Category: Storge - Familial Love
Nickname: Kyttan
They come to us, this Bee that isn’t just a Bee. We feel the soul of our sister swaying within them, the hum of her wings sweet and steady, her pulse matching the heart of the Chosen with the moon lily hair.
We first found them, bloody and broken in a field of flowers and flames. Salty water dripped down their skin like raindrops. They were dying, this creature that smelled of rage and pain and loss. We knew the scent well, for it is the same as the black that bubbles up from Gaia’s sweet soil, and yet, Gaia wanted them. Their pain called out, and my sister answered, slipping between their lips to bind with their form, to re-forge the connection that once was, and could be again.
Our wings hummed, fast and loud, calling the Kami of Light to us. Even if the Kami was bound to their form for the blood that once bathed their blade, they were still our sister, still a daughter of Gaia. We had not forgotten her, for she was ours.
So the Kami took this not-just-a-Bee to the ones that smelled of sulfur and magic, and we sat in the window, resting on the warm wood as their form healed. Their skin, once shadowed with the colors of violets and black dahlias, faded to pale peony before we called to our sister sleeping within them.
We had not thought of the wood we sat upon…the creatures of sulfur and magic were not pleased…
But now, we hum for them when they stroll among us, their fingertips glancing, ever so gently, against our claws. We can smell their joy, lilting off their skin like Gaia’s love…and blood. It has seeped into their skin, this rusty reminder of what they were chosen for, what we could not do, what Gaia does not wish to do…they are our sting, our fire, our sunless sky, so we sing for them in gratitude as well as apology.
Sometimes they sing with us while sitting near the golden glow of the Lightwell, Gaia’s grace connecting us once more within the sanctuary of her Love. They sing of hope, they sing of pain, the sing of a season when the world will live as one…that song calls to us, for All Is One, and if this Chosen with the moon lily hair knows this, perhaps others begin to remember as well, and the sickness that weaves within Gaia’s dreams will soon end.
They gather our honey on each full moon, offering their thanks with potted plants, their pollen sacs so heavy, it makes their stamens droop, but we will sing for them, and caress their sacs with our claws until they release their golden gift to us, their petals fluttering in thanks for our brief dance. The Chosen sings with us then as well, songs that are deep and throaty and slow, the vibration makes my wings shiver…and wonder if they have a laden stamen that they dance and gather with their claws as well.
They talk to us when they are weary, and while we may not speak their words, we answer them with the shifting hum of our wings. Our sister’s claws cling to their hair, or grip their ear while we sing to them, sing until the scent of sadness drifts away, and is replaced with the night blooming jasmine of their content. And when their pale stone eyes close, and their breaths become even, we settle along the heat of their form until the sun swings through the sky once more.
Once, a Servant of Gaia came with our moon-lily Chosen, but the Servant’s smoke made us drowsy, and I watched as my sisters slowly drifted down to the golden ground, or landed on the Chosen, for they had become our brood-sister long ago, when we first mixed our scents. They gently shooed the Servant away, and the hazy daze did not linger…
This sun, they bring another sister with them, one we had thought lost in the shadows and cold. Her scent is acrid and sharp, someone hurt this Bee, tried to kill our sister singing within her…but she still hums her sweet song. Yet she is weary, so we will cling to her night sky hair and sing to her of our love, of our joy that she has returned to us…and as the moon-lily Chosen begins to smell of salt water, we hum for them as well, and one sun, she will sing again…