[ The Hollow Knight falls to their knees; the world trembles with the force of their tortured voice, a sound forced out by a throat never meant to hold it--
It's not the same. It's not the same (even as Grimm collapses, even as ash and fire billows from the wounds they've left in him). They have to hold onto that.
They can't do it again.
The world waits for a final push. They know what it is; it's something that has already been determined.
They stopped feeling their injuries a while ago, but as they return to themselves pain makes itself known once again. The slow, painful throb where an arm used to be, the ache of cuts and scrapes, bruises and burns, where they weren't quite fast enough.
They limp through the fire without slowing much. They've had worse, endured worse, been killed by worse;
but no, they can no longer ask themselves why this hurts so much. It's a fresh, new wound; it will bleed, and then it will heal, and perhaps it will scar. Another lesson learned, a memory made.
Just for a moment, they kneel in kind. Just for a moment, they reach out in a familiar gesture, even though hugging is no longer really possible the way they are used to with only one arm.
They press their forehead against Grimm's for a brief moment. It's as much as they'll allow themselves to give, otherwise they won't be able to go through with things at all.
Then they grip the nail tightly and ram it through his chest, upwards, with all the strength they have left.
If they can ask for one thing, let that be enough. ]
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It's not the same. It's not the same (even as Grimm collapses, even as ash and fire billows from the wounds they've left in him). They have to hold onto that.
They can't do it again.
The world waits for a final push. They know what it is; it's something that has already been determined.
They stopped feeling their injuries a while ago, but as they return to themselves pain makes itself known once again. The slow, painful throb where an arm used to be, the ache of cuts and scrapes, bruises and burns, where they weren't quite fast enough.
They limp through the fire without slowing much. They've had worse, endured worse, been killed by worse;
but no, they can no longer ask themselves why this hurts so much. It's a fresh, new wound; it will bleed, and then it will heal, and perhaps it will scar. Another lesson learned, a memory made.
Just for a moment, they kneel in kind. Just for a moment, they reach out in a familiar gesture, even though hugging is no longer really possible the way they are used to with only one arm.
They press their forehead against Grimm's for a brief moment. It's as much as they'll allow themselves to give, otherwise they won't be able to go through with things at all.
Then they grip the nail tightly and ram it through his chest, upwards, with all the strength they have left.
If they can ask for one thing, let that be enough. ]