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Summary
What lingers first in Pure Vanilla’s memory are two eyes— cyan and blue.
They were not simply colors, not merely shades to be catalogued among the blossoms that lined the Vanilla hills. They were shadows caught in ice, stars buried in snow. And in the middle of all that frost, a boy who looked too small for the crown that would one day press against his brow, eyes too large for the timid boy who held them.
Pure Vanilla had not known then that love could strike so young.
He had thought it the sort of thing that bloomed late, like the orchids that only flowered when the sun coaxed them after patient months of waiting.
But with Shadow Milk, it was not coaxed— it was immediate.
Pure Vanilla is six, and he knows he's in love.
(It never changes)
Series
- Part 7 of My Cookie Works
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:))))
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Bookmark Notes:
me found dead in a ditch