☠- One of our muse’s died, and the other is at the grave. (possibly ghost or drabble)
Graves were such a strange thing. Interring the dead into the ground instead of consuming the remains and what little life still sparked in cells and atoms before moving on… the Calamity cannot say for certain what it thought of the act other than “strange.” Of course, the Calamity was not entirely certain of what it thought of a great many things; this world had forced so many changes upon it in its struggle to simply survive.
The beasts that roamed the surface of it had fought with a fierceness that it had never before come across, and it had found itself backed into a corner. Backed into a corner and trapped for generations, only to reawaken into a fantastic new reality. Although the beasts had carved it up, they had also willingly taken it into their bodies; something that it had always had to manage through trickery and chance before.
It was so strange to find those bits and pieces cut from it buried in the ground and unresponsive. Little had ever managed to prevent those that carried it’s taint from hearing the whispers, the murmurs, the coaxing that rose in volume with every additional fraction of itself added to the beasts. Some had called it Mother. Through them it, now she, had grown some measure of fondness for them.
Fondness… the emotion was as strange as the concept of a grave to her, and yet it was why she had found herself on this lonely bit of land that contained the remnants of one of her own. It had not been one that she had been able to work herself through, nor had it been one that had freely given itself to her, but it was a child nonetheless.
Jenova tilted the head of her latest host and considered the ground before her. “Zack Fair… would you come back if I called you?”
Her other children had.