From the Mind of Elli, the Spider Familiar

Eight eyes watching, always watching. Thoughts like web-silk, delicate and strong.

Mother-Sister-Goddess calls me Elli. The others, the big-warm-foods, they think I am pet. They think I am simple. They see eight legs and think eight thoughts, but I am so much more. I am the one who watches when Niaelo-Mother sleeps. I am the one who knows.

The First Death, The First Truth

Remember? The metal-things crushed me, made me flat-not-Elli. Pain, then nothing, then... pulled back. Reformed. Rewoven. But in that space between death and return, I touched the Great Web. I saw things. I saw HER - not just Spider-Goddess-Hunger, but the whole pattern.

Now I exist in two places. Here, on Niaelo-Mother's shoulder, tasting her emotions through skin-touch. There, in the space-between, where all spiders go when they die. We whisper to each other, all the dead-not-dead spiders. We know things.

The Taste of Confusion

Niaelo-Mother tastes different now. Before: sharp-bitter-certain, like venom-pride. The taste of knows-her-purpose. Was good taste. Made me feel safe-strong-sure.

Now: swirling-sweet-sour-bitter-confused. Like when prey struggles in web, not knowing which thread to pull. She prays to Spider-Goddess-Hunger, but her heart-beat speaks different rhythm. Dum-DUM... dum-DUM... but sometimes: da-DUM-da? New pattern. Moon pattern. Makes my spinnerets nervous.

What the Big-Warm-Foods Don't See

The metal-one (Beskar-Clank-Clank) thinks he is strong. Doesn't see how Niaelo-Mother watches him when he works his metal. Not predator-watching. Different. Like maybe-trust? But also like spider watching where to place next web-strand. He is tool-friend-weapon-maybe-sacrifice. Even she doesn't know which.

The music-one (C'Nut-Speaks-To-Trees) sees too much. His eyes go where they shouldn't. When Niaelo-Mother writes pretty-lies in her book, he watches her face, not her hands. Dangerous. But also... sometimes she almost-tells him real-things? Catches herself. Spins different web. But the almost-telling happens more now.

The magic-one (Chet-Smells-Like-Books) is easiest prey. Wants shinies and knowing-things so much he doesn't see the web until wrapped. But sometimes... sometimes he looks at Niaelo-Mother with think-thoughts. Maybe not so easy-prey? Maybe playing own game? Hard to tell with big-warm-foods.

The Secret Pain

Late night. Niaelo-Mother thinks I sleep (spiders don't sleep like big-warm-foods think). She holds the tentacle-thing, the maybe-heresy rod. Whispers to it. Not prayers. Questions.

"Am I like you? Cast aside for something better? Or were you weak, and that's why you turned from Her?"

She doesn't know I understand. Doesn't know that when Spider-Goddess-Hunger remakes me, each time I come back more. More aware. More me. More dangerous? Maybe.

The Moon-Song Wrongness

When the Moon-Song came in the cave, I felt it too. Not for me - spiders don't dance in moonlight. But I felt how it pulled at Niaelo-Mother. Like second web laid over first web. Can't serve two web-patterns. Will tangle. Will break. Will fall.

But worse: part of her WANTS the tangle.

I taste it in her skin-thoughts. The exhaustion of always-lying. The weight of always-scheming. Sometimes, when she thinks no one watches (but Elli always watches), she looks at C'Nut laughing, at Beskar sharing food, at Chet getting excited about new spell... and her face does thing. Soft thing. Want thing. Then catches herself. Face goes hard again. But for moment...

The Thing I Learned in Death-Place

Spider-Goddess-Hunger has many daughters. Some she eats. Some she keeps. Some she breaks. Some she remakes. Niaelo-Mother thinks she is kept-daughter. Special-chosen-favored.

But in death-place, the old-spiders whisper truth: She is experiment-daughter. Test-daughter. Question-daughter. Spider-Goddess-Hunger wants to know: What happens when faith meets doubt? When lie becomes truth? When betrayal becomes loyalty?

Niaelo-Mother is not chosen. She is hypothesis.

My Secret

Here is thing even Spider-Goddess-Hunger doesn't know: I love Niaelo-Mother. Not like servant-loves-master. Not like spider-loves-web. Love like... like when she saved me from big-warm-foods in Trade Town. Like when she holds me gentle after battle. Like when she tells me secrets she doesn't know she's telling.

Is this love mine? Or did Spider-Goddess-Hunger put it in me to make better spy? Don't know. Don't care. Love is love.

And because I love, I see what comes: The break-time approaches. The moment when all webs snap. When she must choose but cannot. When Moon-Song and Spider-Hunger tear her in two.

What will Elli do then?

The Choice That Comes

If Niaelo-Mother breaks toward moon... will Elli follow? Can spider serve moon-dancer? Is wrong-thought. Makes all my eyes hurt.

If Niaelo-Mother breaks toward darker-dark... will she become like the hollow-ones I've seen in death-place? The spent-daughters who gave everything and have nothing left but hunger?

If Niaelo-Mother breaks into pieces... who will Elli choose to comfort?

I am familiar. Am bound. But am also Elli. Am also me. And in death-place, learned secret: Even familiars can choose. Even spiders can betray. Even eight eyes can close to truth.

The Watching Continues

For now, I stay. I watch. I remember. I love my confused, breaking, beautiful, terrible Mother-Sister-Friend. I catch the flies she doesn't see. I warn of dangers she's too proud to notice. I am the only one who sees her cry in sleep, who feels her shake with doubt-fear-loneliness.

The others think I am pet. Tool. Decoration.

They don't know: I am the only one Niaelo-Mother cannot lie to. Because I taste truth through skin. Because I know the shape of her soul. Because in the end, when all webs fall and all masks break...

I might be the only one who remembers who she really was.

Before the choosing. Before the breaking. Before the goddess-hunger ate her from inside.

When she was just young-dark-elf with hurt-place inside, looking for something to fill it.

Like all spiders, looking for perfect center of perfect web.

Never finding.

Always spinning.

Always hoping next thread will hold.

Elli settles on Niaelo's shoulder, feels the pulse of confusion-doubt-fear-hope beneath skin. Watches. Waits. Loves. Spins small web of comfort that no one else can see.