Here is the beginning- the spun web in the dark, the lines of silk hanging silver over you. She is an extension of you, and you are incapable of not loving her and her clicking mouth and her eight shining eyes. She is your Mother, though you do not know what that means. She is your jailer, your commander. You are a pirate queen and she is the true captain of your crew, who lies secret and darkly glittering in the belly of your ship. She is your large and terrifying heart.
She is not yet so big that she cannot leave the moat-cavern of your hive, but she has always been too lazy to hunt for herself. You are freshly enlisted in the bloody hungry war she wages, and your hands are only beginning to accrue blood. You have not yet begun your monstrous transformation into something unredeemable, but it is so close that you can taste it, acrid unease in your mouth.
Here is the true beginning. You come back from a FLARP session without any bodies. You have forgotten your obligation- it is still new to you, and so you sit there babbling in the way new grubs do- about their days, about their newest accomplishments, about what they've done- when one of her many legs taps your chin to direct your gaze upwards, and you remember abruptly your mistake and begin to sputter apologies.
You are at first afraid that she will eat you, but she hears your thought before you can even really process it and simply whispers the shake of her head directly into your brain- no, little grub, you are not getting off that easy. Your confusion is plain on your face, but before she can clarify the gravel behind you crunches and you realize.
You came home without bodies. You did not come back alone.
She is your first FLARP partner, an oliveblood only a sweep older than you. Her name is Miriel and she is your first moirail. You do not yet know much of the quadrants and how to navigate them, but you know that Miriel makes your bloodpusher calm down, and that your body loses the long tendrils of tension along your back. You do not love her, but she is the closest to you than anyone else. You are only two sweeps old.
When Spidermom looks at her with hunger in her face, spittle dripping from her mouth, you know immediately that Miriel will not leave your hive again.
After, your Mother licks olive off her fangs and sighs, low and long, at your cerulean tears. She cocoons you in her silken web as you sob and beat your tiny gray fists against her, rolling her eight eyes the whole time, and when you are exhausted, she holds you tightly and whispers into your mind.
You need to learn, little grub. Her voice is creeping and reaches into every part of your brain, takes all of you and taints it. No one is ever going to love you, Vriska. You are not someone who can be loved.
That's the beginning.