He'll come back soon. Bretta told herself, time and again. He'll come back soon...
Her only answer was another awful howl from the wind outside. Dirthmouth was no stranger to those, being so close to the awful Howling Cliffs. This one, however, was far worse than usual gusts. It blew constantly with no end in sight.
Through her open window and door, each blast hit her exposed body with dreadful force. She shivered a thousand times, curling into a ball. Her antenna shook uncontrollably, her bottom feet so cold they were almost numb.
All the same she couldn't close her house down, what if he came back and she missed him? What if he decided to visit her and the door was barred? No, Bretta couldn't let that happen. She vowed to hold out no matter what. It was easier said than done.
As if to mock her, the wind blew faster, stronger. It was getting darker too, the shadows thickened and grew. Her light was useless in stopping them. Even the comfort of the plushie Bretta held on to tightly was a shrinking comfort.
She needed her real knight to come. So where was he?
The question hung over her like a horrible monster ready to pounce. Did he die? No, not my white savior! He's too strong! Could he have left? Maybe… he's not from here. Would he really leave without saying goodbye? Without coming to visit me? C-Could he have… forgotten about me?
"I could never forget you, Bretta."
A strong, confident voice boomed with enough force to shake the house. Bretta all but jumped out of bed. She turned to the door and was struck almost blind by a sudden, overwhelming light coming from outside.
A blot appeared in the center of the beam shining through the doorway. Small at first but fast growing, taking a familiar shape. The shape of her savior. This was not the tiny, fearless knight she'd known already. He was taller than her, his cloak pulled apart to reveal a mass of muscles bigger than Bretta's own head. Her mouth went dry at the sight of them.
"You are my maiden, Bretta," He said in a gentler voice, stepping into the house. "You're the one I've been looking for all this time."
Once she was able to pry her eyes away from his abs, Bretta noticed a change on his face. He was finally showing his lips, bent in a perfect smile. His eyes no longer had that intense, thousand yard stare but warmth and want. Want for her.
"I-I-I-I," She tried to say. Embarrassed, she looked downward, fiddling furiously with her hands. What do I do, what do I do! This is amazing! But, I'm not ready! Oh, why do I have to be such a screw up?!
"Don't beat yourself up," He appeared before her, the palm of his hand gently touching her cheek. It was warm, soft. It was all she could do to not melt right then and there. "You're wonderful, I knew that since the moment I saw you."
Somehow, Bretta found the resolve to look him in the eye. When his smile widened and he leaned forward, she didn't look away. Instead, she woke up.
Startled, she stood upright in bed, beaded with sweat all over. Her heart was thumping furiously, her breath short. It took a long time to quell the initial shock, the disappointment much longer.
"... darn it," Bretta muttered, clutching at the plushie. Every night since she met him, Bretta dreamed of her White Savior.
He occupied her waking thoughts too but the dreams? They were magic, incredible. But bittersweet too. No matter how wonderful they got, Bretta always woke up before the really special stuff could begin. Just like in real life, her hero was always just out of reach.
Still, she took some small comfort in how far it went that time. Maybe it was a sign?
It had been sometime since he'd come back to Dirtmouth. He spent an unusually long amount of time talking to Sly before vanishing down the well. Bretta considered asking the shopkeep what it was all about, maybe even paying him. She dropped the idea, Sly could've told the knight and she'd look like a stalker.
I'll ask him personally. Next time he comes, I'll definitely talk to him! She swore, climbing out of bed with a purpose. The dream was still fresh in her mind, it needed to be saved for posterity.
Bretta went about sketching its final moments in all their glorious detail. Her white savior, tall and strong, caressing the cheek of his fair maiden, their lips inches apart. At first, she thought about just getting the outline done but the process went so smoothly, she kept working. A perfection in such things, Bretta was surprised by how perfectly it turned out from the first go. There were no redraws, the beams of light, the character models, the inking, everything was perfect.
So enamored was she with it, Bretta found herself staring at the project with no small amount of pride. It wasn't until her stomach growled that the appraisal ended.
Oh, it's been that long? She glanced at the hourglass on her night stand. Dirtmouth had no sunlight, hadn't since long before even Elderbug was born. The residents had to measure the passage of time by using such devices, her's said it was almost noon. She'd been working for hours, hadn't even drank or eaten anything since yesterday.
Luckily, this wasn't the first time she'd become absorbed in an idea. She always had a fresh batch of grass tea and a few snacks to hold her over until a proper meal was ready. Besides, her knight might like it if she dropped a few pounds.
Snacking in ped, Bretta spent the afternoon writing down the dream in prose. It would have to be changed to fit the maiden story but only slightly. Perhaps the cold home could become a freezing dungeon, controlled by an evil, wind spirit?
Again, she became absorbed by her work. The ease with which the words seemed to just flow out of her and onto the page.
It wasn't hunger that broke her concentration this time, but a commotion coming from the village. She heard a loud gasp followed by calls to the other villagers. That's Elderbug. His leathery voice was unmistakable, as was the fact he didn't call for her.
All the same, Bretta put aside her diary and walked to the door. She glanced at the portrait lying on her desk and smiled on the way out. Leaning left, she peeked out to the village's center and was greeted by a strange sight.
Elderbug sat at the bench, mouth agape, his shoulders slumped. Iselda and Sly sat next to him, the kindly lady patting his back. Sly sat upright, his antenna wobbling, hands curled over his knees.
There was another bug there, one Bretta had never seen before yet seemed strangely familiar. She was tall even without the pair of large, white horns adding to her height. An elegant red dress reached down to her thin, black knees. It might have looked even more pretty if there wasn't something big stuffed under it.
She looks familiar. Bretta noted, watching Elderbug gather the strength to speak.
"You are certain? He is truly dead?"
"... Yes." The red lady answered after a moment's pause. "The strange things occurring in Hallownest of late, the bulbous growths on the beasts and walls, the dreams of radiant, shining light..."
"It was no dream," Sly said. "It was madness. A poison of the mind."
Poison of the mind? What could that mean? The only light she could remember was from the last dream. The bulbous growths, however, were something she definitely saw in that ill-fated expedition to the Fungal Wastes. Those made her skin crawl.
"You are more right than you know," The red lady continued. "This madness poisoned the kingdom long ago, turning it into what it is now. It was delayed once, at a terrible, unspeakable cost. Peace was ensured, only too briefly. He who held it at bay no longer could. Another calamity threatened these lands. Thus, the two of us endeavored to kill the infection instead, ensuring it could cause no more destruction. The cost was… no less steep this time."
There was a strength in her voice. A conviction that only a great, truthful hero could have. I wonder if my love will talk to me about his adventures like this someday-
The newcomer pulled her cloak apart, revealing what she hid beneath. Iselda gasped, Elderbug closed his eyes, Sly shook his head, the red lady lowered hers. Never, in her wildest dreams or most terrible nightmares could Bretta have predicted what she would live to see next.
In the stranger's thin arms was her White Savior's head, cracked and snapped in half.
Bretta didn't gasp. She didn't recoil as if struck, shout at the top of her lungs or call this woman a liar, a monster for playing such a trick on them. She merely stopped doing almost anything, breathing, blinking, listening. For what seemed like an eternity, all she could do was stare at all that was left of the greatest person she'd ever known.
Sometime in her stunned silence, Bretta willed herself away from the sight, numbly climbing back into bed. Just in time for her pillow to stifle the worst and loudest of her wails and cries.
She'd gotten used to crying a long time ago. She watched the already beaten down village wither even more. So many bugs were gone, her parents included. Not that they paid much attention to her, nobody did. Bretta was a ghost long before any of them were.
None of the worlds or people's abject indifference to her ever hurt like this, however. The tears wouldn't stop coming, her stomach ached worse than in those long days of starvation. Her heart's pain was indescribably more terrible.
Why did he have to die?! Bretta constantly asked herself, and anyone else who might hear her thoughts and answer. It's not fair, it's just not fair.
Lying there, thrashing about, clutching at her pillow, time seemed to lose all meaning for her again. The minutes stretched on forever and ever. Once or twice, Bretta imagined Elderbug calling for her during her wailing fits but she knew that couldn't be right. Her mind was just playing tricks.
Later, when the tears finally dried and most of her strength was spent, Bretta simply stayed lying down, her eyes locked onto the plushie pressed against her chest.
I never got to tell him how I felt. She thought, staring into those wonderful black eyes. Every time he walked past or sat down next to me, I kept silent like an idiot when I should've been talking to him, I never even got to hear his voice.
Bretta hoped to be the first to hear him do it, something special only she would have among everyone living there. She watched him approach the other villagers fairly regularly, for equipment or information, note a single peep.
All those times he approached everyone but you.
It was a fleeting thought, Bretta didn't even know how she reached it. All the same, in the long hours of the night, when she didn't dare to sleep, she couldn't escape it.
No, I'm just tired. I'm probably not thinking clearly. She repeated like a mantra until inevitably sifting through her memories, scrutinizing them in every detail. The same conclusion came up every time: he never interacted with her after the caves. Never so much as glanced at her.
He was busy! There was that infection going around, making everyone crazy. This was her next train of thought. Even without a world-saving mission, Hallownest was a deadly place, one needed information and weapons to even try surviving the upper layers.
So why then, did he never ask her for any? After all, she'd gotten down there and back home all on her own. She was no master cave crawler but Bretta knew enough to do that much. How to avoid the beasts, a few hidden places where someone could hide, rest and eat for a while. If nothing else, she would have offered him better shelter than that cold, weatherbeaten bench.
These and a dozen more reasons were considered, self-argued, and inevitably refuted. Bretta felt sick, tired, couldn't stop shivering even as the thick blanket covered her from head to foot.
You're shaking because you're scared to admit it. A voice that was and wasn't hers said, chilling her to the bone. He never talked to you because he forgot you even exist.
"No, that's a lie… he saved me…" Bretta clutched the plushie closer, curling into a ball.
Because he was exploring the caves and ran into you! He probably thought he'd find something useful down there. Couldn't have been further from the truth.
"I can be useful…"
Useful people don't get abandoned and trapped.
"H-He was different…"
Not when it came to you.
She didn't know when she found the strength to get up and take the painting. Bretta just found herself lying on the ground, staring at it. Fleetingly, she hoped it would come true, that the red lady was wrong. The visceral image of a decapitated head killed it every time.
Glancing about the room, her eyes settled on the posters, the pillow and plush all in his image. Everywhere she looked, black eyes stared back at her. Bretta once took pride in how lifelike they were. How they captured the mysterious, imagined thousand-yard stare she once found so appealing.
They perfectly captured something alright, his complete indifference to her whole existence. Bretta didn't cry when she admitted, her tears were spent. Wordlessly, she dropped the painting on the ground and walked outside.
No one was there, all the lights were off, save for the one just above the bench. Bretta didn't so much as glance at it as she walked past, heading northwest. The climb was long but not dangerous. She passed through long swaths of abandoned tunnels and pathways without anything but rocks in sight. Not even the beasts outside the village wanted anything to do with her.
Long before she reached the edge of the Howling Cliffs, Bretta was assaulted by a strong, wailing wind. It was freezing, digging into her bones. Dirt and rocks were flung her way, some big enough to hurt. There was little light, more than once she stumbled and fell.
There were many stories about the lands beyond the Howling Cliffs. Rumors of a dead wasteland where nothing survived. Others thought it was a war zone, a place where bugs went mad and slaughtered each other indiscriminately.
Bretta acknowledged all of these things dispassionately. She thought seeing such a horrifying place would stir something within her. Wonder, fear. Nothing. The wind didn't deter her, the piles of mauled corpses everywhere didn't send her crying back to her house. She walked past them, heading deeper into the wastes. Maybe something there would do the trick?
Maybe then she wouldn't feel hollow anymore.
A/N: In this version of events, the Knight doesn't rescue Zote but does save Bretta, leaving her enamored with him through to the games end. I thought it'd be interesting and sad to see what happens to her in such circumstances.