Across the broad spectrum of fission and reflection, there exists a singular moment of light shared by the occupants of Earth and of Alternia, a point of radiant overlap birthing familiarity anew.
To a troll, it is midnight through the winter's haze, sister moons scrambled into a uniform glow, drenching frosted ground with a deadly, untouchable beauty. To a human, it is summer's sunset bleeding out a rainbow onto cloudless indigo, evenstar's cool release beckoning forth furtive liaisons.
Seasons disparate, but intensity and frequency echoed across cosmos; a cohesive moment of peace and solitude, an unbroken bridge of shared secrecies in which two species retreat, ensconce, contrive.
It is a time Rose knows well.
Once, this was the light by which needles were deployed and lengthy tomes embarked upon, by which the zoologically dubious was contemplated and the psychologically intriguing probed, by which guardians were avoided and distant friends pestered into the night.
Lately, it has marked the conciliation of two cultures, the understanding of new races, and the continuing exchange of custom and ideology.
Now, as she races her own heartbeat down the hillside, it is the shade Rose draws about herself and sweeps towards her wounded beloved.
As she begins her descent, she does not know who she runs towards, which girl lies defeated on the sands. She cannot discern from the fading stains of blue and green whether jade or cerulean has dominated.
It is several long, heart-stopping moments before she is near enough to pick out features, and that moment of identity spins relief and guilt into a cord to draw her ever onwards. A part of her is glad of this outcome, and that disgusts her.
Perhaps as much would be true either way.
But a moment passes, and Rose has arrived. She drops to her knees by her defeated moirail, and, as gentle hands move from wound to wound, twilight rolls over the pair like a bandage.
Eyelids flicker open, and the girl jolts upright into consciousness.
"That bitch!"
In spite of – or perhaps because of – everything which had happened, Rose never stopped knitting. In the bubble, the creation of anything permanent had become a novelty, but with silver needles and captchalogued yarn, she could build something no slip in memory would erase. After Aradia's arrival, it became her habit to sit outside, in thoughts of fresh air, watching the ever-shifting landscape that had become their garden as she wrought reason from a knotted tangle of threads.
It was there that she held her first conversation with Vriska Serket, calling out at the passing troll without ever moving her eyes from her work.
"On Earth, we invented a brilliant contraption to alert people within a dwelling to visitors seeking an audience. You merely need to compress a button located adjacent to the main entrance."
Vriska stopped, and in her peripheral vision Rose saw her turn to stare.
"We had doorbells on Alternia too," she said.
Rose smirked. "Yet you have walked out of your way to pass by this residence at least a dozen times by my count, and failed to make use of one. I assure you, its operation is hardly complex. If you seek to converse with my housemate, you need only ring."
"Who said I was looking for Aradia?"
"Well, if it's my company you sought, consider your quest complete."
Vriska didn't say a word, but in a brief glitter of butterfly wings she was slumped against the wall of the house. Pausing over a dropped stitch, Rose noted a toss of black hair.
"I was just walking. I have plenty of irons in the fire. I didn't ask to talk to some fussy meddler."
"My mistake. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to indulge my curiosity."
Rose did not flinch as Vriska suddenly loomed over her, peering over the back of the chair at Rose's project.
"What is that?"
"A tea cosy," Rose explained, pulling the maroon wool into an approximation of the intended shape. "A gift, for Aradia. Would you like anything?"
Vriska swung herself around, perching on the arm of Rose's chair.
"Like what?"
"I'm sure I could think of something. A scarf perhaps? I have some yarn which would tone well with your outfit."
"Yours too." Both still wore the sharp tangerine colour of Light. "Why not use it yourself?"
"One can own only so many knitted items before growing weary of them," Rose shrugged. "So would you like one?"
"Not a scarf."
"Then what?"
Vriska dropped suddenly, landing smoothly on the ground, leaning backwards with a smile. The sudden movement caught Rose off-guard, and she looked up, meeting the girl's eyes.
"You'll think of something." Vriska grinned.
That smile, and the stark whiteness of her teeth gave Rose pause. Vriska had slipped into Rose's daylight without dimming it so much as a shade. The light must have been bothering her. Guilted, Rose quickly imagined a cooler evening glow.
Even as her shoulders relaxed, Vriska rolled her eyes.
"I don't mind the light."
"Well, I wouldn't want you uncomfortable on my behalf."
"She bit me!"
Rose's heart pangs at Vriska's obvious distress, the accent-impediment which always remerges under pressure. She lays a hand on Vriska's arm, and it takes a moment for those eight pupils to focus on her.
"Rose?" Vriska sounds dazed.
"I was nearby," Rose says by way of explanation. "Are you hurt?"
"I'll be fiiiiiiiine."
The bubble is a place of protection, and most minor injuries heal near-instantaneously. Vriska's cuts are already closing, but Rose is less than convinced, especially since Vriska can barely keep her voice steady for eight beats of i.
Vriska moves to sit straighter, but Rose catches her by the shoulders, and a stern look is enough for the troll to throw herself back onto the beach with a sigh. She lifts her tunic to reveal a long gash across her stomach.
"I'm fine to go after her," she grumbles.
Rose inspects the wound carefully, each touch drawing a rough hiss of pain from her patient.
"The evidence is against you there."
As Rose acquainted herself with the trolls, Vriska seemed to stand out as the one troll who would seek her company even over Aradia's, draping herself carelessly over whatever happened to be nearby, eightfold eyes transfixed by the growing mass of orange wool.
"Is it mittens?"
The corner of Rose's mouth quirked upwards, as it always did when Vriska made another guess. "You'll see."
"You keep saying that! Why won't you just tell me what you're creating?"
Rose frowned and continued to stitch. "Why are you so preoccupied with the number eight?"
Rose marvelled briefly at the daily wonder which was Vriska Serket rolling her eyes. "Because it's the best number, obviously!"
Rose ignored the overdramatic failure to substantiate. "There must be some kind of relevance. You can hardly claim it as your lucky number."
"I do have vision eight-fold, you know!" Vriska tossed her hair. "Only real winners have that!"
"Oh?" Rose prompted. "I hadn't realised it was so unusual."
"Only two trolls in history have had it!" Vriska smiled proudly. "Me and my ancestor – the Marquise Spinneret Mindfang."
Rose was silent for a long moment, letting the quiet click of the needles fill the void. She finished a row of stitches, turned her knitting over, and finally spoke.
"I have heard you use that name yourself."
"Who else would I want to FLARP as?" Vriska winked, tilting her head dramatically even though Rose's gaze was elsewhere. "Besides, my theme isn't just the number eight. Spiders are the best!"
Remembering her conversations with Kanaya, Rose made a small deduction.
"Your lusus."
"So am I doooooooomed?"
Rose's cursory examination fails to yield any signs of lasting damage.
"The prognosis is good," she says, readjusting Vriska's clothing to cover the rapidly mending injury.
As Rose expected, the troll makes another attempt to get to her feet, and is this time restrained by a touch on the back of the hand. Instead, Vriska settles for propping her hands against her hips.
"You are suffering from severe blood loss and exhaustion," Rose informs her. "If you don't rest, you will go into shock."
She is treated to a vicious glare.
"You are bossy and fussy and meddling and you aren't even supposed to be here!"
At the mention of her lusus, Vriska deflated slightly. "I suppose Fussy-Fangs told you all about it."
"Not in as much detail as I would have liked," Rose acknowledged – a truth, if one also hopeful of mollifying her companion's sudden mood swing. "I am fascinated by the concept – pseudo-parental bonding with childless adults of multigenerous species –"
"Parental?" Vriska interjected.
Rose glanced up, and permitted herself the small smile of elucidation. "It means –"
"I knoooooooow what it meeeeeeeeans!" Vriska drawled. "Lusus aren't like parents! At least, not like your adult-female."
"Mother," Rose corrected.
"I watched your life."
Rose paused at the assertion, still unused to the lack of privacy her old life had been afforded.
"You may have born witness to some portion of it," she admitted. "Although your viewing was most likely brief, focussed only on the recent past, and coloured heavily with temporal spoilers."
"I only bothered with the best bits! But I watched how you communicated with your parent, and it was nothing like a lusus!" Vriska sat up suddenly, the flicking ends of her hair barely visible in the dim light. "Look at the game!"
Rose blinked at her. "What aspect are you referring to precisely?"
"Aaaaaaaall of us prototyped with our lusus!" Vriska said. "I only saw one adult-companion-sprite in your session. But the cat – you brought him food, and in return he stayed with you. That's what a lusus is supposed to be!"
Rose reflected on this for a moment. Was Jaspers truly the closest she held to a guardian figure? Hardly a promising thought, although still one far more reassuring than what self-prototyping meant for D-
"If I am to accept this hypothesis, I insist upon extending it further," Rose said quickly. "If my relationship with my sprite mirrors that of a lusus, then you must equally accept that the troll concept of ancestors is loosely equivalent to parents. You must see have centred your life on the Marquise as an unattainable ideal, and you continue to dread her rejection in spite of constant awareness you shall never receive any indication of such!"
In the moment's silence that followed, Rose was aware that the heat on her own cheeks was mirrored by a dull sweep of cerulean. She had become caught up in the ideas discussed and let her professional demeanour slip, embarrassing them both.
The knitting lay forgotten in her lap.
Vriska hastily got to her feet, and after only a moment's hesitation, she made for the door.
As she left, she muttered something, and Rose could not discern whether the statement was intended for her hearing, or a private observation made audible by Vriska's ever-present natural exuberance. Regardless, the words were clear to her, if not their immediate meaning.
"I can't believe we just did that without a pile!"
"I'm glad you came."
Vriska's admission is at odds with her petulant expression, and Rose cannot help but meet her glare with a tender smile.
"I sincerely doubt that this climate will assist your recovery," she says, although she knows that this too will be designated 'fussing.' "If you would permit me...?"
The world melts easily around them. The damp sands fade away, until Vriska is stretched across a warm grassy hilltop beneath an early evening sky. Faintly glittering stars stretch to the horizon, unbroken by any nearby memories to compete with them.
"Better?" Rose asks.
Enquiries were made. A housemate, consulted. A backstory, revealed. An understanding, reached – perhaps more easily than Rose would have cared to confess.
By Rose's count, Aradia had slept three times since Vriska's last visit. The third time the sky outside began to darken, Rose made her choice and, bag thrown over her shoulder, ventured carefully forth into the twilight.
Vriska's hive was nearby, perched precariously on a clifftop, towering steeples casting an eerie silhouette against the gray half-light.
The front door was ajar. As Rose stepped warily over the threshold, she heard a hitched sob from inside.
"Vriska, is that you?" she asked. Receiving no response, she continued onwards. The door at the end of the hallway had been thrown open, so hard the wall had dented. And behind it –
Vriska sat at a table, slumped against the wood in a perfect portrayal of hopelessness. If she heard Rose's intrusion, she showed no sign of it. It was only when Rose drew close to her that she heard words among the fractured breaths, muffled by the wall of wood and hair.
"She left me..."
Rose did not know of whom she spoke. On reflection, she knew almost nothing of the girl lying distraught before her – and what little she had been told warned her away. Yet, still, she wanted to know more.
"Who?" she asked, touching the troll lightly on the arm.
Her curiosity was rewarded with a sudden flurry of movement, which ended with Rose bemused to discover Vriska's head pressed against her chest, arms holding her tightly in place – and her own returning the embrace.
"Kanaya," Vriska muttered against Rose's top. "She went last night. She..."
"Go after her." The words were out of Rose's mouth before she had even considered the options, advice she normally would have deliberated over brought forth instantly by Vriska's distress. "Tell her how you feel about her. Sometimes, there is no point in feigning detachment. If she means this much to you, she should know."
Vriska pulled back just enough to look up at Rose, but did not release her.
"Go!" Rose repeated.
"But – wait – you –"
Rose smiled. "I'll still be here when you get back. You know where to find me."
Vriska jumped to her feet and swept Rose into a real hug. Rose counted eight beats in her arms before she was let go with a kiss on the cheek, and Vriska soared out the door.
Rose paused and retrieved her project from her bag before she departed, leaving the bright orange spider on the table for Vriska's return.
"I suppoooooooose."
As Vriska stretches herself out beneath the stars, Rose settles besides her on the grass with legs crossed and hands folded neatly in her lap.
"Relax!" Vriska tells her, rolling her eyes. When Rose fails to do so, she reaches up and pulls the girl down. Rose falls against her with a gasp of surprise, which turns into an unwilling giggle as she tries unsuccessfully to escape Vriska's hold and regain her poise.
"Oh no, Miss Meddle! If I'm stuck here, you're stuck with me!"
Rose relents, and accepts the hug, collapsing against her moirail's shoulder with a theatrical sigh that echoes out into the eternal dusk.
"I expected nothing less."