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The possession of a younger sibling—one that is mobile and willful, you must correct yourself, as for quite the timeless expanse you have already possessed one with neither of those traits—requires such a series of adjustments as you never once expected it might.
For instance: When walking the paths together you must take care to shorten your stride and slow your pace else hear the steady pap pap pap of Ghost’s tread trail off into silence behind you, their stubby legs unable to keep up with your natural gait without using another dead sibling’s garb to help them sprint in gasps.
Or: As they have no easy means to follow you through the caverns as you rappel with thread, adjusting its length and strength and recalculating the force necessary to carry yourself and them.
Most presently pressing—and to your shame as well—you still find yourself defaulting to thinking of your younger sibling as it and not they sometimes. It may only be out of habit, but that does nothing to tamp down frustration at yourself and resentment toward your father’s rank callousness at instilling such presumption in you. None of your void-stained kin are or should ever have been treated as objects, it’s unfair that your first instinct should still be to do exactly that—they never even had the luxury to choose the way you did—
That vein of thought prompted its own realization, which brings you to now, as you traverse the road home extra slowly and Ghost trots beside you.
“Ghost,” you say, and gradually slow to a stop as you find yourself uncharacteristically lost for words. You turn to your small sibling. They face you already, blank mask upturned to you; as you further chew your words they tilt their head to one side. “Would you… erm. I realize this is rather apropos of nothing, but I know not any truly natural timing to ask. Would you… like to have a gender?”
That IS really out of nowhere! they respond in sign. What’s that even MEAN?
As always you are strongly tempted to curb their informality and as always you tamp that impulse down. The old Hallownest where such things were insisted upon—primarily your father’s influence as you understand it—is no more, and all the better for the world. The timeless expanse that passed between the kingdom’s stasis and their return they spent far outside the kingdom amongst common bugs, and if that is where they learned these mannerisms, well, that is also where they developed the strength of character that took them through the ruined kingdom without giving up.
“I mean that…” There really is no delicate way to speak around the way they were created, designed, for such a singular purpose. “Child I may have been at the time but I saw enough of the schematics later as I traveled Hallownest myself. In the kingdom any bug should have had a gender registered with the government at birth based on sex, and been able to apply to change that registry to something else desired during their final instar period or later. Legally no Vessels existed but the Hollow Knight and they were never registered as anything at all, as they were meant to be our father’s tool rather than a bug, and for that purpose he designed the Vessels to be sexless.
“I have endeavored to refer to you neutrally as a neutral bug should be as a symbol of accepting your personhood. But upon reflection you ought to have the same freedom of choice as any of us—better if nothing had been imposed upon you from the start and you could always have chosen a gender for yourself, as is tradition among my mother’s people and the mantises.
“So… would you like to select a gender? Or would you rather carry on as you are? I believe that a thinking, feeling creature such as yourself should be allowed the agency of choice in this matter.”
Okay, I understand what YOU mean… Ghost says slowly, face downturned as though considering your two sets of claws lined up on the earth. I just don’t really… get what it means to be a gender???
You.
Well.
It has been some time since you’ve felt quite so flummoxed.
You realize you’ve been staring when Ghost goes on, hurriedly: Like I think I USED to have a better idea of what gender even is????? Maybe??????? But that was before I came back to Hallownest so…
Hearing this does little to mitigate your shock but does explain many things. You have never been through the boundary yourself, have been led to believe that your unique status might protect you from its effects somewhat, but you do know that it causes a deterioration in the memory not sapience of bugs which pass through. The pill bug to whom Monomon the Teacher entrusted her mask reportedly suffered some degree of amnesia even upon returning to the kingdom; traversing the barrier multiply cost Ghost even more dearly. You yourself bore witness to their struggle to learn again how to write and use sign language.
“Gender, is…,” you begin awkwardly, likely a poor cover of your surprise. “Gender is, erm, that is to say it is a social role that one inhabits, including one’s general behavior, the manner of accessories with which one might adorn one’s body… And more importantly it is a feeling in one’s own heart about where and how one belongs amongst other bugs. It’s handled differently in different societies of course. I mentioned to you that among the mantises and in the Nest it was commonplace for bugs to select their own gender past a certain point of maturity, though I believe that’s later in life for mantises than it was for my mother’s kind.
“I could say to you that the Hive had no true concept of gender but that would be an oversimplification I’m afraid. Caste was more important to them as a society and so generally speaking the three castes were each of a gender, one and the same. I couldn’t tell you if there were exceptions as I did not spend long enough in the Hive Queen’s care to understand their ways as one born of the Hive would nor was I at a particularly speculative age or state of mind at the time.
“I have also heard tell… that amongst our father’s people there was no choice. A wyrm was simply given a social role by its elders and this could not be changed or contested. I know not how true this story is but the Pale King is said to have instituted his system of red tape and petition in Hallownest as a kinder alternative, in spite of the greater freedom allowed by the societies which existed before his arrival. I believe it rather an appropriate portrait of his many follies. Our father was a pitiful man.”
Ghost has gone from watching your face to looking down at the ground and scratching at the front of their mask where their mouth would be concealed, had they one to conceal in the first place. It’s a gesture they’ve picked up from being around other bugs as far as you’re aware. Unsure of whether they wax thoughtful or if they have simply lost interest in your desire to castigate your shared sire, you fall silent.
Why’d you pick being a girl? they ask you at some length. What does being a girl mean? Why does that matter to you?
“Ah,” you say, and falter yet again. “That is, erm. That is a rather difficult question to answer truly in only words. As I said to you before much of one’s choice depends on one’s feelings. I suppose…”
You pause to take your needle from your back simply to hold it in your hands, tip pointed towards the ground so your small sibling shall know you present them no threat.
“The simplest way for me to explain my own gender is thus: I choose to define myself as my mother’s daughter, as my mothers’ daughter. Not simply to follow in the footsteps of the three queens who raised me but to become the sort of woman my mother was, and to grow in judgment from the fair and poor examples my foster mothers set. Does this answer your question, Little Ghost?”
I think so, they say. You find yourself uncertain as to whether they are being truthful or merely polite, as you don’t believe you did the best possible job of explaining yourself.
“Either way,” you say to sweep away embarrassment, refastening your weapon to your back decisively, “if you wish to choose for yourself it is something you may think on at your leisure.”
Ghost tilts their head in the opposite direction they did earlier. No thanks, they say.
“What?”
This whole gender thing, they say, not an ounce of hesitation in the movements of their tiny claws. It just seems sorta… uncomfortable? So like, I think I don’t need one. I’m good.
You cannot help yourself: The chuckle bubbles up from the base of your abdomen and rings through the air as you let it go free.
“That is very like you,” you say to your sibling once you have gotten the fit of laughter under control.
What’s THAT supposed to mean? they ask.
“Only,” you tell them, beginning to walk again, “that you never have seen any use in humoring trappings of tradition that do not benefit you. In this case at least I believe it to be a fine choice.”
And you begin to dash towards the village you call your home at present, taking full advantage of your greater stride. If Ghost wants to complain of the fondness in your perfect parting shot they shall have to catch up with you first.