground, where spiders are swarming the broken cocoon. Even from here, their enraged hissing grates against her ears. She turns back towards him. "No, definitely not."

"Oh, good." He stands as well and follows her as Maka makes for the nearest tree, falling into step with her. She wrenches off the cocoon husk and tosses it away when they reach the tree since it's too heavy to climb a tree with and it's already unraveling anyway.

The boy helps Maka up onto the tree branch wordlessly and she twists back to grab his hand. They move in silence, only speaking when they hear a noise from somewhere in the tree. In the absolute gloom of the ebony tree, Maka's thoughts settle and sink and occasionally she glances back down and sees more and more spiders returning to the web. And although she cannot see the boy's face in the dark, she knows he's doing the same thing.

She stops when the branches are too far apart to get to easily and looks back to the boy. The leaves have begun to thin so his face is no longer completely in shadows. "Far enough?"

"With any luck." He settles into the crook of the branch. "Though I've never had much, I think."

Maka snorts and sits next to him. "Well, if you're relying on mine, I have bad news for you."

"Suppose it's up to chance then."

She hums in a way that neither agrees nor disagrees with him. Quiet drops between them and they watch the rest of spiders gather where the cocoon had been connected for a few minutes before Maka speaks. "You're sacrificing yourself for a complete stranger, you know."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his head turn to her. "Potentially."

She chooses not to comment on their chances. "Still."

"Would you have done the same thing?"

She looks at him fully now. The darkness doesn't do anything to dim the glow of his eyes; he looks at her like he already knows the answer. Maka shrugs and doesn't answer the question. "Anyways, we're dead so it doesn't really matter."

Surprise raises his voice out of his quiet murmur. "Are we?"

"You didn't know?"

"No." He pauses. "Yes. But I think I forgot."

"You forgot you died?" Maka frowns. "How long were you in that cocoon?"

"Long enough to forget almost everything, but-" He rakes a hand through his hair. "I don't think I lived in a way that I'd know the difference."

"Oh," she says quietly. She reaches out until her fingertips are brushing against the top of his hand. "I'm sorry."

He goes stiff at her touch but then he relaxes. "Thanks." His shoulders lift in a half-shrug. "It is what it is."

Maka opens her mouth to speak but her attention is caught by a sudden flurry of activity below. The spiders disperse from where they are huddled. Something green and familiar lies caught on the web and Maka's hand flies to her neck. She springs to her feet. "Oh no."

"What?" The boy gets to his feet. "What happened?"

"My scarf-" Maka continues to feel around her neck, like the scarf will magically re-appear. Her hand drops. "It fell off." She swallows. "They found it."

He doesn't say anything but instead he goes still as they watch more and more of the spiders trace their path to the tree. "Well," he says finally, "How do you feel about heights?"

She blinks. "They're fine, I guess."

"That's good," he says. "Because we're going to jump."

Maka stares at him for a moment before she realizes he's not joking. "That's a suicide mission."

"Good thing we're already dead, then."

"The web isn't going to hold us," she says flatly. "We're going to die again."

"And we'll get torn to pieces if we stay here." He points to where the first spider has reached the tree. "Which do you prefer?"

"Neither." She sighs to bury her fear but looking down makes her hesitate. Swallowing hard, she asks, "What if we get separated?"

He takes her hand and with his free hand, he plucks a piece of spider silk from her shoulder and winds it around their hands tightly, meshing between their fingers. "There," he says. "Now we can't get separated even if we wanted to."

It draws a smile out of Maka, despite everything. "Okay," she says, nodding. "Okay."

The side of his body presses against Maka as the boy squeezes her hand. "I'm right here."

They jump.

There is a soft beeping in the darkness.

The sound tugs at Maka persistently and pulls her into half-consciousness. Nothing about her feels solid, her being is a nebulously tethered string of memories and thoughts that feels like could break apart at any moment.

A presence that is not Maka pulses in the darkness. It should be alarming but whoever is with her doesn't inspire fear-their presence is a wild, chaotic and intense melody that calls to her being together and sings to her soul in a way she does not understand. She breathes out with a shudder that sends ripples through the darkness and the presence pauses their song; Maka frowns and reaches out.

It's a mistake: just as quickly as they appeared, the person disappears. Maka's protest sticks in her throat-she needs to know who the person is behind the song-and with a huge effort, she opens her eyes.

The bright white of ceiling tiles nearly blinds Maka. Beyond her, the beeping she heard takes on a mechanical tone and she hears the faint murmur of voices moving above her head. She rolls her tongue across her lips and un-sticks her throat, words croaking out of her mouth. "Where am I?

Someone gasps and, in the next moment, a hand grips hers tightly, "Maka!"

She turns her head to the voice, blinking groggily at the vague outline in front of her. Their face comes into focus in bits and pieces and even when she can see him clearly, it's hard to believe it's her father standing beside the bed.

Exhaustion paints purple shadows underneath Spirit's eyes and there is a permanent furrow in his brow even as a smile breaks across his face. His hair sticks up in every direction and when he comes closer, she can see white flecks standing out from the overgrown stubble sweeping across his cheeks and chin.

Maka's throat burns with a dull ache as she swallows. "Papa."

"It's okay, I'm right here," he says gently.

She flinches; his words shake memories loose and they clatter around in her head like rocks. The boy's face swims in her vision and her right hand, the one he had held, curls around air, palm tingling and oddly cold.

Spirit's rapidfire words finally reaches her ears, interrupting her thoughts.

"-ver three days, the doctors were starting to get worried but I knew you'd pull through!" He pats the top of her hand, wide smile still in place that doesn't mask the strain in his eyes. "You're a fighter, after all."

He frowns when Maka doesn't answer. "Honey?"

"I-" Maka begins to speak and stops when she realizes she has nothing to say. Her gaze slides down to her bedsheets and she feels her throat close-she hadn't thought she was going to see her father again.

"Don't push yourself." Spirit's fingers brush over her knuckles and she looks up. The faint murmur of voices from a TV and the sound of a chair scraping across the floor fills the room as he rises. "I'm going to go for the doctor but I'll be right back."

He's gone before Maka can say anything. She licks her lips and tries to organize the infinitely branching thoughts in her head into one stream of thought. There isn't a part of her that doesn't ache and when she breathes too deeply, a sharp stabbing pain needles at her side. Maka pulls her thoughts away from the pain and her eyes drift to look at her still-curled hand. She raises it to her face-the boy had seemed too real to be a dream, but if she's alive, then he couldn't be anything else.

Maka straightens her fingers slowly. She doesn't remember much after they had jumped but what she does remember is that his hand had still been wrapped around hers before everything turned to black. Maka settles back into her pillows, something close to disappointment burning dully in her chest.

At least she can be grateful her dream wasn't a complete nightmare, she thinks faintly as the fog from the anesthesia begins to claim her back to sleep. She yawns and closes her eyes, feeling her thoughts meandering into nothingness.

"Hey," a voice whispers.

Maka's eyes snap open. Her gaze darts around the room but she sees nothing. Next to the bed, her heart monitor chirps in faster beeps.

"Up here."

Maka glances upward. Burgundy eyes stare back at her.

Faint rays of light from the window illuminate the blood on the boy's dress shirt and turn him transparent as he looks down at Maka, upside down. "I remembered who I am."