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// Chapter Three: Doldrums 
// Story: Inquiline Imposter 
// by Nyarlathi 
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While he didn’t quite understand how or why, it was increasingly clear to White Hat that he and those he was surrounded with were somehow emotivores. Why else could affection from the aging Queen and her attendants qualify as snacks? Or, for that matter, why could he pick up on the same kinds of emotions whenever they were fed? Even when it was gel presented to them for consumption rather than ‘love energy’ direct from the horn of either the Queen or one of the consistently aged looking caretakers, the content of emotion was obvious. How ironic, that he had to be stranded so far from those he loved to be fed on a steady diet of, well, love. What did it mean for him, though, or indeed for the rather sharp fangs he and the others possessed? Why did they even have those if they ate emotion?

On the subject of oddness regarding food presented to he and his clutchmates - when they were given their bowls of refreshing warm turquoise gel, everyone’s share had at least a few milky swirls of something in it, but his was practically opaque and pastel with whatever that was. It did add a pleasant, creamy richness to the flavour of the gel, but what was it, and why did he get so much of it? Had he been deemed sickly, and to be given additional supplements to compensate? He supposed that it wasn’t implausible that he might not have been translated into this new form entirely accurately, which could have led to such an assessment… Not that anyone else in his clutch seemed to have noticed much more than that his food looked interesting. He’d felt his new siblings’ desire to try his unusual share brush against his mind sometimes - disconcerting, to be sure - but they were always gently rebuffed by whatever adult was in the area.

Thinking about those adults, White Hat couldn’t help noticing that while only the Queen bore oddly emphasised decrepitude, all of the adults he’d seen had a time worn look to them one way or another. Why was that? Was caring for the young the sole province of the older members of the hive, or was something going on here that he couldn’t quite fathom? It made him feel kind of uneasy for some reason, if he was honest with himself. He’d have asked someone about it, but so far he’d only managed to utter cute little chirps and mewls aloud, and while he was trying his best, he didn’t really have a feel for mental communication beyond unrefined bursts of emotion just yet. For that matter, he had no limbs with which to gesticulate or try to write - if the written languages he knew would even be recognised here. Not to mention, he didn’t know what might happen to him if he started writing before he should know language, especially an unfamiliar one. In the movies he’d seen, an unnaturally precocious child was usually very bad news for the protagonists.

Aside from trying to maintain his cover as an ignorant infant, and soaking up as much information about his surroundings and new species as possible, there wasn’t really much to do as a larva. Trying to wigglingly explore even just around the nest area or get to grips with the hivemind it seemed he had a connection to was all very well, but he tired so easily he might as well have been wading through treacle. It was frustrating to be so very limited, but at least it kept him from losing too much sleep just lying awake and trying not to cry as his thoughts wandered inexorably back to his much-missed colleagues and out of reach home. He’d tried to tear open a portal back using his teeth - and again with the horn he’d discovered he had - but… nothing happened. His heart ached, and he had to hope that somehow the others would be able to find him.

Would they even be able to recognise him? Or turn him back? What if he was stuck in the form of a bug-horse creature forever? If he could have his friends by his side, that wouldn’t be as distressing, but even then it would be a rather big adjustment to make. He was so very used to his own form, after all, and he didn’t know whether he’d be able to adjust to such a radical shift in his default. Would he even be able to change his shape again? Not to mention, what did this mean for his lifespan? He had no idea how long changelings lived. As a being at least comparable to immortal before, time not being on his side was… disconcertingly unfamiliar. What if he expired before Slug could find him? He might be able to make some tweaks to his expectancy, once he was actually able to work with his magic again - assuming he’d get to do so - but he’d need to know more. Somewhat rattled, he resolved to discover his new species’ lifespan as soon as possible.

Unbeknownst to him, the adults had noticed the Royal-assigned larva’s acute homesickness and apparent yearning for lost loved ones. However, fortunately for him, they blamed themselves. The entire hive was afflicted with the same feelings following the ousting of they and their Queen from their former hive, and how could they be sure that these emotions hadn’t affected a particularly mind-sensitive larva? At least empathy for one’s hivemates was a trait to encourage, but they couldn’t help feeling guilty for causing such a young hivemate distress over a lost hive the clutch had never seen, and changelings they’d never met. To their relief, attempts to soothe the stressed infant seemed to be helping to calm them down, and there was no shortage of care and affection to be showered on their hive’s shining hope for the future.