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The degradation of laughter into sobbing was not something foreign to Emilitia. In fact, she found herself locked in this cycle of inescapable madness, forever tormented by thoughts that plagued her isolation.
It would start with a giggle.
A joke told to herself. Not said aloud, as there was no one to share it with. Ever since the rest of her fellows so rudely cast her to the side, she is not one for company.
Her position in the higher class was once thought to be unshakable, as her loyalty to the glistening Pale King was clearly unwavering. She spoke nothing but his praises, basking in the sapience his presence offered and never doubted his actions. Her firm loyalty earned her a spot in his list of favorites, and it kept her feeling proud and important.
She and the rest of the higher caste would spend countless hours together, wining and dining without a care in the world. Before the horrid infection was conceived, the City of Tears was dazzlingly magical, with lights sparkling every corner; it was hard not to embrace the festive air, throwing balls and parties every so often for the pure reason of glee. Emilitia herself would often commission the renowned Songstress Marissa, and the nights were kept lively by the sounds of cheering, singing, and music mixing so fluidly with the rain pattering down on the windows.
Jokes were shared amongst the participants, and they’d all share a haughty laugh over them until the night’s end. The warm atmosphere would contrast so brilliantly with the dreary blues of the city, and no one felt a trace of sorrow.
Well. One could suppose the lower classes held some distaste, as is inevitable with caste-centered societies, but why should the rich busy themselves with such things? They had everything they ever wanted, and nothing could take that away from them.
Emilitia’s memories of this time were enough to bring a smile to her face. She’d let her mind glaze over, close her eyes, and drift back to those days. Even now, she can sometimes swear she still hears Marissa’s voice, echoing through the city’s streets and slicing through the neverending rain.
Of course, the songstress had long since passed away, so that wouldn’t be possible.
One short giggle would soon turn to more persistent laughter.
Tragedy struck, and oh, wasn’t such a thing so lovely to witness?
The Infection, as it was called, began to ravage the creatures of Hallownest. Paranoia seized the bugs of the city, casting suspicion on any and everyone who dared move odd. Get-togethers were far less frequent, as fear drove insects to stay cooped up in their homes. Tales of the Infection sparked questions; How did this start? Who is infected? How long will this last? Is my family okay? How is the Pale Court faring? Will I survive this?
And, most commonly,
Are we all going to die?
Emilitia thought the rumors rubbish when it began. An “Infection” causing insects to lose their minds? To turn against one another without remorse? Some began theorizing who “started” the Infection, and this is what led Emilitia to believe it was all some conspiracy. Something made up to put a negative light on the King, as many chastised him for not taking action. Some even thought he was the source, and that this Infection was his way of silencing any insect that turned against him.
After all, not long after the Infection’s beginning phases, one of the King’s knights betrayed him. The details were scarce to come by, and the trial was kept behind closed doors – but everyone knew the name of the knight, Xero, and the circumstances of his untimely death.
Infection.
Whether that Infection came before or after the attempt on the King’s life, that fact remains disputed over. Hence the cries against the King.
Emilitia knew better. The Pale King was a holy being, incapable of doing wrong. He would never cause havoc such as this, and furthermore, he would never harm his subjects.
She argued this to any that spoke out against him. She berated those that dared spread those harmful rumors, and was astounded to find her fellows sharing some of the same beliefs. They all began to partake in the slander of the King’s name, and Emilitia was outraged by it.
As the Infection grew closer, the King finally ordered the closing of the Stag stations. Emilitia saw this as a point in the right direction, as, clearly shown by this action, the King was doing whatever he could to keep as many insects safe as possible. He must be planning something behind the scenes; something that will save all of them, and purge Hallownest of this plague.
Emilitia found herself so desperate to believe this, she did whatever she could to assure herself of this truth. While the rest of the high class teetered back and forth on their loyalty, she decided to take matters into her own hands.
Visits to the White Palace were reserved for those invited, but since Emilitia ranked so high on the Pale King’s personal list, all it took was a simple request. She arrived at the gleaming palace’s doors with one goal in mind, and it was to find out the King’s plan of action. She needed solid, concrete evidence; something she could wave in the face of those that misjudged him, laughing at how foolish they had been.
She was sure diplomacy would be her easy ticket. After all, she knew the King held her high in his mind, so surely, all she’d have to do was kindly ask in passing.
Unsurprisingly, her meeting with the Pale King was not one-on-one. She was specifically invited to a dinner, in which she would be accompanied by plenty of other nobles. This included some that Emilitia was familiar with, which would make it all the sweeter when her side was proven correct.
The dinner was marvelous, as it always was. What was a shock, however, was the way every insect danced around the subject of the affliction. No one uttered a word of it, choosing to feign ignorance toward its existence for the sake of a wholesome meal together.
While that was usually all well and good, Emilitia had hoped it to be the subject of conversation; to make the transition into her subtle questioning far smoother.
Seeing as no one else was keen on mentioning it, she took the reins. As casually and nonchalantly as possible, she cleared her throat to get his attention.
“My glorious King, I ask that you forgive my interruption of this current delightful conversation, but there is just something that bothers me so. You’ve caught word of this alleged Infection, yes? I assume one as magnificent as yourself has thousands of solutions at the ready, so of course I bear not a single worry. I must inquire, however, what the current solution may be? You see, the citizens grow needlessly wary of your intentions, and I simply…”
She trailed off, reading the shift in the room. Every insect had gone silent, and the King’s stare bore right through her. It felt as though she stepped past a line somewhere, but she couldn’t fathom where that could’ve been. It was a harmless question, wasn’t it?
Everyone’s gaze slowly turned upon the King, whom was obviously discomforted by so many anticipating eyes on him at once.
Now, Emilitia couldn’t remember his answer clearly, but it was ludicrously vague. He merely attempted at reassuring her, claiming that there was nothing to worry on, and that it was best to leave such affairs in the hands of the royalty. He practically swept the entire question under the rug, and with it, the notion that he even had a solution.
This is when the hiccupping chuckles would amplify into shrieks of laughter.
Emilitia’s faith in the King crashed ten-fold. The other insects were eager to take that answer at face value, opting to continue whatever mundane chit-chat they had been pursuing beforehand.
How could she have been as blind as them, once? It was more than obvious that the King was floundering for ideas, fumbling to keep his grasp on a kingdom that was starting to doubt him. His awkwardness upon answering her was so apparent. So barely hidden. She devoted her life to him, her ideals, her beliefs, her way of living – but what was that display? She had grown so dependent on the concept of him that she had failed to even consider the other sides. She had simply pushed them away.
Blocked them out.
Blotted anything but his light.
His light was all she had needed, wasn’t it?
His light could save her, could save anyone, couldn’t it?
Why had she convinced herself of this for so long?
This was what led to the destruction of her mind. Perhaps it was petty to get so worked up, but she could recall what followed his explanation vibrantly.
Her grip had grown so tight on a glass in her hand that it shattered. A gasp rippled throughout the dining room, and again, all eyes were on her. Wide. Confused. Appalled.
Not only had she failed to get what she wanted, but her own stance on him was overtaken by doubt. The realization of that horrified her, terrified her. She built her life around him, chasing nothing but his glow – for Wyrm’s sake, the very fact she could have such complex emotion was thanks to him! Once thought a blessing, now nothing but an unwanted curse…
Her laughter increasing in volume. Then. Now. All she could do was laugh.
A maniacal, unrestrained cackle, throwing her whole body into violent shaking. Her laughter grew so hard that tears pricked at her eyes, yet she didn’t even try to hold them back. They came streaming down her face, threatening to choke her.
Wouldn’t that be something? The massacre of one’s faith leading to their very death?
It may as well have, as everyone grew reasonably disturbed by this outburst. The Pale King ordered someone to escort Emilitia off the palace grounds, before stating that she was unwelcome to return. Emilitia wanted to stop her laughter, so she could shout and scream until her lungs ripped apart, tearing into the King with venomous words and unrelenting hatred.
But she couldn’t make it stop.
Not even as she was forcefully dragged away by the King’s knights. She didn’t fight. She didn’t plead.
She laughed. And laughed. And laughed. And laughed.
Oh, and what irony! What beautiful, beautiful irony! Not long after this, suddenly the King’s plan came to fruition! A vessel to contain this dastardly Infection, to seal it away for good. Emilitia could only imagine his reasoning for refusing to mention this when prompted. What could he possibly be hiding? What is the rotten truth behind this “Pure Vessel?” There is something sinister lurking in the shadows, and by now, she’s more than aware.
Not that anyone would listen now. The rest of the high class distanced from her entirely, leaving her behind and avoiding all contact with her. Their loyalty in the King spiked with his wondrous invention, and the kingdom rejoiced with its success. Parties and balls began to erupt again, and holidays were announced in honor of the Vessel and the three Dreamers needed to properly lock it away. Emilita could remember the cheering that came from the streets when the great fountain was completed, and when she emerged to catch a glimpse herself, the crowd parted as if she, herself, were diseased.
Rather than feel disgust, or anger, or call out each and every one of them for their sick, brainwashed minds –
She laughed.
For the months that followed, Emilitia knew of the rumors about her. She caught every glare tossed her way and heard every mutter under someone’s breath. Mothers would usher their children away. She was often denied the luxuries she once took for granted.
But it didn’t matter anymore. She responded to it all with unconstrained joy. She knew they were all fools, and she knew they would all fall before her in time.
After all, something was wrong. Something was off. This wasn’t going to work. She knew it, but she told not a soul. Not that anyone would seek out her opinion either way.
One can only laugh so long. Her throat becomes sore, her eyes well up with tears, and it crashes down into pitiful sobs.
She was right. Oh, she was more than right – but at what cost?
The vessel was a failure. The Infection broke free of its prison, and this time, it came back with a vengeance. Fauna and flora alike were corrupted, stringing up husks like puppets as the dead were reanimated. The City of Tears went into a state of lockdown as a last resort, but it was far too late now. The Infection seeped into the sorry city and brought what once stood proudly down to its knees.
Emilitia, locked away in her home, could hear every screech. She heard splashes of bodies falling into the irrigation systems. She could hear the very buildings crumble, as if the stress affected even the great walls that surrounded her.
Often, she’d find herself gazing outside. The rain fell as if nothing had changed, and it washed away the puddles of orange and yellow that would stain the ground as every citizen succumbed. She wondered if the day would come for her, yet that never seemed to happen.
Funny, right? One of the most broken minds is left untouched by something that targets one’s psyche. Something about that… it made her laugh.
Then cry.
It was a sense of survivor’s guilt, she would assume. Fully believing she was the only one left to roam this city, it forced her into a melancholy loneliness beyond any she had felt before. Trapped in seclusion long before this, she thought the she’d be used to this.
But of course not. The sounds of bustling insects were silenced. The knowledge that not another insect remained alive was maddening… though one could argue she was already far past sane.
The rest of the nobility was dead. Her former friends, foes, acquaintances… Oh, Wyrm, her family… every last one. Gone.
Worse than gone. Replaced. Their bodies possessed into groaning, lumbering monsters.
She would sob. And sob. And sob. Until she was dry of tears.
Her throat hurt. Her eyes burned. Her chest ached. Her body was sore.
Her mind… well… it had broken long ago.
Shuddering, her heavy breathing was the only sound aside from the rain. She blinked once or twice, gaining clarity to her vision again. Hesitantly, slowly, carefully – her head lifted. Her eyes fell on the plentiful flowers that littered her living quarters. Growing from the cracked stone beneath her feet, developing large, purple buds that faintly glowed in what dim light was given through the glass door.
She wasn’t quite sure what caused them to sprout here. They only made themselves known once the dirt beneath the flooring uncovered itself, leaving room for the plant life to rise.
Not that she was complaining, however. She thought their color was lovely. A color that was deep, regal, beautiful… a shine that came from its core and lit up the room… calming, in a sense, yet she couldn’t help but be reminded of someone through them.
…Oh, yes. Of course. She knew who they reminded her of.
A pleasant memory made her smile.
Complete with a giggle to follow.