[ It listened. Stories were like water, and it like a creature dying of thirst. Each one was a memory of sweetness, painting its Father in a light that it had never seen Him, but had perhaps seen glimpses of.
How would the world have been, if it had been truly hollow, and the Pale King could have been this person again? Its failure had killed the King, broke His heart and let Him wither and die.
It slowly leaned forward until it was resting its face against the crook of Grimm's neck. He smelled comforting, even if the Hollow Knight had a muted sense of what smell was. Like fire, warm and crackling. ]
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How would the world have been, if it had been truly hollow, and the Pale King could have been this person again? Its failure had killed the King, broke His heart and let Him wither and die.
It slowly leaned forward until it was resting its face against the crook of Grimm's neck. He smelled comforting, even if the Hollow Knight had a muted sense of what smell was. Like fire, warm and crackling. ]