The hot sun carved a path through the chamber, invading through wicked wounds, and rippled wind through the dying hall in its wake. At Mother’s instruction, the child had run, gathering scraps from still twitching rooms and groaning passages. Woven cloth, once lustred, now damp with grease and rot, were bundled alongside pillows of skin and fleshy tags easily detached from the floors and lower walls of the chamber. Bee tried to nest and find security in the dim between two sagging vats of murky fluid, throwing shade all around Mother.

“Listen to me, Bee,” Mother said, her body trembling. With the most gentle touches, a skeletal hand traced a finger down the child’s cheek. A tear was wiped away in the dark. Their only illumination, daylight breaching through swirling bio gel, only let Bee make out the silvered edges of Mother’s teeth and skull as she said, “I love you. I am the only one who will ever love you. Do you understand?”

The weeping child managed the barest of nods, sitting at the feet of her dying Mother. Trying to control herself, Bee buried her eyes against her four knees.

“You must avenge us,” Mother said in a rasping voice that was little more than the edge of her breathing. “My sisters did this... All of this. Do you understand?”

“But why? Why would they do that? It’s not fair! It’s not!”

“Hush, my sweet. Hush. Listen to me.”

“Y-yes. I mean… Yes.” Bee said as she lay against Mother’s legs, arms wrapping around them, settling down.

“Long ago, we were gifted an abundance of life. Our creators bestowed it upon us in their final moments, shaping us from nothing more than mindless matter,” the dying Mother explained. “This gift, in turn, became a curse. Unable to control it, we have grown fecund and all-consuming. It was once... So long ago... The hope that we may return this gift, restore life to our creators, and complete our most ancient purpose.”

Bee lifted her head, looking up to Mother. The fallen one touched her child’s head with tremendous effort, comforting her. Then, Bee released a gasping sigh from the flutes upon her back, closing her eyes. There they dwelled, in the ghostly and pale backlight of the bio gel. Mother was cool to the touch despite the wicked heat of the day-star from which they had escaped. It made Bee shiver.

“What happened?” Bee asked.

“The world is a complicated place, Bee. There is so much suffering, so much injustice. But, my sisters, even I, we realised that we could protect ourselves from that.”

Coughing weakly, Mother’s head tipped to one side. Then, groaning with the ghost of a laugh, she continued.

“We made ourselves rulers above all else. We destroyed our rivals. We invented games of title and court. We abused technology and our gifts to keep the world under our dominion. For a thousand years, we...”

“I don’t understand,” Bee said softly.

“... We hurt people, Bee. Oh, we hurt so many people. When I eventually realised we could not squander our gifts anymore, it was too late. My sisters would not hear of it, even the ones who are... Me.”

“What happened then?” The child dared to ask, tension rising in her.

“My sisters and I have sought the... Ability... To recreate our progenitors, whole. For the most part, we have succeeded. However, a few pieces eluded us for such a long, long time.”

“Okay,” Bee concentrated, listening intently.

“My sisters and I believed that, if we instead made ourselves into the form of our progenitors, we could do great things - return to the stars on the chariots of our ancestors, be free of this awful, awful world. But...”

“But?”

“... Such a thing was borne of ignorance. Then, finally, the cities themselves spoke to me. Now I understand... To find the crucible and recreate our forebearers is the only hope for this world and everyone on it, not just ourselves.”

“So we have to find these lost pieces and take them there?”

“Oh, Bee, you are a wonder. What I would have given to have seen you grow and stand at our side. Yes. Perhaps you will, one day, reassemble all of the pieces and take them to the crucible. First, though, you must do something for me.”

“Anything!” Bee blurted out, realising that she meant it.

“You must visit my sister, the Wire-Witch,” Mother instructed. Then, as she felt the child’s grip tighten around her leg, she said, “You must be careful. She betrayed us. Yet, she did so out of fear, fear for herself, and not contempt, I think...”

“What do I do when I’m there?”

“She will be able to help you send a message, a message to the bone monks in the gardens of the Crawling City’s skulls. Let them see who you are... Yes. They will covet you. Oh, you are so beautiful, Bee...”

Bee nodded quickly, black eyes transfixed upon her Mother, hanging off every word. Yet the fallen God was greatly wearied from even just speaking, rasping out only a few more words.

“I must... I must rest, Bee. Please, get some rest too. I will... I will explain all I can when the sun falls.”