Chapter Text
Many legends are not complicated. They speak of a hero, out to rescue a heroine from some grave travesty that will surely kill her and leave her body in the ground for the worms, and each time he truly succeeds. There is a difference between legends and myths, because in the latter, there is usually a death of some sort of heroine, to teach the reader a lesson; legends tell of heroism to bring joy and show how strength and valor can bring glory and fame.
The story in this book, oddly enough, cannot be classified as neither.
“How can that be?” You may wonder, “How can that work? You either have legends, or myths. It is one or the other, or it is just a regular fantasy story where nothing happened.”
Ah, yes, I say, that is a good point. But you are not the author of this story. In fact, even I am not the author of this story; this story is authored by the characters that play their roles themselves. I am merely a sentient Muse of glorious Space that is set to tell the story of why you, yes you, are alive this day.
Because without the heroics of those in this story, you would not even be existing. Funny enough, there is a 50% chance you would be dead because of me.
This author is getting ahead of herself though, and we have much to discuss. Yes, yes, we certainly do!
Do know this, though—you may realize more about the Fable of the Son of the Messiah than you ever learned before. I am sure you have heard of this story, yes? The story that can be classified as legend, fable, and myth all in one go? Your mothers and fathers told you soon after you were born, and the troll and human children that were your neighbors told you with hushed whispers about the exciting tale, and how they wished to grow up to be like David Strider or Karkat Vantas, or even Kanaya Maryam.
But did they tell you everything? Hardly.
Because they were not witness to every single moment of the journey. They did not see every single stolen moment, every powerful punch or race for vitality and life.
And that is why I, finally, will send this story out to the masses of Alternia. Because this story needs to be remembered the right way.
And every story is remembered the right way by starting at the beginning…
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Years and Sweeps ago, before you were born, Alternia prospered. At the creation of the planet, trolls had not been the only ones created at the Vast Croak—humans had appeared as well. Though the population was smaller than that of Earth’s, it was substantial in the beginning, enough to grow into a prosperous society along with the trolls. No one was exactly sure why humans had appeared alongside their grey brethren; religions stated that it was fate, a divine surprise that was meant to have greater consequences in the future. Some said that it was just a genetic mishap, and that could have been a possibility—some humans had troll-esque features in the beginning, while some trolls seemed more human in personality and physicality. After time, though, those mutations slowly died away, and the planet was left with two distinct, yet similar, species.
Because there were humans amongst them, Alternia’s culture was different from what could have been. There was a society of democracy, for neither species could be ruling over the other, lest there be a war. Though the humans were outnumbered in population (the trolls at sixty percent, the humans at forty), the humans had intelligence and power that could strike the trolls down—and it did, in the early days.
No, there was no immediate peaceful democracy in the beginning of Alternia’s infant years. There was indeed a war that brought each side to its knees, with weapons and fierce armies that lead to bloody rivers and dead forests. Animals were recruited by orange bloods; humans rode horses and crafted spears and slowly studied how to create basic guns and weaponry. Trolls in the seas sunk ships and even left their watery wetlands to destroy and kill on land.
This war, to no one’s surprise, was named The 100 Years War many years in the future; because of the length it lasted.
But others, though, called it another name: The Sufferer’s War.
No, no, silly, the Sufferer did not start the war…he was the one to stop it.
In year one-hundred and one of the War, as both populations were finally beginning to dwindle, one troll stepped up to preach what many would later call The Word. Deemed by any and all who would listen to him as the “Messiah”, he spoke of how the trolls and humans were meant to live together in this world, and not kill one another. That combining our talents, hearts, and even genetics, would cause a new race to rise up that would be prominent and powerful throughout the entire universe. It would surpass Earth, Mars, Skaia, and every other planet. He believed that the planet would prosper, succeed, and proclaimed that he had seen a vision of a bountiful world that would last hundreds and hundreds, if not thousands, of years.
He was a prophet, a herald, a Messiah, and Visionary, who was the vessel for an invisible God…
Of course, one would expect that the humans wanted the red-eyed, tall troll preacher dead, and many of them did. Until another human stood up for him.
No one had heard of this young male before, but the moment he stepped away from the edge of a crowd, a crowd gathered at one of The Sufferer’s (Then named Signless) sermons, and came to stand next to the other, and spoke to the human dissenters that had showed up as well, all knew what he looked like. He was tall, eyes hidden by a black blindfold due to blindness, but wearing the clothes of a Knight nonetheless, with spiky, blond hair, darting out at all angles, while brandishing a cane—no, a sheathed sword—out in front of him to guide him towards the troll giving the sermon. This young man, whose name remains an invisible mystery to this very day, and even I myself shall not give it away (I know it, yes! But where is the mystery in telling you what it is? Heehee!), stood upon the rock with The Signless and proclaimed he agreed, and that humans must stand up and listen.
Well, at that point? Oh, changes began to form.
Many more humans could, and did, relent and put down their weapons, while the trolls began to follow suit, and even did so a bit beforehand. There was a chance for peace—finally, after one hundred years of bloodshed and debacles and tirades.
And if you were wondering how deep the partnership between the Knight and the Signless went, well, why leave that up to the imagination? They were lovers of a deeper form, and though The Signless had many followers, he only had eyes for the Knight who had been the first human to stand up for him, for him when he was being beaten down with boos and dissent at that particular sermon. The Knight, who was blind due to light sensitivity, and could only take off the blindfold when it was pitch black, both orbs being of a red, vibrant hue (the same hue as that of The Signless!). These men, legends and fables tell, had a love that went beyond the four quadrants of trolls and the one romance of humans.
Of course, like any good prophet and follower who entered a romantic relationship, they were brought to their knees by a powerful opposition—A woman, with an army of sea dwellers, named Her Imperious Condescension. Her wrath underneath the seas had been a vital role in the war for decades, and now that she was losing footing, even with those under her command, she became desperate, vicious, and cruel.
For it was her that put out the assassination hit on The Signless, the hit that came to pass as being a bow to the troll’s head, slicing through him and downing him instantly, blood spilling into the streets. The Knight, of course, was at his side at the time of the killing, shouting into the air as the crowd erupted in fear, running for their lives, while the others amongst The Signless’ party searched out the assassin, The Psiioniic screaming and blasting mind-waves at any and all that got close and seemed a threat. The Dolorosa, the maimed one’s mother, cradling her son’s head while the Knight joined her in the display, tears in his eyes as the Disciple wept nearby.
Though, the Signless was not dead instantly—the arrow, barbed with poison of the White Lily, entered his veins while he coughed up blood—he did not die instantly, but instead Suffered for many minutes in his Knight’s arms—and once the light left his eyes, and the Knight proclaimed a final “I love you so”, he in turn was struck down by another arrow, this one killing him instantly, shot through the heart with deadly precision. It was then that the famed assassin, The Darkleer, was grabbed by The Psiioniic and the Disciple, and his blood was spilled into the alleyway near the sermon, The Condesce’s name on his lips as his head was sliced off with a quick swipe of a claw.
One would expect that, after the deaths of the two biggest leaders of the Rebellion, the Condesce would take control, and even perhaps lead the planet into greater dictatorial eras…this was a false notion by all means, truth be told.
Instead, once it was revealed by The Orphaner Dualscar, the secret lover of The Psiioniic, that the Condesce had been the one behind the surprise attack, an all-out war against the Sea Witch began, resulting in two races, both similar and different, uniting together to destroy the sea-breathing creature that had sought to claim enough power that would have destroyed an entire planet.
Therefore, The Signless had to truly ‘suffer’ to see change in his world, and his victorious and able-bodied Knight had to follow a code of chivalry and die with him. But in the end, when the Condesce was proclaimed dead (and unfortunately The Orphaner as well, slain by The Condesce’s own hand), the two races put down their weaponry and embraced one another, taking the time to form a democracy, a coalition of men and women trolls and humans that would lead the planet into a Golden Age, The Signless and Knight never being forgotten about, their words put down in writing for every man and woman to read.
But, it was truly not just the last of The Signless in a physical, realistic sense either—for in throes of passion, he had made love with the Knight, and, according to troll custom, The Signless emptied his genetic material into the pail that the Knight always carried with him. Though he never put his own material into the pail (he was a bit squeamish with pails, but did always go into a blissful state during their copulation), he always made sure The Signless kept up his culture’s tradition; in time, that genetic material was sent to the Mother Grub, where in turn, perhaps one day, it would be used to create offspring.
And centuries passed and trolls were allowed to copulate and raise children, like those of human adults, the Mother Grub did produce troll children as well, and either gave them to humans or trolls to adopt, or sent them out to different Luses to be their Guardians; The Signless’ genetic material, however, still stayed with her, until she knew that it was time for The Signless’ son to be born…which, he would be.
Of course, the birth of the Son was not an event that was prophesied everywhere and to everyone—it was an event that was told to one religion, and one religion only, the one that still followed the texts of The Signless perfectly and fluently—the religion hand-chosen by Yours Truly Herself. It was called the MatriChurch, an organized religion run by various Mother Grubs (those under the Head Grub herself, of course) and nuns underneath their command. They opened their doors to the poor, be they human or troll, and gave them shelter, food, clothing, and warmth. Though they were poor compared to the Mega Churches that some humans had developed, they were one of the warmest and most powerful religions in the land. It was to them that the true prophecy of the world was given: that the Son of the Messiah, the New Messiah, was to be born. And his birth would herald the End of Days. This prophecy, given to them merely decades after the death of The Signless, was delivered in a bright, white light, but the voice whom spoke to them was He himself—though some would doubt that.
And one can see why this prophecy could not be given to just anyone—such a prophecy could be scoffed at, judged and proclaimed false. Some could even scoff at the notion that the son of The Signless would be a harbinger of doom—after all, his ancestor had been no such thing! But not long after the religion was formed, some say by The Dolorosa herself, this "good news" was delivered, indeed.
Of course, after centuries went by, many in the church believed it may not come true…that the world would live on forever, that the Golden Age of more technology and less hunger would exist forever; that there would be trolls of all classes with one another, that humans and trolls would interact with one another, and even fall into relationships with one another.
That all changed when one young woman, merely two sweeps old, opened her church’s door one rainy, gray day…
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Kanaya Maryam was a Sister-in-training in the Capital of Alternia, her branch of the MatriChurch having existed for centuries before her birth. She had been a troll child born of genetic material from other trolls, having come into being thanks to the Mother Grub herself. She, being seen as having potential (and possibly the genetic material of The Dolorosa?), was sent to the church as a child, to be raised by other Mother Grubs, her jade blood being a rare and useful quality about her.
She was short at this period of time, her skin a healthy gray, eyes their normal yellow and dark-purple and gray hue, having not changed yet due to her lack of maturity. Two sweeps old, with nimble legs and lanky arms, Kanaya Maryam was proud of her heritage and her duties as a Child Sister. She learned the ways of the Mothers, the preaching and gospels that echoed out not just every Sunday, but every day and to every one.
Each night, she read—by herself! What intelligence, needing not much teaching in regards to reading—from an old, leather-bound tome, filled with Alternian script that told the teachings of The Signless in great detail, all of his travels throughout the plains of Alternia. His weary feet spoke of charity in the Forest of Helium and Crypts; his words of love echoed out in the volcanic region of Heat and Clockwork down towards the south. His travels on horseback through the Plains of Wind and Shade, a formerly desolate area of the planet that was now inhabited, were many and complete with thrilling praise and warm words. Each night, Kanaya read the tales until they were memorized in her mind. She could believe, in her childish mind, that she was walking amongst her hero’s footsteps each night as she slept, holding his other hand as his Knight held the other.
And though she loved each and every sermon dearly, the jade troll could never forget the last sermon, the final sermon that he ever spoke; the one that was not even completed due to his untimely demise:
And blood begets blood, ye of little faith,
For I have seen a clear-sighted future, where my children, the children I will one day share with this man before me, will live in peace, and we will have no need for any weaponry of any kind.
I know you worry of a future, and I know you feel threatened by the Unknown!
But thou must remember that if you believe in one another, the future will not and cannot control you in any sort of fashion.
I know you fear the End of Days, and I can honestly say you have many, many centuries before that time will come!
I know the End of Days will arrive upon the wings of four transportation vehicles, of red, white, black and a pale, crystalline sheen. The sky will alight with fire and rock, rubble and chaos.
The angels above and the demons below will come to this plain and fight, fight for power, fight for destruction. Your descendants will need to be strong, but if you prepare for it now, you will be able to be fighters and warriors of justice!
And yes, I know what will herald the End, and He alone will bring about the Doom on the Wriggling Day of his fifth sweep. He will be a strong hearted male, and he will need to choose between three ways.
And he is-
That was where the sermon ended. The Disciple, the writer of all of his sermons, had never ended it in any sort of fashion, but had left the sermon open-ended. And any and all who followed the teachings could only guess at the ending…until it was revealed to the MatriChurch itself by the Signless’ Holy Ghost.
He, in a spirit of white, ghostly eyes and gray skin, spoke to the original Mother, stating that it would be his son that would be a Harbinger of Doom, and spoke of two of the three ways the story would end:
One, his son would be taken by the demonic forces, ripped to shreds, his power given to the Leader of Hell, and the demons would raze the Earth of all life and it would be a desolate rock for the rest of Time.
Or two, his son would be taken by the angelic forces, who too would rip his body and soul to shreds, stealing his unbridled and his hidden powers to give to their Holy Lord, who would ‘cleanse’ the world of the majority of life while eliminating the demons for Eternity. Anyone deemed unworthy would die a painful, tear-causing death, and the remaining population would be small, horror-stricken, and ill with grief.
There was a third way, though, and the Mother Grub had asked of this, he said this as a reply:
I will not tell you…The world must be ready for that result for it to be revealed. And my son must be strong enough to make that sacrifice, and anyone who accompanies him as well must be brave of Heart and on Time to do so.
She also asked, ‘When will your Son come to us, Holy Messiah?’
His response:
You will know—merely look for my Sign, Mother.
His Sign, indeed. And henceforth, from that day, all those who followed the MatriChurch were told of this prophecy; but of course, as years passed, they were less inclined to believe such a thing, and were too busy in their own lives and tasks to truly care as much.
But Kanaya was taught to care, taught to look and preach the Word, and to make sure all knew that one day the world would need heroic humans and brave trolls to stand up and do their best to help save the world in its darkest hours, even if they could not fully complete said task.
Even greater to the Maryam child, though, would be the days when she would be old enough to research the Third Way—the way the Signless did not speak to them about.
Each Mother did her best to look in old tomes, desolate tombs if they were physically capable, and through maps and charters and papers, seeking out hints to where and what this Third Way would be. Kanaya, once she was of age, would continue on the tradition, bringing her own wisdom and knowledge to the experience, and would hopefully one day succeed. If she was indeed one day to succeed where her other Sisters had not, she would be a legend in the religion, a legend to rival that of the Dolorosa…
But for now, she was just a child, and took care of the church in the simplest ways; cleaning the altar and steps, straightening and organizing the books that she could carry and reach, and escorted the needy into the church and helped clean the kitchen and the bedrooms.
On the Most Important Night, as she was to later call it in the future, she was blowing out the candles that were alight with blue and yellow flames in the main center of the church, her little feet pitter-pattering down the aisle away from the altar and the metal sign of the Signless that hung behind the snow-colored clothed holy table. It had been a quiet day in the holy building, few men and women gracing its doors, but that was not a problem, in all truths. They would come when they were ready, as every loyal religious follower would.
The child was about to turn into her respiteblock on the second floor when, to her sudden surprise, loud banging occurred at the front door; a curious action indeed, for it was very late, nearing the eleventh hour of the Alternian night, and every respectable troll and human was away in their homes, or in some other part of civilization, doing business, enjoying life—surely they had somewhere else to be? Late visits were very rare to the church, for everyone knew that the Mother Grubs and Sisters had lives too, and needed their own forms of beauty rest.
At first, Kanaya, alone in the darkened holy place, figured she had misheard, and was just sleepy and needed to curl up in her cocoon soon. But the banging rang out again and again, two more times, before a thump was heard—not a loud thump mind you, but enough to startle a troll of two sweeps indeed.
Cautiously, knowing her place and duty was to check the door, the jade-blood inched closer, dropping the metallic device used to put out the candles. Green and black shoes inched across the tile floor, her Sisterly robes of matching color brushing across the floor with ninja-esque ease as she gently pressed a pale hand to the wooden door and its golden knob; inch by inch, careful and fearful that there could be danger on the other side, Kanaya opened the door to the cold, nighttime air, only to be greeted by a peculiar sight.
No, it was not an adult troll, begging for food or shelter…
It was a gray bundle, sitting atop the steps.
A gray bundle, wrapped up in a brown basket of burnt wicker material, sat before Kanaya’s childish eyes, and she let out a surprised,
“Oh my goodness!”
And it was then, at that sound, that the bundle began wailing—screeching angrily with a rage Kanaya had never seen in a babe!
Instinct told her to bend down, quickly, to look upon the child’s face—was it injured? Had that banging been an abandoning parent throwing the basket against the door? Or had it just been powerful hands signaling that there was a delivery upon the porch, this child being it? She would never know the answers to the second and third questions, but she came to find the child was uninjured.
The child—a baby male grub, of all things—continued to scream as she turned the blankets over, revealing a chubby, freckled face of yellow and purple eyes, nubby horns—the tiniest and most rotund horns she had ever seen on any troll in her two sweeps. He was plump, his grub body bright red, redder than any rose Kanaya had ever seen, and full of life, for if his screaming wasn’t an obvious sign of life, then Kanaya did not know what was. His little grubby legs were moving this way and that, perturbed at having been picked up by the girl before him.
“Shh, hush, hush!” Her size was small, but bigger than the babe by far; easily, Kanaya picked up the child, clutching it to her chest, hurrying back inside, shouting,
“Mother! Mother! Mother, come quick, please!”
The baby’s cry escalated for a moment, frightened due to Kanaya’s own fear; but when the jade blood touched his face with pale hands and black nails, giving him a simple “shh”, it hushed up immediately, murmuring dissent, but silencing himself afterwards.
“Mother! Please come! I-“
“Silence, child. I hear you.”
The Maryam child gave a jump; the Mother Grub had appeared from the door to her right, having heard her cries; the Lusus was dressed in her normal garb: black and forest green robes, her face hidden by a black veil with green flowers embedded into the embroidery. Her bug-like legs and features were invisible due to her clothing, except for her two arms used to grasp anything and everything.
“M-Mother, I am dreadfully sorry to have disturbed your sleep, but-“
“Hush, hush, I know. But first, hand me the child, and then close the door.”
With perfect obedience, the child listened and handed over the baby to her Guardian, who herself took up the child in her insect appendages, cradling him close. Kanaya speed across the floor, feet almost off the floor and floating on air at this wondrous, unusual event, and she quickly closed off the church from the outside world.
“Mother, he was just left on the doorstep! Honestly, what sort of creature does that to a poor baby? Yes, I can understand if they are orphaned, or if their Guardian or parental figures can no longer take care of them, but why not a hospital? Why us? And why this late at night? And why-“
But as Kanaya turned her body to her Mother, she froze, for her Mother’s stance was very steely, as if she had formed a new revelation in her mind while staring down at the troll baby before her.
“…Mother?”
“…Kanaya, come closer.”
The child obeyed, nervously fidgeting; she had rarely seen her Mother this stern, this…concerned.
“Mother? What ails you?”
The Lusus did not reply with words immediately; instead, she lifted an appendage, the right one that was not holding the troll in her arms. The tip of the claw brushed against some object against the child, and a clinking noise was heard—and when she lifted her arm to show Kanaya what she had spotted, a metal symbol—a necklace wrapped around the child’s neck—was revealed.
It was the symbol of the Signless.
It was the Sign of the Signless.
“…M-Mother…That is our Church’s symbol.”
“Indeed, my dear girl. But have you ever seen it upon a form of jewelry like this before?”
“…No…” Kanaya hesitated, her childish wonder showing confusion.
The Mother Grub was silent for a minute, and then let out a breath, “Kanaya, this is no ordinary orphan. We have taken in children before, yes, and given them all to good homes and homesteads…But this will not happen with this boy.”
“Because of that necklace…?”
“Yes, dear girl. This is not just…No one should have this Sign like this on a necklace. We have never portrayed the Signless’ sigil like this, not since…not since the Messiah himself wore it.”
Scarily, the Mother wondered if this necklace was His… After all these years…Had the original been put with his genetic material after his death…? And now…now…had it been given to…
This child…?
“…Kanaya. This child will remain in our care. Because he holds the Sign of the Signless. Because he is the Son of the Messiah.”
The girl’s eyes widened, “The Son of the Messiah?! Truly?”
“Yes, child; there is no other explanation for those of this faith.” The Mother bent down, softly speaking to her Daughter, while passing off the child again, who had begun to squirm and murmur more noises of annoyance, “Kanaya, take this boy into your arms again, please. I wish for you, from this day forward, to take care of this boy as if he were your biological brother—he is now your brother by association, by relationship, and you must guard him with your life. Guard him, protect him, even if I am dead at any point in your lives.”
“B-But Mother, I am merely a child! I will do what you say, but-“
“Child, do not fear—your protection will not be needed for some time, if the prophecy about this child is truthful. But even before then, take this child under your wing. Show him how to live, for we will raise him in this church, by our ways, and soon enough we will tell him who he is. We must explain what is to come with his birth and his fifth wriggling day, and from his life overall. We must explain to him his legacy, but…” She took a breath, “All in due time. For now, I want you to take the child into your room—he will be small enough to sleep with you in your recuperacoon, and I shall build him a proper one tomorrow morn. Understood?”
Kanaya, clearly nervous, sucked in a breath and put on a stern face, nodding once, “Yes, Mother. Thy will be done.”
“And thy blessings go to you in slumber, child. Peace. And two final things: one—make sure he never leaves this church whatsoever. You are to help raise him, and you must watch over him. He must never leave this property whatsoever; danger awaits him, and I do not want him perishing while under our watch. Second, he must never open the door to this church."
“Never open the door?” Kanaya echoed, “Why ever not?”
“His presence alone invites the alertness of demons and angels—normally, this church is warded against them—you have seen the symbols on the basement ceiling, yes? But I fear…I fear that if the Son of the Messiah himself invites them in, the wards will be null and void. Please, do not ever let him take that chance.”
“Understood, Mother. Once again, thy will be done.”
The Mother Grub nodded, “And thy blessings go to you in slumber, child.”
Kanaya began walking once more, towards her own respiteblock, with the grub curled up against her shoulder, when, of course, another thought stopped her in her tracks with a gasp,
“Oh! Mother! What shall we call the child? He has no name!”
The Mother, who had turned back to her own block, stopped, with her back to the troll child; a pause, but then she straightened her back, replying with,
“…Karkat. Karkat Vantas.”
“…Why that name, Mother? What does it mean?”
The Mother was silent; she could not tell the girl that she had heard the name in a vision, seen it too, seen it in flames on a wall, while her own body died in pit of fire and rock, while the vultures in the sky cried out in anger and thirsting for vengeance and souls. But she had, immediately after the dream, known what the name meant:
“Knight of Blood, child. Knight of Blood. Now go.”
Kanaya, in all her young wisdom, asked no more, and immediately obeyed her Mother’s commands, hustling off to her respite block with swift, speedy feet; meanwhile, the Mother—the powerful Sister she was—retreated to her own block, and once securely inside, crashed to her kneels with a gasp.
So this was it—the Son had finally come. He, in all his adorable, red glory, was here in her Church—and now it was her fate to bring him up and raise him well, hopefully with a good head on his shoulders.
Well, yes, he would have Kanaya—she had seen her other Child, and how she was truly the descendant of The Dolorosa. Kanaya had the blood of the First Mother in her, and would turn into Karkat’s Mother—even if it would cost her precious things. Yet embraced in the light of her candles, the Mother Grub had seen that the Maryam would take this all in stride, and shoulder many burdens to come—she would begin researching soon enough of a way to save the world—the Third Way The Signless had begun to mention, and she would find a way—though it would be through…unorthodox means. But good means, nonetheless.
And here, at the Eleventh Hour, the Mother Grub removed her veil and knelt at her own private altar, feeling jade tears coming to her eyes, as the visions—the visions that never gave a warning to when they came to her, a woe that came with being the Head Sister—came to her again. There was so much blood, so much anger…
A Warring Empress in a Red Ship…
A Humble Host, a Man of White…
A Black Knife-Wielding Loon…
And green…Green for a Man who was already, always Here…
There were screams, and some were even of her new Son’s name…
But it all ended in a blast of white light, and the Mother gasped—swearing she had just seen the face of God…
But a calm settled over her, her bug-esque shoulders shaking, but her breathing calmed enough to where she was able to stand and enter her cocoon for slumber…
And she knew what she had to do: stand tall, and live.
After all…
If she only had five more sweeps left to live…
Surely she had to live them to the fullest, yes?