Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the beginning.

There was nothing.

An endless starry expanse across the dunes of milky cosmos, a warm doused sensation flowing like stardust off a supernova in an impending, swirling beauty. Nothing laid before, nothing laid after, a blank slate.

There are five, an entangled mass of pink, white, cream, blue, and red. Blended with starlight, they feel comfortable, warm and safe, a mindless communication that radiates existence.

Their first thoughts are sluggish.

“What am I?”

“Who am I?”

“What is this?”

“Who are you?”

“What is around me?”

There is a light.

It hangs atop the sky like a fiery vigil, a beaming and blinding source of comfort and safety, it calls to them, outstretched wings and radiant golden-blue feathers cascading down as it calls. Brighter than the sun, comparable to none, it calls to them.

“Come To Us. Creation of Knowledge.”

A million voices, all blended together, they call to it, beams of light casting down to drag them towards it, like a body through honey, sweet and preserved through the ages. Their shapeless existence like a putty made of galaxies, dragged from the safety of the others.

It sounds so familiar, like it's heard it even before it knew it existed.

A hand unfurls from the light itself, gently taking the mass of starlight into its hand, shaping and holding them in warm comfort, resting against its palm.

“Beholder of Blue, carry the milk crown of Knowledge and create a vessel of ancient power. You are blessed, wings of light and body of the finest berries and milk, you will be The Fount of All Knowledge.”

Fount of Knowledge.

That is them? This is them? What is them? Where is them?

A beautiful clover appears through the light, like the finest sapphire topped with glittering sugar-glass, its center a shut, sleeping eye of reverence and beauty. It ends in a great point, a spear of pure radiance to split the cosmos.

“You are blessed. This is your souljam, your duty, your body, your mind, your soul. You are a virtue, to spread and seek to sow the seeds of knowing and wisdom, reap the rewards of life everlasting. Your purpose a greater vow than that of the sun in the sky and the moon in the night. Touch it, and welcome creation. Live and prosper.”

Melting, fingers emerge, soft and delicate, doll-joints and golden nails are birthed from the stars themselves, the hand molding and working as a body takes shape the closer that beheld clover gets. A marking, glowing and soft, presses to their forehead, a neat little crown against their temple pressed by that gentle finger.

They are slender. Body jointed as a marionette, hair cascading down as the stars themselves are weaved into it, wings unfurl, two sets of incomparable gold, one set of the cerulean the sea drinks. There is a lock on their chest, branding itself in gold straight dug into dough.

The others get further away, a strange sensation filling their heart, of loss and fear, they want them back.

“Worry not. You will do wonderful things, our finest scholar, our esteemed researcher, our fountain of knowledge. Creation of us, The Witches. Your body must settle before we meet again.”

Their hand touches the glittering stone.

P a i n .

Everything flashes white, body jolting in terror as everything floods their mind.

They feel like they’re falling, sinking, sent cascading down before landing in a cushiony softness that fades in its liquidus state the second they’re settled.

Ceaseless knowledge pours and seeps their mind, it's freezing, it's too hot, the ground is hard, they ache, a million things scream and whisper, filling the gaps in their previously uncentered mind like cement through the cracks etched in bricks.

It's so loud.

Something is screaming, their nails make contact with something frigid as darkness muffles their sight the second the blinding pain ceases.

They are The Fount of All Knowledge.

They are a cookie.

This is the ground.

Very hushed, the ringing that shoots through pointed ears subside to allow them to hear that soft whispering seeping across the ground-no. Floor, their mind corrects.

The screaming finally stops, only when a burning sensation forms in their chest, the faintest flicker of recognition THEY were the one screaming fills in blanks as rapidly as a spreadsheet.

Blink, they have to blink, eyes steadily adjusting while their hands creep to find the floor, wings quivering behind them like a fresh butterflies, yet to quite fill with and dry enough for the insect to fly. Fly. They could fly if they wanted to.

Wings spread, radiant in their glory, finally uncovering The Fount from their, no, perhaps his hiding. He, it sounds right, it feels comfortable, but perhaps they are She?

Can they be both?

They are in a heap, legs quivering when they attempt the fruitless act of standing. In theory they understand walking and standing, so why isn't it working? Their head hurts, there's just so much to process.

They are in that endless expanse of stars, laid in a surface that ripples like water, yet does not feel wet, bare dough trembling through the rushing thoughts filling his mind. That light beams down faintly above, not quite bright enough to hurt their eyes, instead washing a comforting light across his body.

A whimper.

The Fount blinks, looking behind them finally to notice the others. Red, Pink, White, and Cream. Cream lays, white hair that cascades down, spidery legs extend from her sides, two sets, her 8 eyes all blink sluggishly. They are pale and fair, beautiful with feathery eyelashes, a diamond pattern marks down her slender expanse of her spine like a venomous widow.

She looks scared, hands fair as snow trembling against the watery floor.

Glancing around, she blinks at him, their eyes make contact. There is an indescribable force, her body dragging itself over to him as she wraps her arms around him, they know each other, they just don't know how.

Red awakens next, a powerful being, lion tail and hard, chitinous spines down his back, six arms and hair like fire, inky as charcoal after the dying wildfires reign. He has mandibles, sharp, awful things, but his demeanor is soft, confused and uncertain, before he lands on the two.

Those eyes are fiery, but soft, there's an unsteady caution as he creeps towards them, before encapsulating both of them into a hug, warm and spiced.

Pink is sluggish, sleepy and relaxed, beautiful like a goddess, her feathered legs like that of a harpy and ring of feathers like a dove around her neck only accentuating her beauty. She wakes with a yawn, wings of angelic beauty spreading out, tail lazily swishing as her pink eyes settle on them.

She’s drawn instantly, to the warmth of their pile, a silent mass of confused beings in the cosmos, her wings large enough to wrap around all of them in a beloved embrace.

White wakes last, quiet, a body slender and plated like a shrimp, long whiskers of fire drift from the top of the armor that coats their body, they have a tail ending in a three pointed shape resembling a flower, perhaps a lily, a secondary set of arms sits beneath their ribcage.

He seems oddly aware, head tilting as he gazes up and around, only once their eyes cease roaming do they join the pile, allowed in by a swish of saccharine wings.

Existing is exhausting, and The Fount yawns softly, immediately tucked up against Red’s chest, warm as a furnace, Pink nudging her face to be over Red's shoulder as White drags Cream to both cozy in the free spots.

In the beginning, they were there.

 

°•°•°•°

 

It had been such a beautiful lie.

“We were meant to be together.”

His heart had split, open and euphoric with utter bliss in that one moment, he had it all, victory in his claws and an eternal toy, one he could never tire with, one that would never break, one who would never leave him.

Everything had been perfect.

So high off the absolute beauty that was completion, he and Truthless Recluse, one in the same, mind and power melded in a symphony of darkness that could finally taint Earthbread once and for all. To silence all who had been apathetic and slothful to the destruction of his existence, his legacy.

Then it snapped.

A disconnect, painful as Shadow Milk lost control of the one thing he could always rely on, in his prison, it soothed him, in his fall, it hid him, in his spying, it showed him.

Stupid. He had been so stupid. Opening up his walls. His rebuilt Spire. His very body and mind in the cradle of his rebirth from virtue to beast.

That same Spire rumbles, a deep booming off the walls as years of pent up emotion rush him all at once. Shadow Milk snarls, blasting a beam of pure magic in a furious burst to attempt to obliterate those brat children.

It merely bounces off a shield, formed of light and truth, mismatched eyes focused dead onto the bastard who's teleported to the center of it all. Pure Vanilla Cookie. Radiant golden hair cascading down like a halo around him, wings accenting his head, hips, and back.

Disgusting.

The beast takes form of darkness, slamming into Pure Vanilla in an attempt to knock him back, painfully ramming into a shield the ancient casts at the last moment as the shadows course over like a wave on glass. The children cry out, trembling and clinging to those perfect wings cascading behind the ancient like a cape.

“Please… let us end this. Even through the haze of deceit you cast upon me that I accepted as a coursing finality… I could feel how lonely you truly are.”

Those kind eyes, usually closed, stay open as Pure Vanilla faces the shapeless mass of distorted darkness, writhing and malformed across crumbling tiles.

Rage, fury, pure hatred snaps through Shadow Milk as bleak as the night under the new moon. “HA! HA HA HA! LONELY?!” He reforms, claws extending so he can lunge and slash at the shield, repeatedly teleporting and reappearing to bash into each side and seek a weak point.

Almost deliriously, he cackles,“NOW WHO’S THE CLOWN HERE!?” Claws refuse to puncture the shield, its crystalline surface protecting the healer and the young he guards. “OH! I’m TEARING up!” His body bends, breaks, the very material form he carries melting away in a festering pile of shadows.

Scales, sharp, viperous, deadly, they emerge as he takes the form of a serpent, a terrible one of great size. “LOOK at MY Spire! Bask in its splendor!” A RAM, and he coils around the shield, easily large enough to devour one of the children if he pleases.

The shadows jeer at them, a furious uproar of a crowd only he can hear, cheering him on.

Fangs glitter as Shadow Milk grins, pressing his face directly into the glass to stare dead into Pure Vanilla's eyes. “Here, I have anything I want! Fools, so eager to FALL to their knees for ONE LITTLE LIE!” Venom drips from his fangs, melting through the tile wherever it lands as corrosive as acid.

He hopes for fear, he relishes how the children are in near tears, only The Brave standing up right beside Pure Vanilla. Powder-blue and angel-yellow irises just stare back at him, not with fear, not with hate.

Pity.

Pity for ragged and scarred scales, pity for the fragile body and broken dough before him, pity for a beast chained by his own crafted persona.

Fury courses through the beast, and he rapidly begins to squeeze around the bubble, glass-like crackling filling the air the tighter and tighter he could, “You… You must've lost your mind!” It shatters.

He snaps his jaws down, praying to feel the snapping of bones and ripping of feathers fill his jaw, but he just cracks down around the crunching bits of shield left.

That voice calls out, a lighthouse in the dark, Shadow Milk whips around so fast his tail smashes through four pillars. “Still, you continued to test me…” He rushes them.

The children disappear, but Pure Vanilla just flaps his wings, instantly shooting up as Shadow Milk SLAMS into a pile of rubble, rocks crashing down on him as something sharp falls and pins straight through his scales.

“Was it solely for enjoyment? That you wish to see me fail? Watch me fall? Witness the death of one you despise just to bring me back as a toy to play with?” There's no malice, not even a drop, just a wounded sadness and hope, all six of the ancients wings flapping, yet barely needing any effort to hold him hovering.

The rubble smashes apart as Shadow Milk bursts free.

“SILENCE!!! I AM THE MASTER OF THIS WORLD! YOU DARE ACT LIKE YOU KNOW ME!? LIKE I DONT KNOW YOU!?”

Jam seeps off his forked tongue, venom coursing down his fangs in pure rage as he coils for a strike, one of his fangs shattered. Pure Vanilla merely shakes his head, “When you and I became one, briefly…”

WHAM.

Barely, Shadow Milk lunges up and misses, fangs instead clamping around a marble pillar and crushing it beneath his jaws, spitting the fragments out as Pure Vanilla flutters further up, attempting to stabilize himself. “One more word, and I will wipe your pathetic dough off the FACE OF THE WORLD!”

Evidently, his threat goes unheeded as the ancient just calls to him, actually BEAMING light like he’s a glowing star hung up in the sky by the witches themselves, “… I felt it. A minute droplet of longing, hiding in the dark.” The shadows themselves seem to slowly be turning, their cackling and mocking whipping around to be aimed at their very master.

The Spire rumbles, like ice along a frozen lake breaking, a fracturing sound that brings stabbing pain to Shadow Milk's rotted heart as one of the towers splits, falling with an audible crash into the milk river that cradles the Spire.

“I know it, for I’ve felt the same.”

Shadow Milk growls, letting his serpent body slither up the winding neverending stairs, coiling across banisters and pillars, roping floating bits of architecture with his body like he’s building a road.

A road to the death of this disgusting radiance.

“Yes, Shadow Milk Cookie. No one else but me can truly understand you.”

He freezes, stuck in place merely feet away from the radiant king, arms outstretched as if to embrace him, something cold and ancient strikes its stake deep into Shadow Milk's heart.

“…What.”

The Spire itself freezes in its destruction, the moon shining her light through the stained glass portraying The Fount behind Pure Vanilla.

Each word he speaks is carried as soft as starlight, “We share the same Soul Jam. We can understand each other like no one else can.” Even that orchid staff, usually shifty and judgemental of the beasts every move, focuses on him, looking pleadingly.

Pure Vanilla extends his hand, “You don't have to be lonely. I’m right here. Please.” Tears bead up in the corners of those frosty eyelashes, the wolf meeting the ram, the dove meeting the owl.

“Let me be your friend.”

His heart stops. For once, all the voices in his head, all the thoughts, whispers, regrets, memories. Everything he wipes clean with magic, locks away with memory spells, it all silences, reverent as if in prayer.

How long has it been? Since he’s felt the genuine touch of another? How long has he waited? Changed himself to fit what others desired in the fleeting hope they would love him, adore him? “Friend..?” It comes out soft, barely a whisper, wide eyes softening, the slitted pupils the serpent has visibly dilating to be rounder.

Nights spent by the fire, Truthless Recluse brushing his hair, telling stories to Candy Apple while mending Black Sapphire's clothes.

The dances they partook in, entire days filled with nothing but the phantom singing of an orchestra, strings gliding across starlight to support his muse as they would waltz on the trails of comets long named by an erased scholar.

Truthless Recluse laying with him, letting the beast's head rest in his lap in the field of milkcrowns that surrounds that cursed apple tree in his garden, humming some soft thing as the beast for once, in centuries, allowed sleep to take him willingly.

The laughter Truthless Recluse had let out upon tricking him, deceiving him, everything shatters, like his heart breaks all over again in the span of milliseconds.

His pupils snap into slits, a near monstrous cry escaping him, the kind that seeps into the very marble the Spire is carved of, causing the anguished cries of those swallowed by deceit to be released.

“CURSE YOU!”

Shadow Milk snaps forward, fangs sinking into one of those wings and allowing the burst of euphoria that courses through him when he hears a snap take over. “YOU KNOW NOTHING! YOU ARE NOTHING!” He slams the healer down, throwing him straight down all the heights they’ve climbed and roaring down as he falls.

“I HATE YOU!! You and your SOUL JAM! I WILL DESTROY YOU!” He dives, the floor itself rumbling as his tail smashes the stained glass. Both of them are tumbling down in a whirlwind of rubble, body instantly transforming to face Pure Vanilla midair.

One of those stupid wings is twisted slightly, not a break, but definitely sprained or fractured, sick joy coos to him as the shadows around them purr. A slam lets out when they stop falling to land back on that of hallway.

“EVERYTHING I DID!” A blast, rapidly deflected off Pure Vanillas staff, followed by several more, “I did it for THEM! FOR THOSE GREEDY FOOLS! I wrote for them. I taught them. I GAVE THEM EVERYTHING THEY WANTED AND MORE!”

The children are rushing, slowly making their way back from where Pure Vanilla had to teleport them off in a fearful daze, scared of what the beast might do. He just has to keep the beast's attention off them until its safe.

“YOU! YOU USED ME! You’re no better than them. Centuries of forced duty upon me!” Emotion, more and more creeps up his words, Pure Vanilla has to guard himself with his wings, gasping in concern when Shadow Milk almost falls, rubble coming crashing down.

He hates Pure Vanilla. He hates everything he stands for. The biggest liar of all standing right before him wearing a false badge of truth.

It's not just fury, Pure Vanilla can see that, his heart aching at the pure sadness and upset that creeps through each word spat his way.

“I did what I was supposed to!” A snarl, and an entire hunk of a room is thrown at Pure Vanilla, at which he raises his staff, a beam of pure energy cutting through it as if it were butter. “It's n-not fair…” Soft, barely, exhaustion seeps into the beast's words. “Put me down like a r-rabid animal.”

Why is his magic not restoring as fast.

Shadow Milk calls out to the other realm, but it doesn't respond, radio silence sending prickles of ice throughout his dough as if he were freezing to death, staff crackling with dying magic.

When he looks back, those brats have regrouped around their mother hen, so to speak, but their behavior is much more bold. It makes him want to rip their heads off, sew them back together and string them up like dolls while feasting on dough.

“I’m sorry.” Gentle, the ancient calls, having to deflect a mass of shadows that tries to grab him, eyes instantly drawn to the beast's side.

Jam.

Heterochromic eyes look around and land on the razors of glass that fell with them, one is embedded deep into Shadow Milk's side, tearing through his bodysuit and implanting itself just below the ribcage.

Sorry? He’s SORRY? Shadow Milk's hair thrashes, sharp and whipping like a cat's furious tail, fangs bared in a vicious display.

“I wasn't ever lying. I enjoyed much of the time we spent together” Instantly, Pure Vanilla attempts to slowly lower his voice, the jam is beading out at a concerning rate, thick, starry blue that's almost black. With any luck, he can soothe the beast using their exhaustion into letting him at least heal him. “I don't want to fight you… please. Come to me, let me help you.”

Wrong move.

Shadow Milk nearly screams, a terrible sound as he slams his claws straight into the ground to send a blast of magic, easily deflected allowing Pure Vanilla to get a good look at him. Shadow Milk looks rough. His hair is melting, white dripping into blue and blue drippling into black, the eyes are all disoriented and barely visible.

His claws are dull, ruffles torn and souljam an off-grey shade of blue. Words spill from him, anger withered down with exhaustion, there's a visible wobble in the way he stands.

“Kh… Haa… Haa… Pathetic fools…” Strained, Pure Vanilla's heart breaks at how close to tears he sounds, conflicted emotions snapped from their stewing as Wizard yells, “Pure Vanilla! NOW!” He waves his staff, yelling and only stopping when Pure Vanilla raises his hand to pause the child.

“It doesn't have to be like this, Shadow Milk.”

There's a flicker across Shadow Milk's face, before he giggles, then laughs, then throws himself into cackles, “Ha ha ha! How “kind” of you!” Manic, his eyes are wide, fangs sharp and grin stretched too wide, the grip on his staff enough to where his claws are punching holes in his dough, soaking the staff in jam.

“Mark. My. Words. One day, your “kindness” will become your undoing.”

Darkness etches into his words, venomous, and there's a clatter of footsteps behind them, Candy Apple rushing forward, followed by Black Sapphire flying down to tail her.

Gingerbrave nearly lunges at them, “You!”

There's genuine terror in Black Sapphire's eyes, the deep rumbling that shakes the Spire now constant, an arm keeping Candy Apple away from where the beast stands. Center to it all.

“Shadow Milk Cookie!” Pain creeps into Pure Vanilla's heart as she cries, Black Sapphire's eyes echoing the pain and fear that's cracked both of their usually bold costumes.

A rush, and the grape cookie grabs Shadow Milk's hand, tugging him and urging him desperately, “Quick! We must leave this place!” Cracks line his voice, confident tone shattered into something that can only be akin to a child begging their parent to come with them.

The second Black Sapphire speaks, it's like a bolt goes through Shadow Milk, head whipping around to them, he raises his hand, fingertips singed as he summons a portal.

Swirling darkness, it's rough and cold, nothing like his usually smooth portals, warping and tearing at the edges until a burst of energy seemingly from nowhere snaps the beast back to attention.

Candy Apple tries to leap forward, but she’s grabbed by Black Sapphire, who steps back into the portal, clinging to Shadow Milk's sleeve. Strawberry cries out, “No! They’re escaping!” Wizard merely sounds baffled, scowling witheringly at the trio, “He STILL has strength left?!”

Cruel and sharp, the beast laughs, grinning and straining to put up a big bow, pointing his staff at the four before him, “You bet! Cookies, they just won't stop telling lies, amirite?” Smug, his gaze narrows, staff pointing dead on at Pure Vanilla.

“Dont get too comfortable, we’re not done yet.” That laughter starts back up, cruel and manic, induced purely by rage and exhaustion, “I’ll be seeing you soon~ Little gnats.” Both his minions are practically clinging to his sleeves, but he just stares into Pure Vanillas eyes.

“And you… you’ll live to regret your words. I’ll. Make. Sure. Of. It.” Deadly intent coats his tongue as easily as the venom he possesses, and with a singular bow, the beast falls back.

His eyes close at the feeling of magic covering him, holding him so sweetly for just a few seconds, only letting that terrible voice play in his mind in place of the usual empty bliss.

“Let me be your friend…”

It snaps through his mind like an intrusive thought, ripping his peace in half as easily as a snapped twig as he can't help but think of him.

A simple question. So pure. So hopeful. It had made his heart ache, a fact he will never admit as long as he’s alive. Now his limbs just ache.

Shadow Milk stumbles through the deep thicket they crash into, panting, exhausted, they’ve landed in a decent clearing. The beast laying flat on the ground and blinking up through the branches blocking most of the sky.

His vision is hazy, blurry as his side splits in a stinging pain that radiates out, he really shouldn't have used so much magic.

Both his minions are groaning, complaining softly and struggling to stand, a horrible emptiness snaps through him at the feeling of his distant home falling to shreds.

He wants to cry. A foreign feeling for so long, he hasn't cried since the tree, coiled away in its bark to sob and plead in the early days when the others still slept, safe and warm in the pile they had formed in silent mourning of their lives.

Shadow Milk finally sits up, coughing softly and glaring at the dense thicket, spiny plants, terrible rocks and sharp scenery, the very ground is poisoned with evil, the streams nearby putrid and foul.

They’ll have to report in. It's not even a debate, if he doesn't, Dark Enchantress will undoubtedly rip his body to shreds in the state he’s in. The other realm is still quiet, whispering shadows in his mind continuing their chittering and gossiping between each other in the way he KNOWS it's about him.

Stupid, why does he have to be so stupid.

Candy Apple whines, her dress all torn up and ragged from their crash, complaining softly and sniffling to Black Sapphire as he attempts to comfort her, eyes snapping to focus the second Shadow Milk sits up.

“Master!” Near instantly, he rushes over, carrying Candy Apple and leaning down to try and help the beast up, incredibly cautious to Shadow Milk's side. “You’re crumbling!” Candy Apple practically yells, scrabbling against Black Sapphire's arms to try and help the beast.

Everything they say is slightly muffled, the beasts pointed ears twitching sluggishly as he just blinks, shaking his head and holding up a hand, “Bah… j-just. Just a small cut.” The eyes in his hair all rush to look at his side, pupils narrowing into anxious slits.

It does not look good.

The shard of glass is sticking out, his mind yelling to yank it out, but he knows realistically it's safer to wait until he can properly staunch the jamflow once he eventually removes it. Black Sapphire very clearly does not believe Shadow Milk, gaze narrow with concern and pure worry, but he just offers his arm, “Of… of course Master. Let's get you up, we need to make camp for the night.”

Camp. Right. Shadow Milk shakes his head, ears drooping, “Yea yea. Not happening. Dark Enchantress will skewer us if we don't haul ass to the castle… It's only a what, 30 minute walk?” Sluggish, he manages to stand on unsteady legs, straining to support himself on his staff.

Both minions just frown, Black Sapphire shaking his head and clearing his throat, “Try four hours, as the bat flies.” Fidgeting, the radio host seems anxious, Shadow Milk groaning, “And as the beast walks?”

Black Sapphire shakes his head, “Eight.”

The beast just stares, groaning and covering his face with shaky hands, muttering curses in long-dead languages of the past centuries fallen to the tides of time.

The second he stands, the beast instantly remembers WHY the heels in his outfit were not a wise choice, wincing and straining, before standing tall and spinning his staff.

“Without further ado! Lets embark on this shitty ass trip!~” Confidence oozes into Shadow Milk's tone, usual theatrics resurfacing against his exhaustion. Candy Apple perks up, bows on her outfit perking up as she squeals, “Yes yes yes!~ Oh yes Master Shadow Milk!” He grins at her near manic spinning in circles, but the concern in Black Sapphire's eyes is noticeable.

No matter.

Pain keeps him grounded, pain is good, pain lets him know he’s alive, that his body isn't tangled in roots and bark, rotting away and broken.

There's an uncomfortable silence between him and Black Sapphire as they begin to walk, a trio of dragged feet and stumbling through the thicket. The thick silence is disgusting, coiling in Shadow Milk's mind and infecting his thoughts like mold over apples, seeping every single mistake he’s made to get here, every sign he willingly ignored from Truthless Recluse.

Yeast Spores bumble helplessly, the ones around this area look more and more sickly with each passing day as the castle Dark Enchantress has formed sinks its fangs into the earth, draining and sucking the life out of the land itself.

He’s supposed to be better, he’s supposed to be the master of tricks and lies, sharp eyed and able to spot when he’s being lied to from a mile away.

Yet he folded the instant Pure Vanilla had donned carefully sewn robes, spoken in that low tone and batted swan-white lashes.

The path ahead through tangled thicket sprawls unendingly.

This is going to fucking suck.

 

°•°•°•°

 

Black Sapphire clears the way as they walk, Candy Apple babbling senselessly about her usual tricks, a steady stream of exaggerated nonsense for her elders to listen to.

Shadow Milk feels like he’s going to crumble.

Honestly? He wishes he had.

Lies, spun so carefully, used to tear his own home apart, like a spider trapped by its own web pitifully, ripping its legs off in the struggle.

Go figure, he lets his guard down for ONE second…

Black Sapphire has to stop him from collapsing as he winces, something deep and wrong is curling within his chest, a beating pain that courses throughout his dough like needles under fabric.

“I’m fine.” Shadow Milk snaps, too harsh, much harsher than he had meant, and the radio host visibly shrinks back a bit, batlike ears drooping completely like a wounded cake pup.

He’s exhausted, the sprawling brush clearing finally to reveal the towering, dark castle his “Master” resides in, the sky itself a split chasm of red, purple, fat thunderclouds sprawling, black tainted from dark magic.

Small hands grab his own, Candy Apple looking up at him, green and red dual-toned eyes beaming up at him with confidence he knows has long slipped from him.

He would have begged Eternal Sugar to take them, he should have, crawled to her garden on weak legs to plead, but she’s too busy for him, if his visit in azure had been any indication, now, he can't run from this.

Mystic Flour won't take him, she has no sympathy, the most Burning Spice will do is laugh.

They all know he’s going to be punished, there's no doubt about that. This is his third failure, chances slipping from Shadow Milk's claws like sand, consequences loom.

But if he doesn't return, she’ll track them down, hurt his minions, then turn him into a fine blueberry jam mist. He trembles, puffing up to seem confident and stepping up to the stairs, carrying himself with pride despite the pain and anxiety swirling within him.

The shadows purr and hiss, all whispering cruelties that hold shreds of truth like daggers. His side hurts worse somehow, a sharp pain he can't quite place, Black Sapphire had looked at it briefly when they had stopped to rest and gone visibly pale. Great sign.

The door opens, not even giving Shadow Milk a chance to open it with fanfare.

The grand entryway glitters, darkness the greatest ally in the entire ballroom-styled room. Deep purples and reds decorate the room, sprawling cake columns tower to the ceiling, constantly enchanted to look like a stormy sky. A large staircase at the center of the room in the back, leading up to a dark throne made from enchanted materials, an air of dark magic lurks about.

She’s there. Standing at the top of the stairs, gazing down in disapproval, Pomegranate is at her side, Red Velvet behind her as she scowls.

He grits his teeth, grinning, stretched thin as he twirls his staff, “Heyyyy! If it is-“ Thunder crashes, and his hair spikes up like the ruffles on his costume.

“How… disappointing.” Dark Enchantress snaps her fingers, door slamming shut as soon as Candy Apple and Black Sapphire skitter to enter, “You two.” She points her fork at them, “Go to the briefing room. Red Velvet, Pomegranate, deal with them.” Instinctively, Shadow Milk steps back to shield them, shaking and feeling sick when her two closest followers come down the stairs.

“Hey! They don't listen to y-“

“NOW.” Both instantly flinch, looking up at the beast pleadingly.

Shadow Milk feels his breath hitch, heart pounding out of his chest, bile creeps up his throat before nodding, heart clenching as his minions skitter to follow their now-superiors, a deep thud escaping the double door as they leave.

Tension. Pointed ears slowly droop as her heels click on the tile. “Failure. You disgust me… your punishment will be decided soon. But first, your minions no longer work for you.”

No. “You cant do th-“

He opens his mouth to complain, to yell, snap and make her change her mind, but she scowls, voice booming, “Do NOT contest me. You’ll get them back when I deem you useful again… Go. I don't care where in this castle. Return when I summon you for the meeting…” She turns, cape billowing as she begins to leave, only sparing him a glance and low, thinly veiled words.

“Don't even think of running. Lest something terrible should happen to your bats.”

Despite how much he would like to ignore it, actual fear coils in his chest, his ears fully pinning back and hair coiling protectively around himself further.

The castle is cold, expansive, making him feel small, a snake trapped in a box, peering through punctured holes in terror.

With no minions, the air feels hollow and empty, the beast's ears drooping as he steadily stumbles along out of the main foyer through the sprawling hallways.

Cake minions scrabble about, a few rush to get out of his way as Shadow Milk walks, rage bubbling up in his stomach alongside an awful sinking feeling. There's numerous cookies about the castle he does not recognize, far too many to be usual, suggesting this meeting is a large congregation.

Never a good sign.

He sniffs the air, ears twitching as he listens and hones in, coffee, bitter licorice, salted rolls, sour pomegranate… bingo. Spice.

Practically dragging himself along, Shadow Milk trudges, he knows it's unlikely Burning Spice will be in most of the common areas, his height makes standing in most rooms uncomfortable. The lack of familiar nutmeg around him is slightly alarming though.

Stars, he’s tired, an unsteady numbness creeps at his fingertips when he finally pushes through the exhaustion, hand finding the ornate door holding the source of the scent he’s followed, when did he even get so far?

The room he enters is cold and uncomfortable, Burning Spice seated with his back to the door, body ragged and littered with new wounds, lion tail swishing rapidly behind him.

The others are there, Mystic Flour seated in front of Burning Spice and tending to a particularly nasty spear-puncture, she barely even looks up, second set of spider eyes blinking open lazily.

Eternal Sugar is sobbing, her wings ragged and sticky with jam as her dress is torn, seated in the corner on her lonesome while clutching a bundle of holly leaves.

The general mood is miserable as attention turns to him.

His stomach churns, but he elects to just slowly make his way over to the couch, stumbling before collapsing into a curled up ball on his side. A huff escapes Burning Spice, arms folding across his chest as his mandibles click, “Had fun with your ram? Seems he’s returned to his flock.” Agitation coils in Shadow Milks chest.

Loud, he groans and growls, “Had fun getting pegged like a bitch?” The beast's ears pin as he snarls at Burning Spice, scowl deepening at the booming laugh he lets out in response, “At least our battle was glorious! The thrill, the ELATION!” Fire courses in his eyes, but he calms when Mystic Flour holds up one finger, gesturing to the wound she’s attempting to deal with.

“Your petty squabbling is meaningless. I suggest you both shut your mouths.”

Flat as ever, Mystic Flour just resumes her tending, standing after a beat to move over to where Shadow Milk is curled and protecting his side, “We have failed. Such is the truth. What's done is done, your emotions are meaningless.” Despite her words, there's a clear, mourning intent throughout the room, something awkward and painful to bring up.

Hands find his side, and Shadow Milk practically snaps in pain as Mystic yanks the glass free, pressing floral, delicate magic to his dough to staunch the jamflow, but that's all she seems willing to do.

It hurts, stinging and aching as he pants, blearily blinking before he notices it. The small Haetae that always seems latched to Mystic Flour, neither is the dove brat who always yaps on and on about love around Eternal Sugar.

There's only one logical explanation, they must have also been taken, just as his own. The thought makes his stomach churn and dough crawl, ears drooping back at everything seeping in with finality.

When Mystic Flour finally draws away, wound still fresh, but at least somewhat healed over as she stands to resume tending to Burning Spice, his gaze locked onto a singular golden feather he has in his grasp, unrestrained fire burning into it.

Slowly, Shadow Milk lets his head rest, he’ll rest for a bit, nothing more, nothing less. The beasts mismatched eyes grow more and more heavy the longer he lounges, the whispering shadows are uncomfortably silent.

He’ll rest. Just for a moment.

Only for a moment.

He falls asleep before the thought even finishes echoing in his mind.

 

°•°•°•°

 

The beasts, mighty, strong.

They tremble before the scorn of the woman before them.

Shadow Milk is especially nervous, his spire is gone, he’s weak, and now his minions have been taken away, Dark Enchantress is furious… having clearly NOT simmered down since they last spoke.

“Did I not summon BEASTS?… Because all I see…” She slowly walks, heels clicking as she gets closer, “Are sniveling, pathetic, simpering cake pups.” Each word is hissed, vicious, ignoring the way Mystic Flour huffs and Burning Spice flares with rage, Eternal Sugar is a teary mess.

“The Great Destroyer. Bested by a bird. Master of The Ivory Pagoda, turning tail from that old FOOL! Bringer of Sloth whimpering like a cake pup with jammed wings!” She growls, attention fully turning to Shadow Milk, who flinches back the closer she gets.

“Master of Deceit? Ha! You’ve failed me THRICE. Lied to and betrayed by the embodiment of TRUTH. You couldn't handle that doddering old fae. You couldn't handle the wind spirit. Now, you’re failing again! What a pathetic-“

“I-“ She grabs him when he tries to protest, claws digging into his chest as she lifts him by his ruffles, the other beasts jolt, and Shadow Milk claws at her iron grasp, a huge, shadowy hand forms from dark magic, grabbing and squeezing his chest so hard the wind dissipates from his lungs.

“Perhaps I have not made myself transparently CLEAR. I am attempting to cure cookiekind of their cowardice.” The sorceress's summoned hand tightens, panic begins to strangle the jester alongside her grip. “You owe me your lives. Your miserable, pathetic existence. Each and every one of you when I dredged your souls from the bark of that confounded tree.” She turns to address them, uncaring as Shadow Milk begins to see white spots dance across his vision.

“Your miserable bodies, crafted to perfection by my Director. Perhaps I should let him dissect you all to see where your failures lurk.” His arm flails, trying to hit her with his staff as he cries out, wrist grabbed and practically crushed as she easily snatches away his only anchor, sparks of magic fluttering as she SNAPS it in two.

He can FEEL it snap, like a bone, a part of his own body.

Icy, he can't even speak, horrified eyes widening. Her grip tightens, cutting him off as he gags.

Most of the beasts attempt to seem indifferent, but Eternal Sugar looks distressed, grasping at her dress and opting to just dart her gaze away from the scene. Their master intentionally pushes him closer to the angelic beast, sugary tears welling up in her already puffy eyes.

“And what do I get?” Dark Enchantress begins to slowly walk after a moment, heels clicking on tile the entire way, before stopping in front of a pillar, “Resistance.” She slams him into the wall, hard enough he can feel several ribs crack on impact, crashing through the material as she tosses him, almost hitting Burning Spice as he tumbles, hitting the far wall with a dull thud and knocking the air out of him.

An exploding miasma of pain.

Everything burns, and he claws at the ground, breathing weak and at a wheeze, the world spinning wildly as stars flitter in his vision, but she’s not done. “All of you failed. Because you’re too busy playing games. Let's try a new game.” Shadow Milk drags himself, only for her to stab her fork into his tailcoat, yanking him up by the hair like a cat by the scruff, shaking him roughly.

“Until you’ve proven your miserable selves worth, I will hold your minions as my own little… helpers. Disobey me and they will feel it. Since I’m oh-so merciful, I’ll offer a little chance.”

Her claws dig into his side, agony erupting as she stabs into him, wedging back open dough before piercing him with a silver dagger.

“He will have a 5 minute head start, then, Destruction, Apathy, Sloth, you three are going to hunt him down and drag him back here. Whoever catches him will earn my good favor, and their minion back. I have a knight to hunt down.”

Only Burning Spice really reacts with any sense of joy, unable to contain his emotions, tail lashing, body still freshly scarred. Eternal Sugar sobs, her wings heavy with jam and dragging behind her while Mystic Flour just stares.

She pulls him, face to face and sneering, “I’d suggest not running, you’ll only tire yourself.” Her hand glows suddenly, and agony bursts through his body as she siphons out his magic, it feels like someone's sapping him of all his energy, and she only stops when he’s at his weakest.

It will take DAYS for it to recharge, if he’s lucky.

Shadow Milk is thrown, crashing through treetops as he registers she threw him OUT A WINDOW Branches snap under his weight, as light as he is, jam beginning to trickle from his nose as his face takes numerous hits. Landing harshly, he scrabbles, dirt smudging all over his body, jam leaks from his side and nose.

The pain in his side explodes tenfold.

Panic, he claws at the ground, stumbling and panting, his magic sputters weakly when he tries to float, legs shaky from years of little-use, he has to brace against a tree, clutching his side with a wince.

His ribs are cracked, and his wrist hurts, legs incredibly sore already, he needs to move, a thunderous roar escaping the castle behind him from Burning Spice.

His fingers leave jam on the bark.

There's no way they’re actually gonna hunt him… right?

There's an audible slam as Burning Spice lands, cracking the earth and grinning madly like a cheshire cat, lunging and snarling when Shadow Milk just barely slips away, scrabbling to start his mad dash.

Wrong. So wrong.

Each footfall is agony, he can't teleport, rushing as branches break and Burning Spice nearly lands on him, the larger beast almost feral in his state, but Shadow Milk knows Mystic Flour is no joke either, she’s too persistent to let him go, spun silk catching on his hair as he almost gets trapped in her webs.

Where is Eternal Sugar.

A shadow looms overhead, but he knows it can't be her, can it?

An axe embedded in the bark of a tree he was about to climb sends ice across his dough, “Come back little bug! Let's play!” It's a game to Spice, and he knows his fellow beast is lost in the haze of hunger for a challenge.

Probably still sinking his mandibles into the high leftover from fighting the golden thief.

Mystic Flour grabs his hair, lunging trying to say something while yanking him back as he cries, swiping claws and wincing as they make contact, tearing into her perfect dress as he catches her face, sending the normally composed beast stumbling back with a cry that hurts his heart.

He barely registers the axe flying, before it hooks onto his ruffles and snags, sending him flying back and pinned to the forest floor with an explosion of dirt and grass.

Burning Spice slams through the brush, grinning wildly, creeping forward like a sugar lion about to pounce. Shadow Milk feels lightheaded, panic creeping throughout his body and eliciting a reaction of pure terror.

Claws dig into the ground, scrabbling and clawing to attempt to free his pinned ruffles, saffron-plated axe dug into the fabric and liquid matter of his hair keeping him stuck and scrabbling.

Pinned like a moth to a board.

“Spicey!~ SPICE WAIT HEY HE-“ He’s grabbed by the face, one of Burning Spice's hands large enough to cover his mouth and almost block off his entire face, silencing him like an iron muzzle.

“Nowhere to run… you always put up a good chase…” Burning Spice sneers, clawed hands reaching out to grab the jester's ribs, squeezing hard enough to make bones creak and the air punch from Shadow Milk's lungs. “Little bluebird. Little bug.” Claws dig into soft blue dough and dark fabric, easily breaking the delicate dough like knives through a paper lantern.

Jam trickles, deep blue and sparkling slightly, painting rustlike red dough, Shadow Milks blurring vision making it look like he has his numerous arms again. The red beast lifts him into the air, gold-plated fangs catching light perfectly with snarled words.

Mystic Flour, slow and methodical as ever, finally stands back up from her stumbled back recovering, barely even seeming to care while Burning Spice just jeers, Shadow Milk can see the scratch she has.

“Don't worry. I enjoyed the hunt.” Shadow Milk's lungs burn, vision slowly fading as immense pressure builds up in his head, becoming a painful, throbbing headache.

Fiery eyes bore into his own, Burning Spices grip faltering, an unsteady movement as his claws loosen in their clasping for only a moment.

No point in wasting air on words, he learned that far too long ago, the Burning Spice he once knew is not the one who stands before him, painful throbbing in the back of his mind overtaking any other sensation steadily.

The corners of his vision blur, weak, broad hands squeezing tighter and tighter like he’s just a doll, wheezing the only sound he can release. Eternal Sugar is yelling, something in protest as she finally catches up with the three, practically jumping trying to grab Shadow Milk away from Burning Spice while Mystic Flour moves to try and stop her.

It's a fight, rapid, Mystic Flour and Eternal Sugar trying to both earn Burning Spices attention, until the winged-beast yells something, muffled like Shadow Milk is trapped beneath thick honey.

The fire in Burning Spices eyes flickers.

Usually broad smile faltering, the beast stares, antennae twitching, Mystic is saying something, low and steady, but Burning Spice just visibly seems to deflate.

A softness flickers, the hand he has covering the jester's face losing its dangerous grip, slowly detaching and almost trembling against unhealthily pale-blue dough, rapidly losing its usual healthy glow.

The ground surges towards him as Shadow Milk is dropped.

Shadow Milk gasps, sound rushing back into his senses like a waterfall at the sound of all three fighting and snapping at each other, narrowly rolling to avoid a stomp as Burning Spice whips around.

“QUIET! I cant even hear myself THINK with your nagging-“

“You brute-“

“This is not our matter to-“

Claws dig into the earth, Shadow Milk almost yelping to surge forward and scrabble free, ducking under one of Eternal Sugar's wings when Burning Spice attempts to grab him, a physical altercation breaking as she lunges, birdlike legs slamming Burning Spice into a tree.

It's his chance.

Pure fear, his hand rushes forward, a portal cracking open for him to fall into and crash through the foliage, location unknown but made from pure instinct and fear.

Behind him, the portal itself is snapping shut for only a moment, before Burning Spice physically grabs the edges and starts to rip it back open like its thin fabric. Shadow Milk scrabbles, body moving off pure instinct.

The land is unfamiliar, it's not quite his forest, sprawling evergreens just a tad too silver, but he rushes.

Fear wracks through him as he leaps over a tree trunk, landing wrong and tumbling, the landscape slowly turning more faelike, towering willows and beautiful tanghulu plants, he barely registers the shimmering of something silver on the ground until-

SNAP.

Time freezes, suspended as a droplet of dew in a spider's web, a singular moment forgotten in time.

The world flips, and he yelps, snare tightening around his leg as he’s stuck, flailing and clawing at the air wildly as the magic snares tighten, creeping like vines up his leg.

Silver snareweed creeps up, constricting muscles and only tightening with resistance, soon enough both his legs will be bound if he doesn't hurry and cut himself down.

It's a goddamn trap.

A stupid fucking trap.

Set for a motherfucking animal.

This can't be happening. He digs his claws into the vines, yelping when they just get stuck, the plant taking it as a chance to slowly creep up his wrists.

No. Panic, pure terror, he shouldn't be this close to the fae kingdom. The beast thrashes, claws swiping to cut through vines and land, kicking out with his catlike legs. One of the vines surges, wrapping around his neck and SNAPPING him backwards before starting to curl and tangle around him tighter and tighter.

The vines he’s cut don't wither, simply growing and rooting into the ground to dig and pin him like a weighted net wherever they make contact while he thrashes.

It tightens.

Sounds are cut off, strangled and choked as the sensation of suffocating engulfs him. The more he fights, the tighter they constrict him, and the more they constrict him, the more latch to the earth and begin to grow more.

His hair thrashes, rapid and whipping like a feral cat's tail, the vines creak when he strains and tugs. This can't be happening. The earth crashes into him as Shadow Milk collapses fully, gasping and trying to call out, but no air enters his lungs. He can't move. He can't breathe. He can't even cry for help.

Darkness hisses and laughs at him, and for once, his mind darts. Black Sapphire and Candy Apple. Ice cold fear settles as tears start to bead up. He’s abandoning them again. Dark Enchantress is going to kill them, he’s going to die here and he can't even tell them how much he-

His vision is gone.

Consciousness drips, thick and seeping away from him, the beast completely weightless in an empty void that welcomes him.

It's not unfamiliar, being untethered from reality, watching his life play like the world's shittiest movie. Lost chances fall like withered leaves in the sweet autumn breeze, cold and gilded by decay.

He’s moving. Shadow Milk blinks, the others must have caught up to him, how pathetic a state to find him in. He misses his old body, its lack of need to eat, drink, sleep, breathe. To be untethered by mortal desires once more.

Didn't mean he couldn't FEEL those things, the painful hunger he had felt within the tree made that clear, urging him until he had resorted to chewing his own dough, tasteless and empty as every other sensation in that damnable tree. At least he had the comfort of the others.

Sharp pain jolts him from his weightless drifting.

Air floods Shadow Milk's lungs, and he gasps, thrashing and lunging up at the blurry woods around him, sending blurred shapes scrabbling backwards and screams to ring out.

Fairies.

They’d cut him free, mismatched eyes dart to examine how a few still clutch their blades, some not fast enough to jump back, some even foolish enough to reach and try and restrain him.

He claws and swipes rapidly, and they burst into fear, they all panic and scatter. Shadow Milk's legs are still bound, but he’s out of the damn trap, cutting and slashing himself free and ignoring the agony that bursts through him when he lunges to get up.

They’re terrified, a scout group from the looks of it, purely having cut him free probably to try and stop his suffocating.

Shadow Milk snarls in fury.

A lassolike chain suddenly wraps around his arm, faster than he can react and yanking him out of his thoughts as another snares his leg, more rapidly being thrown and yanked in all different directions as he slashes them.

He manages to get a hold of a faerie, biting down on their wings with a snarl, ignoring their screams and the yells for backup between the frenzy.

Few are adept at fighting, and Shadow Milk relishes the bitter taste fae jam has on his tongue while refusing to let go of his captive.

An arrow embeds in his side, perfectly puncturing into his already damaged dough, the sound he releases near a howl as the fairy finally scrabbles free, the beast hisses, he has to rely on pure instinct to fight them, magic untethered without his staff. A knight flutters around, the same who seems to have shot him, easily shot down by a blast of dark magic while Shadow Milk sluggishly stands.

He’ll tear them all apart, little gnats. Another chain shoots forward and entangles his stomach, snapping like butter under his claws as he grabs the broken end, yanking it forward and slamming the fae on the other end into a rock with a crack of bones.

A manic grin spreads across his face.

Unluckily, the previously thinned-out fae seem to be regrouping, and agitation seeps into his dough at the sight of backup arriving on swift wings.

Shadow Milk lunges, using strings to tie a few knights who slink and attempt to sneak attack him, focusing on the faster archers with his blasts and remaining a safe distance from hand-to-hand fighters.

Something sweet is in the air.

He barely gets a moment, before his chest is made contact with a swift and powerful kick, a blur of yellow planting a perfect attack straight on the beast and sending him flying.

Claws dig into the ground, and he snarls, he knows this cookie. Sugarfly lands, wings flapping, but how is she here? The last he’d seen she was part of Eternal Sugar's little group of miserable souls. She asserts herself, using a swish of magic to heal a few wounded fae, her magic coursing and revitalizing the cookies around her.

A branch snaps.

Shadow Milk ducks at just the right moment to avoid a cream wolf leaping from the foliage, its rider ready and growling at the beast as they both crash, quick to readjust.

Shit.

This cookie is new, but he can smell the cacao on him. The fight breaks out once more, violent and rapid, blasts of magic scorching the field with dark streaks of burnt plantlife. The wolf-rider seems to fight more head-on, moving swift and sharp, while the fae is easier to avoid.

Sharp pain shoots up his shoulder from his back.

Shadow Milk leaps back, snarling and whipping around to yank whatever it is from his shoulder, an intricate, sharp, caramel-shard arrow gleams back at him from his hand.

It smells off. Medicinal.

He forms a shield as another flies out, and he can actually see the archer up a tree, prepared and rapidly reloading.

Barely a second passes before he’s slammed into by a gauntlet, a new cookie leaping out, dressed in hollyberrian colors and ramming into Shadow Milk to send him flying. His magic falters, but he manages to slow and stabilize himself before he crashes.

He’s outnumbered. Not only outnumbered, but rapidly running low on more magic, the rest he’d had the day before was not nearly enough to recharge on top of his drained reserves. Claws, usually sharp, grow blunt as his own magic goes haywire, burning them and his fingertips in a painful burning sensation.

They have him trapped in a semi-circle, but his gaze darts to an opening in the woods.

All he has to do is get there.

The berry-cookie lunges again, and Shadow Milk entangles as the wolf-rider joins in, claws, magic, and fangs all mashing together in a fury. The smaller cookie is easy to throw, sent flying as Shadow Milk shapeshifts into a larger wolf, snarling and sending the wolf scrabbling.

Gauntlet bared, the other cookie engages once more, gasping in pain as the beast's jaws snap down viciously to crunch on his arm. Sweet jam floods his mouth, growls bubbling out around the sticky-sweet liquid when he shakes them violently.

He hears it before he realizes it happens.

The world spins, entire body going numb before searing pain shoots across him from where something has rammed into him, body shifting, unable to hold the wolf form as he crashes.

There's an unsteady numbness, Shadow Milk gripping the ground as he strains to get up, blinking and trying to focus on the blur of red and green that had slammed into him.

Hollyberry Cookie.

She stands, transformed, spikes of holly trace down her back, armor plated like a stag beetle as a horn now accents her helmet to match. Steady, she guards the wounded berry cookie, banging against her shield to gain his attention.

No. He panics, shapeshifting on a whim to a serpent when she runs at him again, ensnaring her as she swings and tries to yank him off. Iridescent scales click as he tightens around her neck, hissing before a spark of pain hits his side.

Something painfully embeds in his scales, another arrow, disgustingly medicinal, he just hisses and coils tighter, hoping to constrict before she can get another hit in. Her breathing strains, suffocation working as the other cookies joining the battle are hit unintentionally in her panicked flailing. She’ll be down in no time.

But it turns out she’s not his biggest concern.

His head is grabbed, body yanked free from the ancient as Dark Cacao Cookie lifts him into the air, shaking him hard enough he snaps out of his snake form from dizziness.

Wait, why is he dizzy?

The ancient has changed, a draconic tail, split between black and white swishes behind him as regal, powerful horns have sprouted from his head.

Shadow Milk firmly kicks Dark Cacao in the chest, snarling when another arrow sinks into his back, same obnoxious scent as before, he focuses his attack on both of them, but they just weave and dip, dodging and blocking, barely letting him get a good hit in while something sluggish starts to bring him down.

He’s so…

Tired.

Shaking his head, the beast growls, but the sleepiness doesn't fade, vision starting to double as he can barely keep track of where either ancient is anymore, purple and black blending into pink and gold.

They’re tiring him out.

Blasts of dark moon magic scorch the forest as he fights, sporadic and rapidly using what little magic he has left, colors blurring as he feels slightly airy, he needs this to end, soon, his body is screaming and pleading, fingertips beginning to physically burn from the rapidity of each blast.

Hollyberry cries out when he slams her into a rock with a blast, breaking clean through it and snarling when Dark Cacao pulls his hair, focus dwindling by the second.

Something sickeningly warm thrums across his pulse, it feels so familiar, like a light creeping through darkened woods, closer and closer.

Cold wind blows the scent of cheese and-

Vanilla.

“Shadow Milk?” His body jolts as he turns. It can't be. But it is, Pure Vanilla, stepping out from the brush, long hair spilling behind him, just as heavenly as when his spire fell the day before. The sight breaks the jester's focus for a second. Something stupid and sweet cries out in relief in his chest upon seeing the holy bastard, begging the beast to rush to safety in those open arms.

That's all it takes.

Golden talons hit him, slammed and pinned to the ground by Golden Cheese, her birdlike claws digging into him and banishing the rest of his magic clean from his reach.

He thrashes, but a staff hooks under his chin while Golden Cheese pins him, another cheese cookie, dressed in birdish attire, uses his staff to pin Shadow Milk while she grabs and wrangles him.

She must have been preparing an ambush.

Denial crashes away and crumbles, the realization he’s completely trapped makes him horrified. This can't be how it ends. He needs to get back. He needs to see Black Sapphire and Candy Apple. Why had he been so selfish and stupid?

Both Hollyberry and Dark Cacao grab him, and despite his best efforts, he’s slammed back into soft grass when he tries to get up, head pinned so he can't even bite as Hollyberry rapidly begins to chain him. A blur of voices melts around him.

“——Hold—Cheese—“

He kicks, only for his leg to be grabbed and bound.

“STOP!—cant—needs—part of me!”

Metal cuffs clasp over his hands, rending dulled claws useless and spells completely blocked out by magic silver.

“Hold——restraint—-“

Something clips around his neck, tightening like a noose the more he fights.

“Do not——hes——animal?!”

Another sharp pain pierces his collarbone, numbness spreading out from where his dough splits. No matter what he does, Shadow Milk can't get free, struggles waning like dying winds.

Pure Vanilla is getting closer.

No.

Panic claws its way up his throat, but his body won't react. He’s so tired, suddenly incredibly aware of just how badly he’s hurt. His hair thrashes, slow and weak, but it's easily grabbed and tied into a bun, slightly too tight and painful.

What little Shadow Milk can see is a messy blur of faded colors, moving around rapidly, and a familiar, soft, gentle touch to his forehead, imbued with magic and coursing through his body like a saccharine lullaby, the scent of sweet vanilla clogging up the rest of his mind.

Inky tears bead down his cheeks just as numbly as every other sensation, milkcrowns popping up where they land, their sweet scent smells of home.
All he can do is laugh, crazed, weak, he’s honestly terrified.

And so, so tired.

It couldn't hurt… to just rest his eyes…

Just for a little.

Chapter Text

A cold wind blows through the Spire of Deceit.

Blonde hair flutters in the wind, dull sky and gold eyes staring out aimlessly at the eternally starlit sky, filled with constellations painted into the empty, yawning abyss.

He doesn't trust his staff for sight anymore, it glances at him, eyes narrowing in a twisted, unsettling way that makes him feel nauseous, then again, he almost always feels nauseous.

The halls are never ending, and Truthless Recluse prefers to remain in his tower, a well cared for, decorated room his main domain. The beast leaves him be most of the time, only dropping by occasionally to bother him as of late.

Ever since… that night.

Truthless Recluse frowns, shaking his head with a sigh and inhaling the cool air, one thing he has to be thankful for, he supposes.

Wind shifts, dropping to icy temperatures like a freezing gaze, and arms drape around his shoulders, a low rumble escaping the presence behind him. “Nillllyyyyy~” Shadow Milk purrs, voice dripping with satisfaction and pride, hands covering the fallen ancients eyes and playing with the elegant, but shattered ram horns Truthless Recluse possesses, “Guess who!~”

Truthless Recluse just sighs, unamused, the small wings that accent his back, dipped in shadows and ragged flap, “What do you want, Shadow Milk Cookie.” Unhappily, Shadow Milk lets him go, pushing him off the balcony only for the two to float midair, “No fun! Why so grumpy?~” the jester purrs as the hermit regains his balance midair, agitation clear in his voice, “I have no patience for this today. What do you want.”

Shadow Milk pouts, a sweet and almost childish thing dripping with smug ichor, grabbing Recluse by the hand to spin him, beginning to dance midair lazily. The blonde knows better than to resist it, just allowing the jester to have his fun, he’ll tire eventually, “You’ve been hiding up here!~ come down and playyyy~” He’s giddy, far more stable and less mood swingy as of late.

Of course it's as of late.

Of course he’s grown bored of tormenting others, only finding satisfaction in the attention he can soak up from Recluse.

Of course something as simple as THAT is what earns the blonde the displeasure of being annoyed.

“Come join our tea party, we’re playing chess after!~” Truthless Recluse tenses at the mention of THAT game. “No. Every game we play is another shard of glass in my side.” His cold tone is meant to shut Shadow Milk down instantly, but when he turns back to face the beast, they’re practically pleading, eyes wide and watery in a mocking beg. “Plllleeeasssse?~”

Those long lashes flutter, ears all droopy as the beast whimpers even, his ruffles droop as well, mimicking his pointed ears so sweetly.

He could say no, turn down the beast, sulk up in his tower awaiting… something. Something he can't remember. Dancing in his mind lazily like dandelion seeds in a gusting gale.

Something, however, seems to speak to him, pleading and protesting his indifference, like a magnet that always draws him towards Shadow Milk.

Not to mention he needs to keep a low profile if he can succeed in his plan.

When he glances back, Shadow Milk is still begging, whimpering like a cake hound, yet now grinning with sharp fangs and too-wide eyes, hair lashing side to side as sharp as a rattlesnakes fangs.

…Here he goes again.

“Its not as if I have a choice.“ The air gives way, Truthless Recluse can't even yelp. The two plummet. free-falling down several stories before Shadow Milk grabs his hand, spinning the two midair before stopping them on the banquet hall floor, a blur of blues and blacks the only thing the ancient can register before he’s set beside Shadow Milk on the perfect checkerboard milk-marble floor.

Candy Apple squeals, “Master!!~” Shadow Milk bows dramatically, the room still spinning before Truthless Recluse stabilizes himself. Black Sapphire hums, grabbing a teapot as it floats lazily upside down, pouring some hot water out before releasing it to float about, gravity seems to be a suggestion today.

So be it.

“Swell to see our elusive recluse is joining us today.” Black Sapphire stirs his tea, wings fluttering lazily as Shadow Milk just cackles, “Ohhh you know he cant resist me~…” Clawed hands squish Truthless Recluses cheeks, amused when the fallen ancient swats them away, his own new claws almost catching on wrist ruffles..

Unamused, the radio host's staff opens its jaws, snapping down and electing to just eat the entire cup it is offered, a sickening display that makes Recluse grimace while led to fully sit in his own ornate chair, his own tainted floral staff leering sickeningly at him.

“Now!~ Lets see lets see lets see!~” Chipper, Shadow Milk waves his staff, fluid and making a radiant spiral with how fast it spins, claws extended as a basket of teas float by, so many to pick from. Black Sapphire instantly grabs himself some hollyberrian breakfast as he locates a beautiful cup, sprawled with grapevine designs and clearly handmade, while Candy Apple grabs a simple sugar-apple tea.

It's his turn, a swish of magic and they’re approaching the blonde like a haunting offering. The jars float by, labels all clear and from times long past, while a few seem more recent, one catches his eye.

Recluse reaches out, taking a hold of an odd, deep blue tea, shredded fruit and deep indigo flowers within, he goes to uncork it.

So sweet, it smells of berries, a thick lace bound around the jar with a long-cracked wax-seal. There's a strange medicinal tang, but it reminds him of how the beast's blue hair smells, like ripe, slightly fermented blueberries.

It looks… ancient.

Couldn't hurt to try something new.

“No no no! That's not wise.” Black Sapphire practically snatches the jar from his hands in a heartbeat, earning a scowl from Recluse, “That's blueberry beholder tea!” Despite his confidence, there's an urgency, almost a near panic while he recorks and sets it back down.

Shadow Milk seems busy thankfully, dealing with a rabbit rumormonger, seemingly sending it on some task while the two speak, the eyes in his hair happily shut like a smug snake.

Truthless Recluse just scowls.

There's numerous edible plants, some strange, some common, but blueberry beholder? He’d encountered them often at the Blueberry Academy, and seen firsthand the convulsions and biblical levels of mania the berries bring.

Chamomile, he gets.

Fireweed, nice and sweet.

Mandrake, lovely for sleepytime teas in small doses.

Blueberry beholder? Truthless Recluse raises an eyebrow, hauntingly empty eyes boring into Black Sapphire, “That fruit is toxic. The entire plant is, in fact. Why do you have tea from an inedible plant.” Flat, he drones, Candy Apple scoffs, her wings flapping with all their might to little success in lifting her. “Maybe it's toxic to you dumb stinky stale gnats… but all it does is make Master Shadow Milk ssuuuuper sleep-mph!” Black Sapphire lurched forward, silencing her with a blueberry scone.

“Candy Apple!…” He whispers something hushed and sharp, the gaze the two share on Recluse lets him know they’ve let something slip. Candy Apple practically pouts as she seems to be undergoing a soft scolding now.

Milky eyes land on the jar, discarded on the table and glittering. A lightbulb goes off in his mind.

Distractions work as a darkness as pitch as night, hiding his actions as perfect as honey over bitter medicine. None notice when he slips it beneath his sleeves, couldn't hurt to possess a tea with such a strength.

The rabbit scatters as Shadow Milk finally shoos it away, scrabbling off to cause mischief while the beast giddily cackles and snatches a cup, seeming almost feral in his excitement. “WELL! Let's get this show on the road!” Slinking, he drapes around Recluse after a moment, nudging to nip at round, soft rams-ears.

It's an oddly intimate moment, one that makes Black Sapphire stiffen protectively while Shadow Milk purrs and nuzzles into Truthless Recluse's ear, even having to resist the urge to dart his forked tongue out to lap and taste.

Laughing, forced and cold, the radio host thrusts his cup skyward as if making a toast, grinning, “Of course! If the master wishes, such is his desire!”

Predictable.

The tea party never truly begins nor ends, it just is, the three cackling and sharing rumors as Truthless Recluse just stares into his own cup of ginger-lemon tea, when did he pour that, only being brought out from his headspace by the feeling of hands tugging at his robes, demanding, “Hey! Numbskull!” Candy Apple calls out, lighting up when recognition finally flashes across the recluses face.

She’s grinning, lopsided and sweet, the kind he knows has other intentions. “I asked you a question!” Oh. His mind tends to wander, the question most likely having slithered past his mind like the haunting serpent that stalks the halls and peers into his dreams.

“May you repeat it?”

The small cookie stamps her foot with a huff, “I asked, If you’ve ever broken rules!~ We were all talking about every rule WE’VE broken, but I betcha too scared to break any~!” She grins, showing off fangs as her bat ears practically flap.

Rules.

Truthless Recluse pauses, his memories a constant, faded daze, he remembers something distant, like petals just out of reach in the wind.

A groan from The Spires master, “Come onnn! This is Pure Vanilla we’re talking abbouttt!~” Shadow Milk laughs, teacup full of… marbles? Black Sapphire laughs along, shrugging and leaning comfortably with his arms folded across the table.

Something in the dark whispers to him, offering up a flickering, fading thought for him to grasp.

“I have.”

They freeze, and instantly, all attention is on him. “NO WAY!” Shadow Milk grins, impossibly wide as his hair vicioisly lashes, Candy Apple basically runs and claws her way up back into her seat, “Spill spill spill spill come on!!!” all three are eager and practically about to burst at the seams.

The memory dances behind his eyes, like a candle dying in the wind.

Truthless Recluse is hesitant, inhaling with a pause, “It's fuzzy… but, when I was young, I believe I had a penchant for sneaking into the restricted section of the library at my school…” He speaks coldly, the memory of silky, braided hair, the overpowering scent of some kind of flower, thinking too hard about it makes his head hurt.

Shadow Milk tilts his head, grinning wide and wolfish the entire time, until the temperature in the room drops several degrees at Truthless Recluse's next words. “I was looking for something, with someone…” as he speaks, Black Sapphire and Candy Apple grow more and more invested, the smaller cookie almost knocking over the scones on the table as she leans forward.

Shadow Milk does not.

Like a wave, some form of recognition seems to taint his expression, tension tight across his body and malicious in its origin.

“They… were never much a social butterfly.” That alone causes claws to dig into the wooden table, unnoticed by the young, but Truthless Recluse attempts to ignore it, “But they understood me. More than any of the others did. Thats what I loved about the-…her.”

The beast is now staring off into space, rigid, mood souring rapidly, Truthless Recluse finds himself smiling, the memory oddly warm. “I remember we hid under the tables just to find the books we needed…” Blurred faces flash in his memory, before like that, they’re gone, and his head suddenly feels like it's full of cotton.

An empty numbness courses through him, eyes drooping and distressing thoughts fluttering away so sweetly.

Claws drag up his chest, slow and rubbing circles into the blondes ribs, a palm pressed to his souljam pulsing with magic, matching the one at the star on his forehead, empty sleepiness replacing all his thoughts and worries.

“Let's give my silly nilly some time to relax!~” Hands drape over his shoulders, soft purring escaping Shadow Milk as he nuzzles their cheeks together, both Candy Apple and Black Sapphire let out disappointed sounds, arms folding over his chest as the grape cookie sighs, “Aww… things were just getting fun!” Shadow Milk just clicks his tongue, the ground feels like air as Truthless Recluse is led up to stand, poised and perfect as a doll.

As a toy.

“Yea, let him stay a tad longer!!” Candy Apple complains, though everything has a doubled sound, like he’s stuck in an echo chamber, spacing out as the argument that ensues clips in and out of reality.

Flashes of cerulean and ultramarine pierce his memory, unnatural grins snapped into blurred faces as puppet strings shred fleeting images.

It feels like a snake is slithering up his body, taught around his neck before its fangs sink into his mind, venom melting everything like water over candy-floss.

The scent of lilies is faint, but there.

What was he upset about?

Tears bead down his face, but they’re wiped and soaked away by soft, silken ruffles.

Such a warmth takes over, guiding him across ripples in time, activities, clothes draping over him, being sewn. Shadow Milk's face staring down at him, an immense, terrible darkness across that perfectly painted smile as he pulls what looks like gilded thread straight from Truthless Recluses head. Sharp claws snip each string while all he can do is lay in a daze of forced placidity.

The scent of lilies fades away into sweet blueberries.

Lips press to the mark on his forehead, sealing whatever spell courses through his dough like a waxen seal over a letter. Shadow Milk holds Truthless Recluse closer, whispering obsessively and near-manic in his speak.

The serpent only coils tighter and tighter around his mind.

When he comes to, he’s sitting in one of the lounges, brushing Candy Apples hair as she babbles, “But of course it's really OVER the fence you wanna jump!~ Digging holes leaves such a mess, and it's WAY harder to pin on folks!~” He has zero clue how long it's been, blinking numbly and looking around. “Silly fairies think we can’t get in, isn't that funny! Even though master Shadow Milk can't get close to the tree without feeling woozy…” Truthless Recluse nods along, agreeing blindly despite being unsure if she is speaking to him, she just gets upset if he doesn't.

A smooth voice cuts through, tone even and perfect, Black Sapphire, right. “Speaking of the master feeling unwell, you cannot let such things as you let slip earlier. That tea is dangerous and you know it.”

Black Sapphire walks over, flopping onto the couch and groaning, “Master is dealing with those in-“ Candy Apple makes a motion, rapid, pointing at Truthless Recluse and making a face he can't quite read, “…Uh, Dealing with a small issue.” He recovers, sitting up evenly and calm to sprawl out elegantly.

Before he gets a chance, Candy Apple tugs on Truthless Recluse's hood, forcing it over his face and whining, “Come onnn! Keep brushing! Pretttyyy pleaseeee!~” she sits back down, perfectly still by the time Truthless manages to pull his hat back up, “…Anyways! As I was saying-“ her voice drones off into background noise as he feels a static buzz in the back of his mind, motions robotic as he seems to slip back into his trance.

The darkness practically sings when he falls back into its suffocatingly loving arms.

At some point, he ends up with Shadow Milk in his lap, setting changed again. When did they go up to the ballroom? He can tell they were dancing by how his joints hurt, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace with the beast cozied up, tucked into a little ball, partially in his lap.

The beast doesn't sleep often, but has been doing so far more since he became Truthless Recluse, getting closer and closer, walls folding, he runs black-magic stained fingertips across the jesters back, a soft, crinkly purring sound near constantly escaping them when they’re together.

A half drank cup of deep blue tea sits next to them, Recluses own cup still full.

“He’s conked out, isn't he?” Black Sapphire speaking does not startle the recluse, nothing does, “Yes… I assume he was up to something today.” Lies drip easily, his tone flat, and Black Sapphire lets his staff hover midair, sitting on it like one would a witches broom.

The ballroom is vast and full of large, paper cutouts of cookies Truthless Recluse can't quite remember. He feels sad looking at them though, eyes fixated on some kind of warrior clad in purple with a grand sword.

“I wished to check in.” Black Sapphire mumbles, like a child reluctant to admit something, “And to thank you. I am nothing but loyal to the master but…” his voice wavers, “He seems. Happy, with you.” The radio host keeps his tone low, watching Shadow Milk growl softly in his sleep and twitch, settled as soft hands run through his hair.

“He speaks of you so… strange. As if you are the best and worst being created at the same time." There's a definite hint of what sounds almost like… jealousy. That makes Truthless Recluse scoff, “Worst, I believe.” Black Sapphire just sighs, a deep and soft sound that proceeds his ears drooping down to follow his wings.

“…Well, you clearly aren't the WORST. Or he would have disposed of you long ago.” He fidgets with his wings and bangs, “Don't tell Candy Apple I said this, but she doesn't think you’re terrible either.” The grape cookie pulls an apple seemingly out of nowhere, taking a bite lazily, acting nonchalant. Truthless Recluse tilts his head, tendrils of inky hair curling around his fingertips when he attempts to pull his hand free, a silent plea for comfort.

For contact.

“…The master, it's good to know he has someone who can help him.” Black Sapphire seems to choose every word incredibly carefully, and it piques the healer's interest. “I don't help him. I’m a glorified pet.” His words are flat, but Black Sapphire just raises an eyebrow, looking incredibly skeptical in a way that pierces the blond.

“He keeps me as his toy. Eventually, he’ll bore of me, but that is no matter. When he finally kills me I will rest knowing I gave up all I could.” Black Sapphire shakes his head, polishing his staff and settling to wrap his wings comfortably around himself.

“As you speak, such must be true… I suppose.”

Truth. Ha.

When has that ever helped him.

 

°•°•°•°

 

Chaos. Complete and utter chaos has erupted in the Silver Kingdom.

Pure Vanilla had barely woken up, stunned finding his fellow ancients(notably missing White Lily), around him in the infirmary. Wing splinted and held, he’d apparently had to be dragged to the kingdom after falling unconscious just outside the fallen Spire.

It had been such a lovely experience to actually wake up safe, not double-checking over his shoulder in fear of a looming serpent or mismatched eyes with their too-wide grin filled with sharp fangs.

No, instead, he’d awoken warm and pain-free.

Surrounded by his friends… familiar, yet new.

Admittedly, there had been tears. The others shared their stories of defeat, and triumph, apparently having been drawn to the faes kingdom by a resonating within their souljams.

Catching up made his heart melt, a steady comfort filling his entire mind as his freshly-restored memories hit Pure Vanilla like a full magic blast. Golden Cheeses' new wings and bird legs are gorgeous, radiant feathers covering her chest having removed the need for a shirt, something she seemed VERY happy about.

Dark Cacao, his new fangs, horns, beautiful scales and swishing tail, accompanied by soft, breezy and balanced fabrics all accent him. The twin dragons are quite cute as well… nudging and trying to get Pure Vanilla up the second he had drawn close.

Beautiful as ever, Hollyberry is stunning with her new armor and grand horn, spikes resembling holly-leaves trace down her back, accompanying the new, built in shield-shell she has.

His own additions had brought cooing and joy, alongside MANY greedy kisses from Golden Cheese and fawning over his beautiful wings. Such a lovely moment suspended in time.

Then it happened.

Shrieking, sobbing, wailing, a poor fae had come screaming and crying while holding her wings as more injured rushed, ringing the alarm bells like a cookie possessed.

More and more injured fairies had begun to fill the gathering square while the ancients rushed outside with their weapons and tools all drawn.

Pure Vanilla recognized the fang-puncture wounds anywhere.

Not to mention… the feeling.

Soft, thrumming, his souljam is singing practically, glowing bright enough it actually distracts Golden Cheese for just a moment before she leaps onto the air. It feels like a magnet is nearby, a feeling of utter desire keeps telling him to go in the direction the fae run from.

So fast, a blur of fighting and ensnaring, the beast he had not expected to see for a while fighting and destroying everything in a mad barter for freedom.

Too many had been injured already, and he’s not proud of the tactic he employed.

Caramel Arrow, Wildberry, and Crunchy Chip had set out to wear him down and draw attention away from the fairies, while Smoked Cheese and Sugarfly aided in the creation of a tonic.

A rapidly mixed up tonic, blueberry beholder, silvervine, and mandrake mashed into a thick medicine used to tip the last of Caramel Arrows ammunition.

It worked.

Tackled, he goes down when Golden Cheese swoops in from her aerial scouting, a flash of golden claws, cyan, and deep red blurring by as quick as a hawk when her claws dig into the beast's shoulders to completely pin him down.

The others do not hesitate before they lunge.

Shadow Milk thrashes and screams in a fit of pure and utter madness, trying to bite Golden Cheese, Dark Cacao, and Hollyberry while they restrain him, the blonde's heart sinking at the state he’s in.

Melting hair, bruises, thrashing hair and scrabbling paws while his burnt claws dig into the ground, dough splitting to ooze jam and leave horrific streaks of near-black jam.

The wound he had sustained during their fight looks so much worse, somehow, yelling cutting through the air, “Grab his legs! Hold him down before he kicks Golden Cheese!” Dark Cacao booms, swift movements enacted as Hollyberry binds the beast's kicking legs to cease the scratching of sharp feline claws.

A rapid twist, and one of those legs looks like its bend just a little wrong, Pure Vanilla crying, “STOP! You can't hurt him! He needs help, he's a part of me!” Chains clink as heavy restraints destroy any clawing Shadow Milk had been attempting, Golden Cheese puffing up her feathers and digging her powerful claws in place. “Hold him steady while I get the neck restraint on!” So much stronger, she towers above him where he’s pinned.

A wail escapes Shadow Milk as he’s chained, but when Pure Vanilla finally attempts to rush forward, spurred by the terrified sound, he’s stopped by Wildberry, “Your majesty, please remain at a safe distance…” Stern, there's a deep sadness in the way he looks at Pure Vanilla, concerned and gently holding him back.

The collar clicks, "Don't do that! He’s not an animal!?” Pure Vanillas pleading falls on mostly deaf ears, in the insanity. Caramel Arrow slides down, using her final arrow to jam within the beast's dough around his collarbone, gasping in pain as a sharp tendril of hair lashes out and stabs her, puncturing clean into her already ragged robes. He has to step in.

Both Wildberry and Smoked Cheese attempt to stop him, the latter finally having caught up as he sports a rather nasty, healing arm wound of his own, seemingly from Golden Cheese's beast. “Your majes-“

“STOP. Please!… Just…” Tears bead up at the sight of milkcrowns sprouting, just tiny green sprouts at the moment but his souljam is resonating in sadness, he finally breaks free, rushing forward, “Just let me put him to sleep! Please!” His hands clasp a hold of Dark Cacao's shoulder, his own multicolored eyes meeting those now draconic ones. Despite the stony expression, Dark Cacao's frown softens, gaze falling to where the beast is steadily becoming less and less energetic.

Broad hands draw back gently, moving off of Shadow Milk's head enough for Pure Vanilla to slot in the open space around him, fingertips glowing with gilded magic that spreads out like vines upon being pressed into powder-blue dough.

So cold. Shadow Milk is freezing, clammy, and pale, unhealthily so. Normally sharp pupils are huge, round as saucers and blown wide from sedation while tears cling to long lashes.

Laughter, weak and manic seeps from the beast as the milkcrowns bloom, Pure Vanillas tawny fingers gentle and sweet against bruised cheeks, “Shh… shh. It's ok.” Barely above a whisper, Shadow Milk's eyes droop fully, weak, his entire body loses the strength to fight.

He’s just trying to compose himself at the pure state Shadow Milk is when the others bind and flip him, fully restrained, numerous fae hook chains to begin dragging the limp beast.

There's so much jam, dripping from innumerable wounds across the beast. “G-Gentle… please.” The blonde pleads, soft, wincing at the sound the chains make, cold and terrifying. A low whine seeps from the limp beast, drowsy and barely even audible.

Dark Cacao rushes to tend to Caramel Arrow, inspecting her as his tail lashes, and Hollyberry does the same for Wildberry, gentle and careful as she grasps at his face like a doting parent.

Entering the grand hall is a daunting experience.

Stained glass, as beautiful as butterfly wings, depicts ancient times long passed, glowing wisteria hanging from the observatory-style ceiling accenting the regal room.

Dark Cacao slams his fist down. “He must be dealt with at once.” Stern, strong, his eyes narrow, claws digging into the silverwood stand, much like a courtroom, each hero seated at the different stands.

Only the closest fae stand guard, a full blown argument burning through the room.

“He’s a parasite.” Golden Cheese booms, her feathers fluffing fully up as Smoked Cheese nods beside her, staff at the ready and cautious.

Thrashing comes from the beast, barely conscious, it's a pure, instinctual action as they argue, the spells cast yank chains, pinning him whenever he attempts to scrabble free, gaze sluggish and slow until he sinks to a weak puddle of limbs.

Hollyberry's wings buzz, and she frowns deeply, “We do not kill. Such is not the way.” Stern, she narrows her eyes as Pure Vanilla visibly sighs in relief, words following rapidly alongside her, “Not to even begin to describe how irresponsible! He is my other half!” Pleading, his orchid staff squints, clearly agitated, and not trusting of the trapped creature before them.

“Look at him!” Blonde hair cascades down as Pure Vanilla stands, wings spreading defensively, “This is not the state he was left in. Something happened, something horrible!” Shadow Milk pants, ears fully drooped as he looks up with those wide, dazed eyes, poor like a lamb led to slaughter.

Dark Cacao scowls at the beast, “I will not allow him to harm any more cookies. That thing has committed murder against countless souls, including his late majesty…” Solemn, the knights bow at the mere mention of Elder Faerie, “Negligence is the only term to describe if he is not given due punishment.” The twin dragons atop his shoulders hiss and nod, muttering in dragontongue to each other and their holder.

Similar emotion seems to drip from Golden Cheese, gesturing to Smoked Cheese and his heavily bandaged arm in defense and raising her weapon, “They are monstrous. Ghastly. Dreadful! My general here can attest to their detestable nature.” A flap of her wings, before she settles, “There is no hope for cookiekind if they remain roaming. We have one of them as barter.”

Hollyberry is the one to break the silence, voice cutting through Golden Cheese's argument swift and strong, “You presume they care for each other as we do.” There's a definite softness when she speaks, an understanding Pure Vanilla clings to, a clear divide between the two sides. “Eternal Sugar does n-…did not seem to show much regard at the mention of the others. While we are close, it is a gamble to try such a harsh move assuming they are such.”

Both others seem to pause, Dark Cacao narrowing his eyes, a deep sigh escaping Golden Cheese, who listens to something whispered by Smoked Cheese. Hollyberry glances over at Pure Vanilla, nodding and gesturing for him to take over in a smooth motion.

“I am not suggesting he should not face penitence. The crimes he has committed are egregious… but…”

He trails off, and a hard frown forms across both adverse ancients at the mention of such actions, a glance to the revered stain glass memorial of Elder Faerie all they need, “Perhaps, I have been considering, a reformation of sorts.”

Instant outcry.

“Are you mad-“

“What insanity-“

“Now let him spe-“

Golden Cheese stands fully, the full, radiant light of the sun beaming from behind her like a dying sunset, and she practically thunders, “This is mania! Insanity! Reformation only works on those who desire to change! When I look at him, all I see is a snake! Squirming to avoid the swing of a hatchet!” Her golden spear glimmers as she points it at him, ignoring the way Shadow Milk sluggishly flinches back, ears pinning in fear.

“Forgiveness is not like coins! Which even though I have much of both… you don't just disperse it flagrantly.”

Pure, sheer cold seeps off Dark Cacao as he nods in agreement. “These beasts seek only their joy and pleasure. They take delight in breaking us down to shreds.”

Hollyberry, thankfully, does seem to jump to his defense, “There are some battles we cannot avoid… but did you see the way he reacted when Pure Vanilla called to him? That is not mindless insanity and brutality. While I agree, the beasts are dangerous, they are not flat, clear-cut evil. At least, that is not what I believe.”

There is a shift, Hollyberry inhales, arms folding as her newly-grown hair cascades down, Pure Vanilla can't help but tilt his head in interest.

She speaks so confidently, but he knows her well enough to pick up on something new, something stewing beneath the surface, the blonde slowly rising to stand fully.

“I feel it. You all have seen into your other halves souls, their lives, their wants and desires.” Slow, she starts to come down off the stand, gentle as she approaches the shackled beast, who panics in his dazed and confused state. “I think we could avoid this fight. If not for them, then for the jamshed we could spare earthbread from.” Gentle, she rests a hand on melting, soft blue hair, leaning down and steady when he winces.

Pure Vanilla inhales, there's an opening, Golden Cheese's expression is different, odd, her glance darting to her general, “Something beyond our scope is coming. Dark Enchantress is preparing, and this is not just about the beasts, but for all who seek refuge with her. But, if they change, it shows the others that any cookie can. We need all the help we can manage, if we continue to try and take these fights alone, we will not succeed.” He can't help but think of his own near-defeat.

That seems to rouse a reaction, concern flittering from face-to face, Golden Cheese and Smoked Cheese almost instantly make eye-contact, and the golden queen sighs deeply as Dark Cacao's normal scowl softens.

“…This continent has changed us all. In myself, it burned away some of my worst attributes.” Humble, he stands, the dragons curl together, before dissipating, the lighter steps he takes seem weightless now without his heavy armor, ivory and ebony a swirling balance across his new robes. “But it has not taken away your compassion, in fact, it has made you too, stronger.” Approaching the three where they stand, Dark Cacao stops before them.

“i know I cannot sway you when your heart sets itself… so I will aid you. Pure Vanilla, you have my support in this task.” A bow, slow and stable, he takes Pure Vanilla's hands gently, smiling softly when the blonde leans to press a kiss to his forehead.

At the kiss, Golden Cheese perks up, despite her scowling and pouting, emotions flash across her face, biting her cheek, before she lets out a dramatic sigh and flaps to land and make her way over.

“Ugh. As poor a choice I think this could turn, I wish only for my treasures to be happy…” Highly suspicious, she avoids getting too close to Shadow Milk, but stands in a way Pure Vanilla knows she’s silently pleading for a kiss as well, which he is all-too glad to provide, pressed to her cheek when she leans down.

“If such is your desire, my treasure, you have my army behind you.” Smoked Cheese nods in agreement, standing taller and ruffling his feathers with pride, “As such is her radiance's will.”

Hollyberry practically gleams, grabbing all three of them and tugging them into a hug as she steps away from the beast, laughing and grinning when Pure Vanilla squeaks.

It's a tight hug, shared between the three and a tad crazy for a moment when Golden Cheese cackles and wraps her wings around them, basking when Hollyberry nudges their cheeks together.

Dark Cacaos tail swishes, wrapping around Pure Vanilla gently.

“My friends!… Now, though our time in this continent may not be over, there is the matter of our kingdoms, and what is to be done with him.”

Set down, ah yes. Pure Vanilla jolts, suddenly remembering the beast still bound and chained, his heart drops to ice. Freed from the hug, he has to resist rushing over.

There's much to do, much to plan and deal with. “I think the best course would be to find his minions first, then return to the Vanilla Kingdom…” Steady, he walks over, leaning down gently and attempting to reach for the beast's side, flinching at the actual, audible growl he gets.

Dark Cacao tenses, but doesn't quite step in yet when Pure Vanilla holds up a hand, Golden Cheese narrows her eyes, “Minions?… Hm. Well, we have a day or two until conditions are ideal to return. Scouting parties should do marvelous work.” At the mention of his helpers, the beast's ears twitch, moving like a satellite dish for a moment before drooping sleepily.

“With my marvelous vision… I should have them located in no time!~ But I mustn't keep my greedy subjects waiting.” A gesture, and Smoked Cheese nods, body crackling with code and electricity before he returns to his soul-cheese within her palm. “My true kingdom awaits. The kulfi joining my esteemed citizenship shall know a safe and beautiful home, of which I will have to return to and build.”

Hollyberry smiles at that, but there's an odd hesitance behind her eyes, “I will be setting to return the hollyberrians home… but I first must address an… matter I have here. I will be staying perhaps another half-week. Hopefully our dearest flower will return.” Bristling radiates off Golden Cheese, before softening when Dark Cacao pulls her closer.

They have much to do.

Yet so little time to do it.

 

°•°•°•°

 

His feet hit the ground heavily.

The earth is a blur around him, panic seeping like a terrible chill into his dough, deep as ice spikes.

“Master!?”

Black Sapphire practically screams, chasing the destroyed path of woods outside the castle. He can't believe it, he couldn't when he heard it. The breaking of glass, thunderous movement, the flap of wings. Blue jam beads a clear trail, and he gasps at the jammed handprint left behind on a tree, rushing.

It's a jagged mark left in the bark, weak and barely capable of holding the one he knows left it up.

The chase was not kind to the surrounding scenery. Destroyed branches, cracked rocks, feathers, silk and sand litter the ground, his heart pounding the further along the radio host runs. Splintered trunks lay cast over in a clearing, pink feathers tangled in brambles and thorns around, a clear fight seeming to have happened as he steps over sprawling silk strands.

He’d technically snuck out, he’s not supposed to be out here, but that old fool doesn't control him! Nothing can hold him back from helping his master, he just has to pray by the time he finds the beast's Shadow Milk is still intact.

Thick beads of jam trace, leading until he reaches a singed patch of foliage. A portal was opened here. His wings flap anxiously, bat ears drooping fully as he grabs his staff to copy the magic signature.

Definitely Shadow Milk's magic, the eyes on his staff open, tilting in concern as it opens its jaw to suck up residual magic into a workable ball.

Liquid blue and black, it melts easily in his fingertips, a portal opening, perfectly mimicking the last one opened.

He steps forward without a moment of hesitation.

The radio-hosts' heart drops at the silver scenery. No. Fear freezes him, stapled to the ground as his heart pounds and thunders in his chest, clear footprints in the ground lead a terrible trail forward. Slender legs carry him rapidly, wings flapping to elevate him over rocks and fallen branches, fluttering.

Before he freezes.

There's screaming and yelling, skidding to a stop to watch in horror the scene unfolding before him.

Jam. Sprayed across the forest floor in wide spatters like some terrible painting. Cookies crowded around as a fight rages, fairies injured and clasping wounds they’ve sustained while cookies he’s never seen crowd around-

Shadow Milk.

Shadow Milk is snarling, fighting, pinned and scratching desperately at the ground while those… THIEVES hold him down. Fae flitter about, and his heart skips and turns frigid. They’re taking him away.

That holy fool is approaching, a thief all perfect and golden held upon a pedestal, barely held back by concerned looking cookies. His master looks horrible.

Scratches, jam, exhaustion and weakness, Black Sapphire has known him long enough to sense when he’s completely out of magic, the connection to his staff weak and barely there.

Not again, he can't lose him again, almost on pure instinct, he rushes forward with his fangs bared and staff glittering with gathering black magic. If he has to die for his master, so be it.

He stops moving, the world spins forward before jerking to a pure stop. Suspended midair, he’s grabbed, Black Sapphire lets out a yelp as a strong hand grasps him, tugging him backwards before he can leap from the silvery bushes to join the fray of the terrible battle, jolting on instinct and beginning to squirm and cry out.

“No-!!!” Muffled, his mouth is covered.

It's Burning Spice, grasping him easily and pulling him away while the lanky cookie yells and practically snarls, fangs sinking into the beast's hand to instantly yell when he draws back, “SET ME DOWN!” His fists slam into sturdy dough, but the beast just walks back, tail swishing rapidly from side to side, growling as his antennae twitch in the open air. “Cease your squirming.”

Sharp, Black Sapphire kicks him, yelling and struggling the whole time the further away they get from the clearing. Shadow Milks crying out and thrashing fades from his vision, the foliage acting like a terrifying final curtain.

The other beasts come to view, Eternal Sugar looks like she’s gonna be sick, having to similarly be held back from rushing forward, whispered, soft things into Mystic Flour's veil as rapidly as the babbling brooks around the woods.

All three beasts look rough, covered in flour, scratches, Burning Spice has wide claw gashes tinged with pink venom across his back, while Eternal Sugar is notably missing a wide swath of feathers.

“HE NEEDS HELP!” Black Sapphire is screaming, flailing, fighting as hard as he can as tears start to bead up. Ignoring as Eternal Sugar attempts to rush forward and hold him, he screams, “THEY’RE HURTING HIM!”, Eternal Sugar almost bursts into tears, instantly taking a hold of Black Sapphire the second Burning Spice hands him over to her, grasped in a tight hold.

“Quiet him. They will hear us.” A snapping command, Eternal Sugar fluffs up her feathers, looking damn-near close to jumping him in her rage, but calming at a stern look from Mystic Flour, settling to hiss at him. “You soften your tone, you brute! Poor thing…” Cooing, she clutches the radio host closer, muffling his cries in her soft feathers and shushing him gently.

Mystic Flour is solemn, shaking her head and watching out through the brush, lips a thin line, cold and attempted indifference with an uncomfortable tension.

“Our… master has declared us to stand down.” That statement alone seems to DEEPLY displease Burning Spice, tail lashing and gaze locked dead past the foliage and lowly growling as his mandibles click.

Clinging, Eternal Sugar pulls Black Sapphire close, pressing her nose to his forehead and hushing him even as he struggles and strains, “No! No no no! They’re taking him! What if they kill him!?” That seems to only worsen the unbearable tension.

Soft, he’s pressed into the feathers around her neck as she clings to him, ignoring his cries that swiftly turn to actual tears, shushing him quietly. “Sweetvine… there is nothing we can do.” Whispered reassurances fall from her as soft as her saccharine feathers, arms wrapping around him to tug them into a hug, one he hasn't felt in years.

Tears stain her feathers.

This can't be happening. Burning Spices ears twitch, and he stands guard, tail lashing faster and faster, “They’re taking him.” He practically snarls out, grip on the tree he’s clutching so hard that bark starts to splinter.

“Nothing we can do will change what has happened.” Soft, Mystic Flour motions to Eternal Sugar, joining in gently holding Black Sapphire as his tears start to completely overwhelm him. “Perhaps… if you hadn't dropped him-“

The tree splinters, and Burning Spices normally black hair bursts into an inferno, the tip of his tail lighting ablaze as well as he spits fire with roaring words, “YOU SILENCE YOURSELF! I suppose its ALSO my fault the birdie let her PATHETIC heart taint her options!”

Eternal Sugar's wing makes contact, slapping much like a pigeon would to bash him backwards, “Do NOT yell in front of him!” Clutching, she guards Black Sapphire like he’s a child, “He’s a grown FUCKING COOKIE YOU MISERABLE BAG OF FEATHERS!”

Vines sprout from her tail, the very tip melting into a snake's head, mouth opening to hiss and screech, Eternal Sugar's grip is damn near brutal. “YOU DISGUSTING EXCUSE FOR A DESTROYER! YOU’VE HAD IT OUT FOR HIM EVER SINCE YOU BROKE HIS-”

Strands of silk yank both beasts back, Black Sapphire pulled closer to Mystic Flour instead of Eternal Sugar as she holds out a single hand to command the strings.

“Cease. Your arguing is pointless. We must return. Now.” Cold, she stands, both other beasts squirm midair until they’re freed, of which Black Sapphire is finally released to tremble and stand, unsteady on his legs.

He’s shaking, still not entirely settled as Mystic Flour refuses to fully let go of his wrist, much like a parent holding their child to ensure he can't run off.

An aching course through his chest, painful and steady, it calls him to rush forward and run, go back to the clearing. He can't, and that knowledge alone breaks something deep in Black Sapphire's soul.

Finally released, Eternal Sugar and Burning Spice scowl at each other, an uncomfortable and heavy silence thick in the air as toxic as smoke choking scared animals in a woodland burn. It's disgustingly terrifying, a silent hanging and resignation between them.

Mystic Flour barely acknowledges it if she is feeling it, gesturing and silently forcing the resigned march to begin between the four, abandoning the chatter and insanity of their loss.

The screaming and fighting has stopped.

They have won.

 

°•°•°•°

 

“I’ll be back in a jiffy. These stupid fae wont know what hit em~.”

Black and blue wings spread out, Shadow Milk grins viciously as Candy Apple babbles in Black Sapphire's arms, chewing on the blanket she’s wrapped in despite being a toddler.

Anxious, the teen squints, looking up at his master, who lazily floats, “But Master… it seems… off-“

“Pah!” Laughing, Shadow Milk's fangs glitter when he cackles, the glorious, grand Spire is huge, decked out and fully restored to a chaotic glory. “Salt says he has' em RIGHT where we can get 'em. Alllll we gotta do is meet at the place he sent, kiddo~” He pats Black Sapphire atop his messy mop of hair.

Candy Apple babbles, cooing and giggling while reaching for his glittering souljam, to which Shadow Milk just ignores her.

“Now. Wait here, we’re gonna have the celebration of your lifetime once that stinking FOOL king is gone.”

Malice dripped from his words, so confident and sadistic.

That was a day ago.

Black Sapphire fidgets, Candy Apple is cooing and asleep in the pack he’d fashioned so she can nap on his back, creeping through underbrush and skittering.

Surely his master is fine, just taking a while, but he’s too nervous to wait any longer. It couldn't hurt to just creep up from the sidelines and watch the fight.

That was, if he had FOUND the fight.

All he had found was destroyed earth, razed and battle-torn, traces of some horrific magic leaking through the soul. His heart had dropped. So here he stands, creeping outside the Silver Kingdom and getting closer and closer, listening intently for screams and cries, sniffing the air for smoke and decay.

But there's nothing.

Instead, something horrible sneaks and sinks into the surrounding forest. The smell of food and sound of music, fiddles and flutes, harps and violins. Signs of some kind of celebration.

The tree catches his eyes first.

A grand tree, so beautiful, it's only around 10 feet tall, with beautiful decorations adorning its oddly familiar branches, glittering tinsel and lights cast across its bark and foliage.

The fae dance and laugh when they finally come into view, the tree the center of their entire celebration and being rapidly built beautiful architecture around. Black Sapphire feels a pit in his stomach. He’s not stupid, his heart is pounding like a moth's wings, thundering against his chest horribly and even starting to ache.

He knows. Deep down. There's only one reason they’d be celebrating, but denial coils like ebony scales against him, offering warmth and comfort that he so desperately wants.

Fearful, he creeps, trying to shush Candy Apple as she cries softly, unsettled from her sleep where they lurk within the bushes.

Knights stand proud, notably fewer, many seem to be missing, and when a fairy cheers, Black Sapphire's entire heart stops.

“Glory to the Witches! Glory to his majesty!~ Of radiant wings and silver forks! The Beasts are no more!”

Snap.

His entire vision fuzzes, Candy Apple starts crying, but he knows she’s too young to understand. He can't breathe, he can't move, sinking horror soaks him terribly like hot wax sealing him in place and trapping him.

No.

No.

NO.

Tears bead down his face in grand pools, Black Sapphire moves to shift and clutch Candy Apple, desperate to avoid being seen, being caught. His master is gone. Where? Did they kill him? Where is he?

A few fae march, guarding one draped in armor and silver, lace and iridescence. Elder Faerie walks with purpose, the grape-cookies eyes instantly zeroing in with pure horror as he approaches the grand stage.

But something is different with him, some solemn feeling radiating off him in swaths, like a silent mourning.

“My subjects. Today is a day of joy, of safety and grandeur, before you stands our new hope, our prayer for the future.”

Elder Faerie gestures, using his arms and flickering his fuzzy, featherlike antennae to the tree.

“O’Silver Tree, which holds captive the souls of those corrupted, we shall be safe as long as it stands, their souls shall have sleep eternal and… silent within its bark.”

His entire vision blurs with tears.

Shadow Milk is stuck within that… tree. Candy Apple almost wails, growing upset the more upset he is, and he has to quiet her down while trying to avoid being seen as he slowly enters the crowd.

A few fae give him odd glances, and he tugs the cloak he’s draped in closer, avoiding a few confused glances while making sure to cover his batlike wings and ears expertly.

Unfortunately, Elder Faerie stares at him through the crowd, locking on almost instantly like a magnet drawn to its opposite.

Black Sapphire freezes completely, body shaking as the two make eye contact. Solemn, the king's gaze softens to something more gentle, his tone regal, yet mourning when he continues to speak, “Though the pain they caused is immense, none shall disturb the tree. We do this not for the Beasts they are, but for the Virtues we have lost.” The entire time he speaks, he remains fixated on the young cookie standing in horror.

“May their slumber be kinder than their corruption, and may this tree prove fruitful with the power of new heros.” Gesturing, his wings spread, to which Black Sapphire instantly notices one is torn, ripped and gashed to the point of barely hanging on.

Framing and catching light, he perfectly accentuates the five branches most notable on the tree, each in the shape of a soul jam, they cradle strange flower buds, each a new color.

Sky, gold, crimson, lavender, and jade.

“Of course, this means due respect to the shards we have been granted, that one day they may signify the coming of the new Virtues.” The knights perk up, moving to uncover a glass display box, like one a relic would be kept in, sugar glass and perfect platinum plated.

Black Sapphire is almost sick.

Radiant blue wings, ripped from dough, spider claws, pale and ivory, powerful killing mandibles, fiery and red, beautiful saccharine moths antennae, a set of dark ivory secondary claws.

Trophies. They took trophies. “These are to be treated as relics, granted by the powers above to us to keep as mementos of the lost.” As he speaks, he softens, like it's shameful even to him, trying to almost actively avoid calling them such brutish things.

He can't stand to remain anymore.

The rest of the speech fades away like static across a screen as Black Sapphire stumbles through the crowd, shaking, keeping his head down the entire time.

He bumps into a few fae, having to scrabble past them as some attempt to stop him, no, he can't stay here anymore. He can't watch them celebrate the death of his mast-…

No.

Practically falling, Black Sapphire leaps over the fence to escape into the woods, tumbling and clutching Candy Apple close, his own tears fully engulfing him as she clings and cries up at him.

Sobbing, she wails and grabs at his ears, only quieting when he hushes her and pets the apple-blossoms on either side of her head, “Shhh… i-its. S-Shh…” Cracks litter every single word that falls from him, shattering more and more like a bowl filled with molten glass, the stress and heat threatening to make him explode.

It can't be real.

He squeezes his eyes shut, like that can stop and cease everything from existing, like it will free him from the terrible reality he’s found himself trapped within like some labyrinth with no end and no beginning, running around and desperate to find anything.

Soft hiccups escape Candy Apple, gentle and sad, she’s clearly distressed by his crying, and he knows he must leave, if not for him, than for her.

Not that he wants to stay.

Magic flitters when he stands, a portal opening with a trembling spell, barely held together when he opens it and stumbles through on shaking legs.

The Spire is so cold.

Grand and empty, a stage with no host. There's something wretched and empty, weakness throughout the very architecture. Rabbits skitter about, a few looking up expectingly as the chess pieces gather.

All look at him, owls, wolves, rabbits and goats, hopeful and pleading, creatures of deceit curious as to where their master could be. What is he supposed to say to them?

What is he supposed to do?

Does he lie? Let it seep from his lips and leave them unknowing and in the dark, waiting for someone who can't come home anymore? They look to him with such trust, he’s the one in charge now, he has to take control of things.

He can't just let Shadow Milk's work fall to nothing.

What was it the master always said? Fake it till you make it? That's all he has to do, put on a confident face, smile, raise himself higher so he’s untouchable.

Inhaling, he speaks as he straightens his suit, “The Master… is not coming back.” Instant horror. Eyes look at him, ears droop, feathers ruffle in shock. “I… I will take command. We cannot allow his teachings to die out. We are devoted, w-we are… w-we are the ones who none wish to acknowledge." Strong, he puts on a brave face while soothing Candy Apple.

Thankfully, it seems to at least quell the whispering and distrustful stares, they know better than to question him. He’s always been Shadow Milk's right hand, he can handle this.

“I must… adjourn. T-To get everything i-in order of course.” His words shake more and more as he speaks, straightening up and bowing elegantly.

Silence reins, uncomfortable and tense, suffocating as he flaps, flying and landing elegantly on a staircase out of view and strutting his way down the halls.

The door to Candy Apples room slides open, a hastily designed nursery practically thrown together as the master avoids baby supplies like a beast possessed.

Avoided.

Avoided, he avoided, just that is enough to cause a sharp, stabbing pain up his heart.

Cooing, Candy Apple just giggles as he sets her down, gentle and tucking her into her makeshift crib made from a laundry basket, Black Sapphire smiles down at her. “Now now… its. I-Its going to be ok.” Gentle, he uses a wing to move a strand of ivory hair from her face, reaching down and smiling when she grabs his wing to gently nibble on it and coo.

“Little brat…” Giggles burst from her, little kicks following alongside enough to make tears brim up, threatening to break the mask he’s wearing for her. “Now is the t-time for sleep.” Softer, he uses his magic to cause a gust of wind to blow out the candles, letting the illusion magic in the room fill the ceiling with stars.

Her little wings beat the air, bat ears wiggling with joy when he boops her on the nose, slowly slinking to sit right beside her in her little basket. “The Master will be home soon, nothing… n-nothing can keep him contained.” It's pure hope, but she doesn't need to know that.

A yawn, and she tugs his wing closer, using it as a blanket despite already having one. Blissfully unaware of everything, tears brim up in Black Sapphire's eyes when she finally dozes off, slow and comfortable.

Reality crashes over him, painful and striking as a wave crashing into already fragmented rocks, they’re all alone.

If only he could be as blissfully unaware as Candy Apple is.

If only.

The Spire is empty and quiet that night.

Chapter Text

“Behold! The great Yogurt River of Rebirth!”

Like a siren singing, committing its sacred duty of calling to the void, Black Sapphire stands, poised and pointing and grinning at the steadily flowing, gentle placidity of an ivory stream before the group, so sweet.

Milky whipped-lotus float across the surface, suspended by blueberry-leaf lily pads and reflecting starlight across the surface, beautiful and entire in its grace. The current swishes so gently, soft as the flap of a butterfly's wings, as if it carries the whispers of long forgotten truths to their final place of decay.

This area feels like a graveyard. Somewhere where something terrible had happened.

Black Sapphire grins, but it's strained, like the very act of looking into the river's calm surface is some great sin, akin to staring into an open wake and waiting for the eternal rest of one who belongs.

His own wake, Truthless Recluse supposes. Body forced taught and held in place like a marionette doll, forced to sit still and look pretty as Black Sapphire prattles on.

He considers breaking free, but one of the only things keeping him even remotely “good” pipes up, voice proud as Gingerbrave snaps, ready to go, utterly raring to fight where him and his friends stand trapped, cut off from the two stars who stand at the very bank.

Truthless Recluse gazes into the river, while Shadow Milk just purrs with pride when Gingerbrave huffs, “Gee, this cookie must really LOVE the sound of his own voice!” That strikes some nerve, the beast's claws puncturing the fallen-heros shoulders like needles, and Black Sapphire flutters with a laugh.

One perfectly pointed heel, ebony and iridescent in its material, touches the river's surface as he floats, effortlessly suspended above the river like he’s walking on its very surface, ripples dragged away in the erasing flow.

“No matter if you are as light as a feather…” He holds out his hand, allowing one of the blueberry-willows leaves to land in his hand, contorting, “Or swim as well as a fish~…” Magic curls around it, fins and an elegant tail forming, a sweet koi folds itself into shape, created by the delicate leaf in his palm and twisted magic.

“Dip your feet into these waters, and you will surely drown!~”

Slow, he releases it, the fish fluttering down, before landing on the milky, glittering surface. It lasts not even a second.

Gone in an instant. Like some terrible being below awaits to drag anything that enters below, sink its fangs in and devour the life and unlived potential it craves. Black Sapphire drapes himself, lazy and languid across his staff, his sharp smile cruel and coy when he rolls his shoulders and adjusts his suit.

“And yet? How odd! This majestic stream is called the “River of Rebirth”! You see, there is a way to stay afloat!”

Shadow Milk's grin stretches, body wrapping around Truthless Recluse so he can lay his head against his shoulder. Sharp claws trace, up and down the delicate, orchid-petal designed, glittering turtleneck that normally hides beneath mourning robes.

Testing, tasting, prodding, like a child on Winters Eve eager to tear open their presents to celebrate the changing year. The beast is utterly antsy in the worst, most sadistic way possible.

Black Sapphire, puffed up with pride and as grand as a showman, lets darkness overtake his gaze, sharp fangs visible as he grins.

“All you need to do is…” Both master and servant speak in tandem, Shadow Milks words a breathy whisper against Truthless Recluses ears as he strokes blonde hair.

“Embrace Deceit."

A whimper escapes Strawberry, shaking and clutching her hoodie close, she clings to Wizard, voice trembling like she’s facing a mighty wave coming to swallow them whole. “E-Embrace Deceit?” She nearly yelps, jumping back when Black Sapphire flutters over, spinning his staff and laughing to sit on it like a witch atop her broom, slender legs folded neatly in a confident pose.

“It couldn't be simpler!~ Listen to the whispers of lies, nurture them within your soul. Join Master Shadow Milk's grand design.” Black Sapphire purrs, leaning forward to the children and reaching out, practically grabbing at the children as they scrabble backwards.

The second his sharp claws reach out towards the children, Truthless Recluse attempts to surge forward, grabbed by blue strings and snapped backwards to his knees in a soft explosion of river stones against his knees as Shadow Milk clicks his tongue, scolding him like a puppy.

The children panic, Strawberry hiding behind Gingerbrave while Black Sapphire just cackles at the scene unfolding. His visible eye crinkles with joy, both beast and master matching each other's giddy energy and cruel tone. Black Sapphire leans forward once more, attempting to snatch the shortest of the bunches hat with easy languidity.

Wizard swats the radio-host away, snapping with a growl and holding his wand ready, attempting to even puff up to seem larger, “Pure Vanilla would never..!” Cackles make the shadows hide, the beast bursting into manic giggles and squishing Pure Vanillas cheeks between two fingers. Like the notion of breaking him his hilarious.

“Well!~ In that case, he’ll sink right. To. The. Bottom.”

Cruel and sweet, Shadow Milk brings their faces together, purring as they’re practically nose to nose, before tracing a claw across pristine, beautiful, yet blackened rams horns the blonde possesses. Once a warm, vanillian shade of brown, deceit has tainted and turned them to ebony, scorched by the crushing weight of the blonde's own beliefs.

“So waddya say, pal? Time to soak your feet-er, hooves!~” Grinning, he pulls back, floating midair as the gravel and riverstone scrapes against Truthless Recluses knees and palms, cyan threads dragging him to the river's edge. “Oh, did I mention you’ve got no other option? Oops!”

Claws dig into the back of his head as blonde locks are grabbed, his face slammed forward, almost dunked into the water as Shadow Milk forces him to stare into the waters below.

His own reflection stares back, but its not him, pure fear coursing through his weakened heart, the reflection he sees is that perfect, golden facade he had, eyes watery, but so bright and hopeful. Like he hasn't already fallen into a disgusting, rotted shell, a carcass, a husk. Those heterochromatic eyes stare back, wide and sweet as a cream lamb.

Pleading.

His expression hardens, sharply jerking his head free from the beast's grasp before snapping at Shadow Milk as he comes to hover above Truthless Recluse, kicking his feet and giggling like a child with a new toy, catlike feet-paws swishing midair. “Why must I obey your command? I do not serve YOU.” Venom courses across each vowel as he attempts to spit at the jester, face contorting into a grimace when the beast just drags a claw across his gaunt cheekbones, slick hair acting on its own to stroke through Truthless Recluses own hair.

“Whoah, whoah! Come on! No need to get upset~” Cooing, he’s oh-so sweet, squishing Truthless Recluses cheeks together before fisting a ball of golden bangs, twisting and yanking his head up forcefully, “No one is no one's servant! I totally get it, believe me!~”

Pain burns into his scalp, hot breath tickling his ear when the beast leans in, forked tongue darting out as he purrs, “Still, looks like you’ve got no other choice.” A sharp tug, and Truthless Recluse is forced to look up at the children through his blurry vision, claws digging into his cheeks sharply and wrenching him back to watch when he attempts to look away.

The Serpent.

It lurks behind the children, eyes glowing, mouth agape and fangs dripping toxin in a split grin, breathing heavy and causing its ultramarine and ebony scales to glitter. Gingerbrave trembles, unaware, “Why is he looking at us?” Hissing, those perfect scales line up like a jigsaw puzzle the closer and closer it gets, eyes across its body splitting open into mouths that snap and grin, the children's outline blurring when he attempts to shut his eyes.

“…Because pal, you see, it's either you, or your precious. Little. Friends."

Claws almost stab into his eyes as they’re forced open, ignoring tears, Shadow Milk coos and purrs, so sweet and venomous. His vision corrupts, blue strings splitting the world in a miasma of shades, visions of the children sprawled out, dismembered, gutted and drowned as The Serpent feasts.

“Have you forgotten, Silly?”

Pain shoots through his head, agonizing like someone is hammering a pick made of pure ice into the back of his skull, those words coat everything as visions of his friends flash by.

Hollyberry is crying out, shield raised above her head before shattering into shards that cut her, stabbing clean through her dress-armor. She coughs up thick liquor, gasping in pain and slowly sinking away into thorn bushes that sprout to dig into her dough like barbed wire.

Dark Cacao stumbles, coughing, his body is crumbling, pale and weak. The armor he normally stands protected by has cracked and split, the scar where Dark Choco’s sword had slashed him weeps thick, black ichor. His hands struggle to find his sword, turning it against his own body as the twin dragons slither up from behind him.

Golden Cheese lays, sprawled in a pile of gilded feathers and jam, her wings torn from her body laying some distance away, golden cracks splitting from her dislocated and slashed limbs. Her arms protect her general still, wrapped around him in an attempt to guard, but his own body is long crumbled, arm ripped clean off and body jammed.

White Lily screams, engulfed in flames as spirits wail around her, clawing at her dough and biting while her own vines twist into terrible shapes and distorted, carnivorous things that bite at her. Horns sprout from her head, claws growing through her nails and hooves replacing her feet to mimic Dark Enchantress in a sick display. no

Giggles erupt, twisted and sickening, doubled and all laughing at him while eyes split open from reality itself to all jeer at him.

“I can see. Right. Through. You. So, it's time to choose.”

Truthless Recluse gasps as he’s finally let go, kicked to his jammed hands and knees, scraped from rocks that look deceptively smooth. He looks up at the children, blinking away those terrible images and taking shuddering breaths. They’re fine. None of that was real. It couldn't be.

“No! Pure Vanilla, don't!"

Slow and elegant, Shadow Milk lands on the ground, soft paws letting out a gentle clinking sound as his claws tap and shift the smooth rocks.

The river rushes behind Truthless Recluse, and Shadow Milk crouches down in front of him, grinning, wide and sharp, completely blocking out the children as they yell and attempt to push past Black Sapphire. The beast speaks, low, so quiet it's only meant for him, poisoned, dripping words.

“Go on. Do it. Do what I did. Fall like I did. Let's wash away your disgusting shackles of sainthood… let me break you… so I can make you BETTER.” He gets closer and closer, whispering, until he’s practically on top of Truthless Recluse, grin stretched so wide there's visible stitching in the corners, that same glowing thread.

The air in his lungs feels sour. Dull eyes blink, meeting manic ones. He wont win this, he cant, he failed. There's nothing he can do but submit and let him win. Selfishly give in and pray he sinks to a peaceful death at the bottom of the river.

“…Do it.”

A pause. Shadow Milk blinks, smile dropping, staring at him like he’s mad in an utterly starstruck moment, before grinning. Sharp talons dig into his chest, a kick so swift he almost chokes on air, sending the blonde falling back.

He doesn't even attempt to stop himself.

He could have. He could have done anything. Grabbed the grass, grabbed a root, grabbed Shadow Milk himself.

The river is freezing.

Below placid water lies a torrential, horrific current, and he slams into the river's bottom. It's so cold, he gasps, air is knocked out and the bubbles go…

Down.

Cuts open across his body as he’s dragged across the bottom, swallowed into the deeper and deeper parts of the river while he grabs for anything, purchase, beating his legs and waving his arms in an attempt to swim.

Pain explodes across Truthless Recluses head as he hits a rock, the rest of his air leaves, an involuntary gasp filling his lungs with milk as he claws upwards.

Whispers hiss, his body is grabbed the second he gets any further up, arms parting from the abyss that opens in the cracks of river rocks as the cries of hundreds begin to fill his muffled hearing. Darkness seeps from the rocks themselves, like ink bleeding into water to poison and taint.

“Save us.” Children plead, begging and sobbing in desperation, his duty.

“Help us.” The sick cry, bodies broken and crumbling, his purpose.

“Give us more.” Scholars gather, grabbing at him and thrusting their research books forward, pushing and pushing.

“Give us your guidance.” Village elders clasp their hands in prayer, their people starved and desperate, it's not an ask, it's a demand, the only thing he’s good for.

“Give us your wisdom.” Crowds tear him apart despite him feeding them what they want, destroying him even when he bends and snaps to their will, what is he doing wrong?

“Feed us your soul.” He is a disgusting excuse for a virtue.

Virtue?

A scream bubbles up, empty and dead, familiar arms grab his hair, Hollyberry yanks his neck, while Golden Cheese and White Lily grab his horns, Dark Cacao twists a hand across his face, and together, he’s tugged deeper into an abyss.

His horns shatter, cracking from his skull as the vision of ultramarine wings in his mind snap in half, crunching and breaking free from powder-blue dough with strands of golden jam connecting them.

Freed hands begin to rip at his hair, grab his ankles, the very rocks themselves laugh at him as they open into an empty, starless abyss. He can't breathe. He can't fight. His horns are finally ripped from his head, claws dig into his back under his shoulderblades and sink into dough, grabbing, clawing, pulling something.

Voices call through the darkness, water giving away to an abyss that swallows him whole, the serpent's jaws opening wide to completely swallow him.

He’s falling.

Truthless Recluse opens his eyes, watching as the world splits and fragments, until he hits hard, cobbled salt tiling, scratching at the ground and coughing up milk in a sopping wet pile of limbs and agony.

Air refuses to enter his lungs, but he gasps, body shaking, he inhales.

Lilies. Burnt and charred fill his senses as their petals amble across the stone, shrivling and withering away where their petals catch and tear on salt shards.

“P-Pure… Vanilla?”

So sweet, she pleads, White Lily stands, weak, her body in a sore state of burnt agony, cookies stand behind her, ones he doesn't recognize, his eyes well with tears as the dying light of her eyes meets his already extinguished.

“…White Lily…” His begging feels like a prayer, soft and pleading, his limbs feel weak and unsteady when he stands, staff almost cracking as hands bubble up through the milky tile around him.

“E-Every path I’ve walked… It's been stained. With l-lies.” He coughs, he’s so cold, so wet and weak.

Jam bubbles up alongside the river's waters, that horrible cold creeping up his legs as the hands grab, pull, rip at his clothing and try to stop his shaking steps towards her.

White Lily gasps, surging forward, her voice cracking as she cries to try and stop him, “No!” Her crumbling fingers attempt to reach out, but an awful wailing stops her, like the cries of thousands dying by an awful blade tainted by sorrow and mourning.

His own admittance feels like some twisted lie, bending its bones and snapping to fit the mold being shaped for him from molten agony, threatening to snap him as well if he lacks compliance into his eternal seal.

“The Truth I believed in… The Truth I wanted to tell…” Truthless Recluse almost chokes. “I-It never existed in the first place.” Each word slowly changes, lies turning over, exposing themselves as sickening truths. They have to be, spilling from his lips so naturally. “Since the very beginning, only Deceit was my companion…” Cackles echo in his mind, White Lily herself starting to distort and glitch like some phantom of the past.

Dark Enchantress grins at him when he looks up again, her fork poised at him in a sickening, smug manner.

He almost chokes when his hair is yanked, “Pure Vanilla, No-“

Claws, sharp and blue, shred across him, the ground giving way until he sinks again, his own body staying as he loses sight. It's like watching through a mirror while falling down an endless well he dug himself with years of false beliefs.

Puppet strings command him as both himself and White Lily fall away, cyan and glowing, the abyss greets him while a conversation between pawns is held.

He deserves this.

The abyss swallows him whole, taking, plunking him straight back into water-

Straight through into flowers.

. . .

Flowers?

His eyes blink open.

Sky. Blue. Open.

It stares down at him, filled with soft clouds and slowly bleeding into amber and purple, pink and yellow all at the edges, the color of wildflowers in golden summer heat.

A warm breeze casts over his face while he lays, resting in a bed of milkcrowns, their blooms heavy and full, ivory fills his vision at the edges from their weeping petals.

He’s under a tree, an apple tree, its fruit is beautiful and red, each apple at the perfect stage to be eaten, bluebirds sit in the tree, preening each other and chirping so sweetly.

Truthless Recluse inhales, letting his eyes flutter shut..

His mothers cooking, deep in the distance, fills his lungs, along with the scent of sweet milk and lilies. It smells like his childhood farm, the blueberry academy, his old castle. Home.

“Are you lost?”

The voice almost spooks him. Hazy eyes open to look up once more, making contact with a blurry figure before him. Warm light blocks them from view, but a hand reaches down, much bigger than his own.

He takes it.

Lifted, to be greeted with the tallest cookie he’s ever seen.

Beautiful, baby-blue wings cascade, accented by two golden sets, hair made from brilliant starlight billows downwards past the cookies draping scholar's robes, they have to be at least 9 feet tall.

Kind eyes sit behind wide-brimmed, blueberry shaped glasses, and they stand with perfect poise.

He knows this cookie, Truthless Recluse can only stare in marvel. “Y-You… you’re…” A finger stops him, gentle, pressed to his lips, “Now, there's no need for that. We’ve already met.” His voice is so warm, strong and steady, but pure, it SOUNDS like Shadow Milk… but.

Happier.

They smile, but it's weary, soft, and sad, like they know something he doesn't. “I was certain it wasn't your time yet… the stars haven't said otherwise.” They turn, beautiful wings causing a few bluebirds to flutter down and land atop them, Truthless Recluse almost spooks when something brushes past his hand.

A sheep bounds by, followed by a few others, they all jump through the flowers one by one, playful and rushing off to a distant light.

It captures his attention instantly.

Glittering warmth, pure and perfect, it calls to him, like a star, the birds follow the sheep, fluttering to it and the yawning cosmos that surrounds it, bleeding the night sky into the day.

“My time?” His own voice is hoarse, and he finally breaks away from looking at the light, the taller cookie just laughs softly, picking an apple from the tree and inspecting it with a sigh, “Oh yes… I suppose it calls to you?”

Like a siren, warmth pulsates from that light, both cookies turning to stare at it, though the taller seems much more resigned.

“I’m personally waiting, myself… one of my friends has yet to show. He has a habit of being late, probably busy brushing his horse.” Whispering the last part, the cookie playfully nudges Truthless Recluse, laughing, “And of course my son is still out there.” That is said with an odd lilt, sadness, and the cookie inhales.

Truthless Recluse just blinks, “O-Out…?” One of those wings takes him, turning him gently to face the other side, cold, the opposite side of the field sits another light, this one painfully familiar. “Yes, out.” Smiling, the other cookie tilts his head, a brilliant crown of milk sits atop his glittering hair, its movements fluid and perfect.

“That's where all of you come from. But! I suppose now is the time for us to go.”

Gentle, Truthless Recluse jolts when his hand is taken, turned back around as he’s slowly lead towards the warm light.

It feels so right.

Like what he’s supposed to do.

“You have many waiting… you’re quite well known.” A hum escapes the other cookie, but Truthless Recluse just stares off into the light as they walk. “I believe the fae king asked about you, I had missed him quite a bit.” The king?

Something clicks into place.

Elder Faerie.

…But. Elder Faerie is…

Truthless Recluse freezes. The wind blows, soft, and he looks down at his chest. Four cyan claw marks strike his body, tearing through his dough in jagged swaths, golden light drips from him like a cracked glowstick, replacing his jam as his hands reach up to touch his head.

Where his horns once sat, that golden light only comes back across his fingertips. The other cookie just watches, a soft smile across his face, just as always.

“I’m dead.”

Silence stretches across the field.

The cookie hums, nodding, but also shaking their head, wings gently flapping, “Not quite yet…” Truthless Recluse looks out, the field is neverending, buildings in the distance stand, but none are close enough to be clear.

“You are where all choices are made.”

The cookie steps aside, turning to look at both of the lights, gesturing to the warmth and invitation of the first one and tilting his head, “This one, I assume, looks like the right choice… does it not?” Truthless Recluse looks out.

It's beautiful, perfect, he almost takes a step forward.

But something stops him.

It is beautiful, it is perfect, but it's… empty. Calling, something tugs at his heart, and Truthless Recluse can't help but turn around to face that other light.

Cold, but familiar, when he inhales, the scent of lilies and his home come from it, chocolate and berries mixing with cheese.

“Looks of course, can be deceiving… but I’m certain you know of Deceit. Something I became all too familiar with.” That cookie comes to stand beside him, staring, they inhale and sigh, closing their eyes as if just… admiring the light. Life or death.

He gets to choose. Does he even deserve that though?

“I failed. He’s right.” Solemn, Truthless Recluse lets his head hang, velveteen sheeps-ears drooping, “My truth does more harm than good. Everything I’ve done has brought more pain to those I love.” A nod, and the other cookie hums in acknowledgment, “Mm-hm.” A sheep trots by, slowly coming to nuzzle its head beneath the blonde's hand as his words spill.

“I enabled White Lily. I used forbidden magic. I lied to Dark Cacao and Hollyberry… not to mention Golden Cheese. I walked right into Shadow Milk's trap, with the children.”

Shaking, his nails dig into his palms to split dough, teeth gritted as his new fangs grind down on old teeth. The other cookie just nods, holding his hand up as a damselfly perches to sit atop his fingertips, wings buzzing gently, “Yes, yes, yes, and yes.” Blunt, it makes Truthless Recluse pause.

“Well. It seems your mind is made up.” Wings flap, and the cookie lifts the sheep to turn, making his way behind towards the other light and shaking his head, “You failed, so, it's time to give up…”

Truthless Recluse just stares, his heart feels heavy, pained, like he can't breathe, head hung low when he turns to follow, taking a few steps before stopping.

The flowers below him sway in the wind, dew glitters within their petals, his reflection stares back at him.

It's him.

Broken horns, mussed hair, jam dripping and eye bags heavy. Not some facade, not some farce, not some mask or costume. There's no fake smile he has to wear, no crushing guilt of his failures and sneaky lies about whether or not he’s eaten. No hidden imperfections or flaws tucked away behind locked doors.

It's him.

The cookie calls, having stopped in his walking to turn back, hands gentle where they pat the sheep's head, “Well? Are you coming?” Despite how bleak their words are, they sound… happy.

Truthless Recluse blinks at himself.

“…I failed. But… they still need me.” Mismatched eyes stare at him, tawny dough grey from lack of sun almost haunted and gaunt. “Hm, yes. But you’ll never beat him at his own game.” He looks up, gold and blue eyes meeting…

Gold and blue.

The cookie smiles, reaching forward to fix his pointed hood and brush his bangs from his face with a touch as delicate as lily petals in the wind. “I… I’ll do something. Anything.” Truthless Recluse blinks, reaching out to gently pet the sheep, running his hands over its soft wool gently. “Thats quite the plan…” The cookie picks away a milk crown from his hair, reaching into the field and pulling out his staff. The orchid blinks, slow and sluggish, unobstructed and back to its usual self, the pupil widens in shock at the two as it is handed over.

“You’ll need quite a bit, but, I think you’ll need this, for a start. Quite a loyal friend, but one of many you have…”

Truthless Recluse runs his thumb across the staff, inhaling and looking up, voice soft, “…Who are you?” Laughter, gentle and sweet bubbles up from the cookie, like the question is some silly, small thing a child would ask.

“Oh little one… I have long passed my time in the spotlight. Perhaps when we next meet.” Gentle, he pats Truthless Recluse atop his head, speaking with a finality that cannot be argued with. “I’ll… hold you to that.” Unfinished, he inhales.

His eyes narrow, body turning to look back at the cold light, something calling for him softly, his feet move easily towards it, hand resting on his staff.

The light is blinding.

Pure Vanilla gasps for air as he breaks the water's surface. “WOW! Wouldya look at THAT!” Shadow Milk cackles, head thrown back as he grins and floats over, grabbing ahold of his face to sneer with his fangs bared.

Their game begins.

 

°•°•°•°

 

Pure Vanilla inhales.

Steady. He must calm himself. His feet tread light and careful, steps across pearlescent bricks that line the halls and sprawling architecture of the Silver Kingdom. That beautiful tree, split in twain, stands above all like a lighthouse, a beacon to the safety the fae once felt from its presence.

The meeting went wonderful.

His chest coils with joy, pride, something sweet telling him that he did good, his very soul itself proud and commending his actions in a way that he’s never felt.

Every action before has always had SOME guilt attached, eating, spending time with his sheep… oh his sheep. He misses their soft fur so much, their innocent eyes and the way they listen.

There's a new, odd, strange and warm strength that he’s been granted by his awakening, one he wields as gently as a shepherd's crook.

Perhaps it will come to good use.

His wings drag behind him, elegantly poised, the fairies are practically rioting outside, furious at the monster that now lives within their kingdom walls.

All he has to do is find Black Sapphire and Candy Apple, then get out.

He trots down the hallway of history, casting his gaze away from the covered stained glass that shows history long past and forgotten, he knows better than to pry.

As much as he wants to.

Protests grow louder and louder, until he finally steps towards the grand entryway, he’s supposed to address the fae today, as the wielder of the beasts other half of the souljam, he hopes they will at least listen. Silver is cold against his hands, pristine and perfect with engrained jewels.

Pure Vanilla pushes the door to the grand balcony open, shaded beneath sprawling branches of the hallway built into the Silver Tree like a treehouse.

“Destroy it!”

“Send it back to the oven!”

The fae are ruthless. For a species so kind, so gentle, their cries make something in Pure Vanilla fearful.

“Justice for his majesty!”

“It is by the Witches design!”

Pure Vanilla inhales, holding his head up high and spreading his wings, it's just like talking to crowds in the Vanilla Kingdom. “Please! Fair Silver Denizens… please, settle.” A light glows, almost from his very dough, something he’s apparently gained the ability to perform.

Fae cry out in anger. Whispers of dissent, many cry, some flutter their wings, creating a horrible buzzing, others chitter their antennae and mandibles. A crowd so willing to tear apart the beast trapped wherever the silver knights had dragged him off to.

Apparently he needed to be “cleansed” first. The very wording had made his dough crawl.

“I know a grand pain has been inflicted to your kind by the death of his majesty…”

At the very mention of Elder Faerie, they still, calming and mourning the very mention of their king, eyes growing wet, wings drooping, many begin to hum a solemn tune, soft and sweet, a praising of his lifespan. “This is why I intend to leave with the beast in tow as soon as I can.” Some calm, some seem to grow suspicious.

He continues.

“I cannot speak to the extent of what has occurred between your people and Shado-“ Instant outcry, the very mention of his name stirs a cry and outburst from the crowd he attempts to address, catching himself with an inhale, “The beast.” Quite the headache, but he must be sensitive.

“All that needs to occur is the location of two individuals who follow him.”

Pleading, Pure Vanilla hesitates for only a moment, attempting to gauge their reaction and smiling when there is no outcry. His wings flap, almost on instinct, an odd sensation to have added on. “Please. If any know of the whereabouts of a grape and apple cookie, speak freely.” Most of the fairies barely seem to care, a few actively seem angry.

One seems… different.

Pale, some kind of flower, he remembers. The little one who followed Elder Faerie and White Lily like a lost puppy. The one who dreams of the outside, Silverbell, his mind supplies.

He shifts, seeming anxious, and almost seamlessly, he sneaks off into the crowd, careful and easy. Odd. He’ll need to speak with him and see if all is alright in White Lilies absense.

Pure Vanilla squints, but his orchid staff gently baps his hand to remind him where he stands. Right. He straightens up, inhaling and waving, bowing as elegantly as he can with his shaking hands and legs.

Why is he shaking?

Fear takes root in the crowd, whispers, anxiety, it's clear they’re anxious, whispers increasing as shifting and the buzzing of wings becomes more and more intent on winning over the calm demeanor the fae normally carry themselves with.

Pure Vanilla inhales. “Please, remain calm in these following days. I understand White Li-…Her Guardianship being gone has caused some fear, but you all are a proud people.” Damage control, that's all he can do until she comes back, mentally having to check himself that to them, she is revered.

Titles are important.

Silvebell has disappeared completely, but thankfully, the rest of the fae seem calm enough to leave so Pure Vanilla can hopefully speak with him, “I take my leave, please, continue on daily life!” His smile is bright and wide, and the fairies thankfully filter out, some remain, mourning, staring up into the tree, while thankfully, most seem to attempt to resume life.

Steady, he takes a step off the balcony, bowing to some fae, who sing and flitter about him, “Oh Truth! One of wisdom and clarity!” A flittering moth of a fae hums, clasping her hands together to sing, he smiles, while a ladybug hums, nodding his head happily to chirp, “Truth, is there anything you require?”

The nickname is odd, but Pure Vanilla just laughs softly, “Oh no no, I need not be doted on… I do wish to know, where is the one you call Silverbell?” Both fairies hum, the ladybug tilting his head, before a dragonfly pipes up, “Oh! Truth! He would be near The Changing Branches! He’s probably checking on The Changing!”

The Changing?

Pure Vanilla tilts his head, and the fae thankfully points towards a path that winds around the tree, nodding and humming the entire time, “I thank you…” The fairies practically sing with praise when he leaves, slowly making his way under blooming wisterias and heavy, fruit-laden trees.

Its quieter.

The path is cobblestone, taking him right along the Silver Tree, straight to where one of its roots pokes up from under the ground, spiraling up and creating a grand arch. Something, well, numerous somethings hang from the massive root, and the healer has to crane his head upwards

Odd, crystaline… lights?

They’re big, each one around 4 feet tall, all different shapes and sizes, colors and hues.

A bed of wildflowers sprawls out under, mushrooms, ancient and overgrown with age stand as tall as he is like stepping stools up to each one.

He spies them.

Silverbell flutters by a purple light, gently shifting it and draping vines across it like festive lights, humming anxiously to himself and seeming to examine it intently.

“Silverbell, correct?”

Pure Vanilla chimes, but unfortuantly, definitely spooks him. Silverbell yelps, but steers clear of the light, jolting, before gasping, “Y-Your majesty! Oh goodness!” Careful, he pats the light, “Pardon…”

Slow and elegant, he descends down, and the blonde can't help but tilt his head. “…Were you… speaking to that light?” His staff squints, but Silverbell just pauses, tilting his head, before laughing. “Oh! No no no your majesty! These aren't lights!” His laughter is soft, light, like bells, and he flutters up, wings sparkling.

“These are The Changing… I suppose your kind calls them cocoons, or chrysalis!” Gently, he runs a hand down the one he was tending to.

Astonishingly, it glows.

A miasma of glittering colors and light pulses from within, a unique pattern slowly swirling like a tigers stripes or cheetahs prints. “This is the third stage of my kind's lifecycle! Where a fae, well, changes! Leaving their budding stage to gain their wings and antennae! It's a sacred ritual only done attached to the Silver Tree!”

 

Pure Vanilla can't help but pause, blinking in wonder.

A cocoon, he supposes that does track, the fae are bugs after all… but, does that mean… “You start as larvae?” He keeps the question light, mentally preparing in case the fae doesn't take it well, but Silverbell just nods with a smile, “We call them Buds, or Sprouts! And they look MUCH more like just… chubby babies.” Giggling, he lands.

“But I assume you didn't come to find me, just for a lesson on our lifecycle?”

His smile softens, definite worry crossing his face, and Pure Vanilla sighs, nodding. “I noticed… you seemed to vacate at the mention of Shado-…the beast's minions. Did something occur?” Pale eyes widen, Silverbell visibly tensing and shifting in place as his antennae droop.

“O-Oh. No I just…” Awkward silence hangs over his words, and Silverbell fidgets, turning and attempting to busy himself by gathering some sugar-plums from the trees around the clearing. “I um. K-Knew one of them. I was kinda hoping he was… with you.” His voice trails off, softer and softer.

Pure Vanilla's eyes widen.

Him? Last he checked theres only one him of the two. He tilts his head, confusion steeping his words, “You. You know Black Sapphire?” Silverbell visibly tenses, turning around and rapidly flittering over while shushing him, “Shh! T-Their names are n-not to be spoken!”

Fear. Actual fear laces his words. Pure Vanilla cant help but droop, “Their names a-are tainted b-by deceit. It's bad luck.” The fae shakes his head, shuddering, but hesitation is visible across his body language.

“But, you did know him?” Head tilted, Pure Vanilla attempts to pry, gentle, taking his words slow and careful, but Silverbell just shrugs, “I… I can't confirm that. If t-the others knew…” His breath hitches, before he slowly, almost sadly starts to tend to the chrysalis that hang from the roots.

His behavior is definitely odd.

The ground is soft when Pure Vanilla sits, resting and allowing a few yeast spores to roll over, chittering and nuzzling their ways beneath his hands for scratches and holdings. “It was a l-long time ago anyways. L-Like, before the tree, long.” Slender hands gently tend to the moss growing across shimmering bark, steady and aged from the centuries.

Before Pure Vanilla can speak, Silverbell starts to mumble, soft, but steady, “The Silver Kingdom used to struggle. A lot.” The yeast spores bumble about, lazy and squishy, bumping into each other when one gets petted for too long, “We h-had issues with the cinna-moths, s-so his majesty Elder Faerie extended a peace treaty to The F-…Knowledge.” He cuts himself off, like saying their name is sin.

“It was… odd, at first. We weren't a-allowed to meet him at first as His Guardianship was protective.”

As much as he wants to ask questions, pry, ask, he keeps quiet, curious as more and more spills from the cautious archers lips. “Eventually though, w-we were allowed to meet. He… was kind.” It sounds almost like a painful admittance, soft and quiet, Silverbell takes a hold of a fruit from the tree he flitters by, choosing the best to gather carefully.

“Large. With these g-grand wings that c-could stop even the heaviest rain. His hair was like starlight… and…” Trailing off, Silverbell pauses.

Pure Vanilla tilts his head, watching as his fingertips press against a plum, hesitant to take the fruit as the words hang heavy in the air. “He had a cookie w-with him. Little. My age.” Inhaling, he finally picks it, before turning and fluttering to make his way back over to Pure Vanilla, “We played. As k-kids do. That's all.”

Like that, he shuts off, offering a hand and smiling when Pure Vanilla takes it with a sigh, “That sounds like it must have been lovely.”, he stands, shaky while the fae hums, instantly putting back on his joyful demeanor, “It… was. I should get you back, your majesty. It's almost morning!”

Oh right.

The fae are nocturnal. Most everyone in Beast-Yeast is, that's going to be quite unbearable to get used to when he returns.

His hand is gently taken, polite and cautious as he’s led along away from sweet lights and sanctity. Hymns are sung, soft things across the kingdom as the activities of their day fades away, until all that is left is a few fae, sitting atop their perches and branches above in the trees and flowers while Pure Vanilla walls along.

Odd, none speak as the first rays of sun begin to smile, the sky blooming into a rose of colors.

Low, he speaks softly. “…They’re quiet.” Silverbell nods, his bells don't even make a sound, and he’s even walking now as if to avoid making sound, leaning over and whispering, “Now is a time of mourning… each sunrise we fill the woods with song, hoping his majesty may hear. A final lullaby our people take pride in.” He inhales.

Dewdrops glitter, condensation casting stars across the foliage, millions of diamonds seated in waiting as Silverbell begins to hum along.

The silence is nice, remaining even when their travels end at the visitation homes, the archer bowing and smiling to Pure Vanilla when they part.

He can smell cooking from inside, familiar, its cacaoian in origin based on the scent alone, Pure Vanilla leans forward to press his forehead to his staff, sighing against the cool, pristine gold that replaces weathered wood he’s used to.

Rest is in order.

 

°•°•°•°

 

Rushing.

The Serpent slithers, desperate, squirming, its body glittering as it attempts to hide from the claws and teeth that await it.

Fear. I'm scared, terrified.

Laughter booms, and claws puncture pristine scales as The Raven grabs it, talons sharp, its beak easily punctures and picks at the wound its made.

“Nowhere to run? No more fun?”

Smooth, its skeletal frame shakes with hollow laughter, caws calling out into the painful
abyss while its glossy feathers shake like they’re weighed by oil.

The Goat bleats, laughing and crushing The Serpents tail with sharp hooves, eyes mismatched and horrid things, with horns that hang the stars. “I think it's scared.” Cackles erupt from them both, a terrible, howling laughter that shakes the earth as scales are torn.

“Fear is the silent death, you know.” Growls, deep and heavy reverberate from The Wolf, its fangs sinking down to crush bone and bite ahold of The Serpent as they feast, “A putrid killer that only prey abide by.” The moon is blinding as a spotlight down upon the feast, ivory light shooting down onto ivory bone exposed by hooves and teeth, claws and beaks.

“Squirming, hiding, slithering, writhing.” The Goat tilts its head to grin, stitches supporting its false grin stretched far too wide, threatening to snap like cords. “Anything to avoid punishment.” It sneers.

The Serpent squirms, attempting to bite and free itself, but The Ravens wings burst into hands, grabbing fangs to rip them from its mouth, holding them up and cackling into the sky as it admires its trophies. “Should have stayed in your burrow!”

Tools sprawl out, and the animal bodies once so familiar contort, hands, arms, limbs sprouting as feathers and fur sprawl out into hats and dresses, claws grasping for tools to cut and divide.

“Pick and choose pick and choose! Lets find all the good bits we can salvage!” A knife is chosen,The Raven laughing as her feather hat reflects glossy moonlight, picking up a pair of scissors that reflect The Serpent's own reflection back.

Blue and cyan lock onto his trembling form as his body is moved and manipulated, scales torn off to expose delicate wings. The Wolf grins, her fur boa so elegant as she takes hold of a needle and thread, “Oh those wings are divine! Let's save those.” Fingers grab a hold of delicate bones.

The Serpent wails, crying out as its wings are pulled, harder and harder, his shrieks silenced when The Goat grabs his head, squeezing his face between two impossibly large fingers, tipped with hoof-shined nails as her rams-horn glasses reflect light.

“These eyes are much too pretty for it. All the better for us to reuse.”

They laugh, giggling as his feathers begin to split, chattering and grinning as their forms contort into wider and wider smiles, the gleam of a needle drawing closer and closer to his eyes.

“This one. This one we’ll get right.”

Shadow Milk screams as he wakes.

Instantly, he slams into frigid stone, thrashing and gasping frozen air and sluggishly, painfully blinking as his body crashes into the ground, cheek exploding in pain.

Confusion coats his mind like a heavy fog, body and mind soaked with exhaustion and pain. Where is he? What happened? Everything moves in a slow, sluggish metronome, his body sprawled out and gasping with slow, heaving breaths.

Stone. He registers it first, cobbled flooring he rests against in the prison he’s awoken in. Violet hued and shimmering, the stone is arranged perfectly into neat, gemstone accompanied cobblestone. Sluggish eyes blink, dragging across the floor until he looks to the masonry walls, some kind of cell, built partially undergrounded probably based off the roots being used as supports in the very room.

A singular, silver-barred window sits atop one wall, elegantly forged despite being for a cell, it matches the swirling cell door on another wall that leads out, his only source of light in the frigid cell a bottle of captured yeast-spores that glow a sickly green.

Shadow Milk blinks, before finally managing to drag himself somewhat up.

Only to collapse again.

His limbs are numb completely, wrists shackled, and he finally registers the actual silver-muzzle and harness duo clasped around his body like a straightjacket, completely stopping him from trying to move as the chains it's attached to are welded into the floor itself.

Everything clicks in one, instant, terrifying moment.

He shrieks, or tries to.

Muffled howls only escape as the beast lunges, the chains creaking as he rushes and fights like a monster against his bindings.

Every single movement sends pain shooting through his body, but he fights, scratching, biting, kicking and digging his back paws into the ground to shred stone using his ebony claws.

“Hey!” Loud, it spooks him, a knight slamming their
spear against the bars of the cage setting him off like a loaded spring, “Settle down y-“

SNAP.

The chains holding him down snap, and he crashes into the gate, biting, slamming his muzzled face into the bars to attempt to wildly snap and claw at the knights, two of them he can see clearly now.

“BAC-“ Shadow Milk slams into the bars, hair slinking, it's free.

His pupils sharpen.

Like a serpent, his hair lunges, wrapping around one of the guards by the arm to yank him forward enough so that his claws can begin digging into fresh dough, sating the fury in his stomach as screams split the air.

The muzzle is grabbed as the other guard attempts to wrench him off, but he sharpens his hair into a spike, slamming it forward and relishing the wet thunk it lets out upon piercing the guard's shoulderblade clean through.

Footsteps clatter.

Kicking out, he manages to hook a leg around the guard he has grappled, somewhat actually managing to tug him into the cell with him and snarling, “GET IT OFF-“ Their screams are music to his ears.

Pain shoots as he’s grabbed by the bangs, a strong hand suddenly hooking under his jaw as a staff slides under the crook of his knee and wrenches him off the knight like a damn crowbar.

A new cookie enters the ring.

This one is strong, with deep-toned dough and strong muscles, he recognizes feathers and golden adornments a second too late as he’s grabbed into a headlock, “Go get him to medical.” Sharp, their voice is commanding and deep, grip unyielding even when Shadow Milk starts to kick.

“Use your hair on me and I cut it.” That's about all the warning he gets, before he’s taken STRAIGHT to the ground in an agonizing slam, the cookies feathered arm wrapped around him in a suffocating chokehold through the bars.

Panic.

Paws kick out, Shadow Milk barely gets a moment to yelp before he’s fully wrestled and pinned to the ground, the cookie's crooked staff pushing down on the back of his neck like one would wrangle a cobra.

A feminine voice pipes up, and he registers another cookie sliding down to her knees beside him, “Hold him stil-“

“I’m trying. You try and wrangle a beast with opposable hair-grah!” Shadow Milk attempts to whip around, jaws snapping behind his muzzle before.

Numb.

The faintest pinpick of pain registers in the side of his neck, just under his jaw, before he freezes, crashing back down to the ground in a pile of limbs when the bird-cookie slams him down. “There!”

“Crumbs almight-“

“He didn't get you did h—“ Whatever conversation they have slips out as nothing but a haze of tv static,

What's wrong with him?

His body screams, coils, tells him to lunge and maul, fight and shred.

He can't find the energy. Eyelids grow heavy, and the cold of the cell slowly is replaced by a steady warmth that envelopes his mind. Every time he blinks, they’ve moved, and one second he’s sprawled across the floor, the next?

Secured back in the room, chains new and reforged as Shadow Milk just languidly blinks.

They’re talking by the door, saying something low and hushed that slurs together, sounding unlike any language he’s ever heard.

Blink.

He’s held down, a palm pressed firmly into his head to lock his movements down while gentle hands examine his side, prodding, checking.

Blink.

A hand is on his face, gentle, running over his cheek to sooth the bruising and swelling that seems to have cropped up, he must have injured himself in the scuffle somehow. Probably when he slammed his dang head into the frigid stone in the scuffle.

Blink.

Coherence. That's the first thing he notices.

Warmth still coats his body, but the feeling of a blanket wrapped around him fills in that blank aptly and swiftly.

The fog that had sapped his mind has slowly begun its ascent from his body, fingertips twitching with regained feeling within them. Quiet, he lays, body sprawled out, someone is beside him. He doesn't quite open his eyes yet, instead using his ears to gauge what's around him.

One of the eyes in his hair cracks open, slow and cautious, and he wants to growl when he feels his hair is now constrained in a net bun.

Gauze, medical supplies, and tonics sit sprawled out, but his pupils lock onto the center of it all. Pure Vanilla sits, holding one of the beast's hands within his own and using a rag and bottle to clean the open wounds on his damaged hands.

Rage.

This fool. This moron. Sitting beside him and acting so pure and kind. Like he isn't some monster that could shred his stupid tawny dough like butter.

Pure Vanilla just hums softly, inspecting each burned claw and disinfecting, cleaning, then taking gauze and wrappings to bind everything. “…Oh… bluebird.” He speaks to himself, and the nickname makes Shadow Milk want to hurl.

Or hurt him.

Both might be good.

The blonde releases his hand once bandaged and safe, setting it down cautious of the shackles and chains coiled around slender wrists. His hand touches the beast's side, dragging up the shredded jester's garb with a wince splitting from both at the sticky sound of jam on velour.

Sluggish, Shadow Milk instantly attempts to snap, body twisting in a rapid moment as swiftly as a snake to lunge.

It spooks Pure Vanilla, but the beast barely manages much of a lunge in general, body collapsing into a miserable lump of snarls and hisses towards the blonde, who clutches his drawn-back hand to his chest.

Shadow Milk lazily blinks, ears drooping back down with waning energy. Every time he tries to lunge back up his limbs don't obey. Pure Vanilla exhales, sighing deeply and slowly reaching back forward, cautious of each attempted snap and snarl from Shadow Milk while pressing back open the cut fabrics.

“I know. Hush… try to rest. You’ll just exhaust yourself squirming.” Steady and sweet as always, his voice is so warm and comforting, Shadow Milk's own instincts beg him to listen, to curl up, to just stop fighting.

The beast just snarls.

Fangs snap at air again, but Pure Vanilla just gently grabs ahold of the muzzle bars, guiding him back down and pressing the beast's head into the ground. It's not harsh, not rude, but strong and commanding, stopping any damage attempting to be committed in a haze of sluggish rage.

He’s normally so lithe, so able to lunge and coil around those he wishes to maim and scald with claws and fangs.

What the hell did they give him?

One hand tends to his wounds, while the other strokes his head, attempting to sooth and calm with each painful prod towards his open wound. Stinging shoots up his side, fingers prodding attempting to use healing magic.

The sound he releases is unlike anything he’s ever let out.

Damn near a yelp, Shadow Milk screeches. It hurts so bad, horrifically burning and making him thrash like a possessed cookie, it feels wrong. So wrong. Light magic should not burn like this, not with a regular wound.

The beast's eyes dart, snapping open, the ones in his hair rapidly lock onto the wound as he snarls in pain. It looks horrible, refusing to heal at all and tinged a sickly color, black seeps into the open, jagged edges.

The healer frowns, murmuring under his breath as his hands glow and glitter with magic, cautiously attempting another healing spell-

Only to jolt back in the exact manner Shadow Milk had, crying out as an equal shock courses through him, like he’s touched a red-hot poker fresh from a forging iron. Residual magic crackles around the wound, open, weeping jam as dark purple and magenta electricity shoots across darkened dough.

The beast snarls in pain, jaws snapping, and he kicks out, taking the exact moment that Pure Vanilla has been incapacitated to make his attack. Sharp back claws that tip each paw sink into the blonde's thigh, pain shooting out and wrenching an agonized cry from him, wings beating the air furiously in panic.

They slam back into the ground.

Kicking, clawing, Shadow Milk tries his damn hardest to heal damage, snarling in pain when the orchid staff shoots its vines out, coiling and constricting while the healer himself uses the metal staff portion to wrench under Shadow Milk as a guardrail between them. “Shadow Milk! S-St-!”

Claws shred dough, a deep gash sliding down his thigh, and Pure Vanilla utterly screams.

The staff instantly shoots into action.

Coiling vines wrap around the beast's neck and face, slowly but surely completely cutting off his vision and airflow. New panic surges.

His paws kick, scratching, trying to reach the vines and twisting his entire body around when Pure Vanilla slinks out from beneath him. The world is completely black, and his ears are even being covered. Tighter and tighter they coil, wrapping like a noose and drawing muffled snarls of panic and rage out.

Shadow Milk twists.

The beast's body contorts, thrashes, coils, kicks, before finally, a dull thud reverberates through the cell as Pure Vanilla scrabbles back, watching the beasts body go limp and lifeless against the ground like a sack of flour, paws kicking out slowly, but waning.

Until he stills.

Claws have torn straight through his robes, and Pure Vanilla hisses in pain at the jagged slash mark he now sports, deep enough that when he presses healing magic to it, it takes several pulses before it is fully healed, his wings taking the time to soak up magic as well.

“L-Let him go… h-he’s no danger n-“ He freezes.

Shadow Milk isn't breathing. The orchid staff instantly unravels, untangling from ruffles and the silver muzzle as the blonde surges forward. Fingertips press, feeling, probing, but there's no breathing, no heartbeat, a surge of instantaneous and pure panic crashing over him at how deathly still Shadow Milk is.

“Shadow Milk!?” Not a singular response is garnered from his panic.

Body acting on instinct, the blonde tugs, attempting to shake and pull Shadow Milk awake, before he makes an incredibly stupid choice.

He unclips the muzzle.

The world instantly spins in a daze of pain as the wind is knocked, and the next thing he sees is cyan and ultramarine, mismatched and wild, staring into his eyes as fangs glitter in the light.

“Stupid cookie.”

A pure snarl, Shadow Milk slams him to the ground, grabbing the ancients slender neck and digging his claws in. This time, his legs act perfectly in a poised kick that sends the orchid staff spinning across concrete, sliding under the bars and out into the hallway of the prison.

Pure fury soaks Shadow Milk's mind. How DARE this holy, fake, disgusting thief attempt to hold him captive. Claws dig in further, and Pure Vanilla lets out a strangled cry, eyes flying open in horror as his wings beat and flail, an utterly manic grin floods the beast's face.

“You think you can keep me? Trap me? Take away what's MINE and present it like a trophy?~” His grin spreads, sharp fangs perfect and pure as freshly strained milk. “The Fool thought that too. Oh the look on his face when I shredded right through his heart.” His words cut, sharp as blades and aggressive, leaning closer and closer with each venomous slash.

Pure Vanilla can only gasp, choking, his hands digging into milky, ivory ruffles, “E-Elder F-F-hck-Fairy only w-wanted what was bes-“ A hiss escapes the beast, claws digging in hard enough to split dough and stain pristine robes.

“Oh poor Nilly. Poor stupid Nilly. Even he had skeletons in his closet. Maybe you should learn more about your fairy friends?”

His pupils have damn well narrowed to slits, toxic, midnight-blue venom dripping from his lips in thick, poisonous strings. “I am the perfect vessel of all knowledge. Nothing you do can ever keep me. I could rewrite history to ERASE you. You’re nothing but the scraps they took from ME!”

The ancient gasps for air, wings slumping, gaze unfocused and wheezing. The beast grins. His gaze tilts up, locking onto the door, he could probably use his fangs to bend the bars, then shapeshift out. All perfect an-

CRACK

It doesn't hurt.

Not necessarily. Something whacks him, stunning him and sending the scrabbling beast falling backwards and off Pure Vanilla, squirming and entangling in his chains with a thump against the stone.

Pure Vanilla gasps, and Shadow Milk finally locks on to see the bastard used his wings to HIT him, flapping aimlessly while blonde hair spills with the ancients scrabbling backwards, rams hooves peeking out from under his robes with how frenzied he is.

Coughing, it splits the air, Pure Vanilla hacking and gasping out when he finally gets far enough to slam up against the metal door.

Shadow Milk lunges.

Chains tug, and he’s stopped just short, arms held back by the bindings around him while he snaps and bites at the air like a feral beast, slashing and kicking, body twisting in fury when Pure Vanilla doesn't even flinch.

“I will DESTROY you! Stupid gnat! Moldy THIEF! MAY YOU BURN UP IN THE OVEN WITH THE REST OF THEM!” Pure hatred drips through the sieve of his ranting, a bubbling malice to kill and maim, all while Pure Vanilla sits up against the bars, panting.

Rattling fills the cell, and Pure Vanilla finally sighs, rubbing his neck and coughing, “…I… I’m sorry y-you feel such a way. I only want to help you.” Gentle, he stands, incredibly cautious of the beast, speaking soft, but firm, “You’re hurt. It is partly my responsibility for that. I made a poor choice not taking you with me at The Spire. I promise, you won't know fear, pain, or lonelines-“

“CURSE YOU!!! VILE! UNDERBAKED! FLAVORLES-“ The slew of fury that erupts does nothing but make Pure Vanilla shake his head with a soft sigh. It's clear to him no amount of talking will go anywhere here.

Tawny fingers easily open the gate with a spell, stepping out on trembling legs and taking ahold of his staff. The petals rustle, eye wide and pinpricked in fear and anxiety, he has to settle it with soft soothings and gentle words, “There there… It's alright. He’s just upset.” Anxiety riddles its expression, snapping between ancient and beast to watch in horror at the snarling fury on display.

Shadow Milk is near manic, thrashing, lunging, the ancient can't help but just watch him and sigh, resignation heavy in his chest. “Please. Try to settle before dinner. I’ll bring you something to eat.” More snarls, incomprehensible rage from Shadow Milk that boils over.

At least he managed to bandage the beast's wounds.

Chapter Text

Pure Vanilla limps, his leg coursing with a stinging pain that laps at him like a wildfire from the jagged scratches adorning his body now.

He’s admittedly shaken, the encounter with the beast could have gone much better than the painful result he wound up with. Tawny fingertips tremble, and his golden hair cascades behind him, snagging on statues and vines occasionally, to which he has to shift and fix.

Glittering magic swirls across him, the aching sting that cuts through him slowly ebbing away, ears twitching and wings framing his head flapping gently. He knew Shadow Milk would be upset, that is to be granted, but he was naive to think the beast would not literally attempt to maul him to death on the floor of the cell, claws aching for jam to splatter out in a macabre confetti burst.

Most of what had spewed from the beast's lips had most certainly been just enraged slander, meant to rip and shred at his beliefs just as he had done in The Spire. A desperate grab for freedom to jab and burst confidence to make an escape, most his ramblings inane lies.

Most, that is.

He knows Shadow Milk's fury towards Elder Faerie, he knows something deep and jagged is torn between them. Silverbell's words confuse him though, if they had been so close to allow what they guarded close to mesh, what could tear and rip away at a bond like that?

Pure Vanillas hands trace the smooth, mossy, carved silver-stone that makes up the cottage fencing around the kingdom's walkways. He can feel White Lily's magic still, a faint heartbeat through the kingdom like the hum of a violins strings, akin to a crickets chirp or a locusts buzz.

He misses her.

But he has other matters, worries, and duties, important, but he must pace himself. That newfound courage is one of the best things that has bloomed from his awakening, the ability to put his foot down when he’s exhausted.

It's late, and he should head back to the dorms, the others surely nervous about his whereabouts, the fae themselves seem to be growing oddly restless, especially since he forgot to mention he was seeing the beast.

Not his finest moment. But he knew the risks.

The Silver Tree looms overhead, but as he walks, a soft, odd sensation blooms in his chest, just below his souljam, causing his staff to slightly crinkle its expression. Odd.

The scent of milk lingers in the air, and he swears he hears bells, stopping in his walking, orchid staff blinking and looking around uncertainly.

He pays it no mind, hooves soft against moss the further he gets from where the beast is held. The blonde barely realizes he was walking on autopilot until something shatters the soft hum of faesong and buzz of nocturnal insects.

Clattering rings through his ears, like a door slamming shut hard enough to nearly burst from its frame, followed by the sound of heavy armor bumping into stone, a terrible grinding sound of metal clashing.

Like a spooked rabbit, his ears shoot up, head lifting to seek the source of the noise, off a maintained path into a more historic area of the Silver Kingdom.

Fountains, perfectly manicured, filled to the brim with foliage and harboring fireflies, fill the area, a botanical garden path around large, intricate buildings that mesh into the landscaping itself, trees rooting within the buildings.

Pure Vanilla steps forward, hooves clacking on stones softly, a glowing moss fills the cracks in tiles shining up a dusty purple, and his staff keeps a wide eye, glancing about and seeking dutifully in its given purpose.

There's an area, like a deck that leads into the only building that's completely been overgrown, claimed by nature. Brambles cover the windows, almost shaped like bars across the moss-covered glass, when he squints, he can vaguely make out stained glass.

A vase shatters, crystalline chimes across stone, and Pure Vanilla snaps his head around.

Long locks of berry-punch hair spill out across the deck, fists clenched where they support the hunched over body splayed to rest on stone, instantly recognizable as his gaze snaps to their owner.

Hollyberry lays against the stone wall, head in her hand, hunched over like she’s sick, shoulders trembling and shaking in a deathly silence. Her horn glitters in the light, bouncing iridescent off her shell.

Pure Vanilla freezes, mid-step towards her examining the scene. A grand mausoleum stands behind her, its stained glass doors pried and hanging open still in her daze, shield forgotten as she rapidly speaks under her breath, holding a hand over her heart.

Her hand brushes through her bangs, feeling her face and horn as if checking that she’s still there, and Pure Vanilla can't help but finally speak up, soft and fearful. “Holly?…”

Fear. An instant reaction courses through her as she gasps, holly-leaf spines bristling up like a waffle-lizard as she almost falls back.

Painful silence courses between them, her breathing shaky and soft, while his begins to hitch with anxiety. The healer opens his eyes, squinting and attempting to make eye contact, his gaze only leaving her to glance towards the open doors-

She stops him, rushing forward and grabbing his face between her hands, height difference causing her to have to stoop slightly while her warm palms cradle his face, whispering almost gauntly.

“Don’t.”

A singular word to break her silence. Snapping tension like a rock hurtling through a spider's web, and before he even has the chance to question her, she surges and hugs him, wrapping Pure Vanilla tight into an embrace against her. The grip she has is indomitable.

“Dont look. If you wish to remain as you are in this moment, steer your gaze away.” Hollyberry whispers against the pointed star that brands his forehead, fingertips shaking. Pure Vanilla just blinks, she’s even steered his staff away from looking, letting its vine curl around her hand while it squints in concern.

Wet, glittering tears drop against his cheeks, falling from her stoic features, normally so glowing with passion and inferno. When he looks up, it's like she’s been drained of all life, gaunt and barren while tears slowly ebb and flow.

“Holly… what-“

From where one of the doors to the mausoleum had drifted shut, Golden Cheese slams her way through, rushing out, not even using her hands, instead lunging with her talons to escape. Her golden claws clack the ground, and in a crashing movement, she loses balance from normally pristine and practiced flight, hunching over to vomit into sugared hydrangas.

Hollyberry's grip tightens, and actual soft, quiet sounds begin to escape her as she clutches Pure Vanilla like he’s a precious gem.

Golden Cheese looks horrible. Ancient curses slip from her lips, turquoise lipstain smudging when she wipes her face, before almost instantly nearly throwing up again. She’s whispering prayers in olde-cheesian, perfectly manicured claws coming to rest atop the now-ruffled, golden and turquoise feathers that ring over her breast acting as her shirt.

Her wings tremble, folding around her like a hen would her brood as she grabs at her own feathers, desperate like she wishes to ensure they’re still in place. Pure Vanilla feels an awful sinking in his stomach. Avian eyes meet his own, the golden sheen they let off exactly like a hawk.

“No. Remove him.” Instant, she stands, rushing up and practically running over to try and pull Pure Vanilla away, wings flapping as she actively attempts to grab and carry him off, Hollyberry does not let go. “We cannot make that choice for h-“

“What has been done in that disgusting place is not for his eyes!“ Arguments cut through the normally placid fairy kingdom, and Golden Cheese only seems to grow more and more upset the firmer Hollyberry stands, the blonde torn between the two of them.

Pure Vanilla spreads his wings, tapping his staff and emitting light like a halo, stopping Golden Cheese and Hollyberry before either can argue any further. Both seem to simmer down, calming, but not nearly enough to ease him, “Please, my friends. What is happening here?” He pleads.

A scrunch of pure disgust and horror crosses Golden Cheese's sharp features, a dully emptiness enclosing her normally beaming eyes while her hand desperately clasps for the soulcheeses that sit snugly beveled into her glorious necklace.

Hollberry finally releases him, gentle, hesitant, her gaze slowly traces along back to the open doors as her voice shakes, “…The choice of sight is yours alone, Vanilla. But…” Breath hitching, Golden Cheese and her make eye contact for a moment, like an unspoken agreement, before she continues.

“I was driven here by a feeling. A magnet of sorts. I do not cherish what I have found.”

Guilt seeps across her, and there's definitely something she isn't saying, slowly making her way to her fallen shield to re-insert it back onto the holder on her shell, solemn and somber. “This place is full of agony, I suspect an active curse haunts those halls.”

A horrible aura comes from those open, gemstone-pure doors, a draft of decay and ancient debris atop a murky pond of forgotten history.

He feels it.

A dull humming, soft and weak, it calls from within to him, all three locked back on inside. The sound of faint laughter, bells jingling, music, it all sings from inside, ebbing and flowing like the crash and draw of waves on a beach.

Pure Vanilla takes a step forward. He must know.

Golden Cheese has to actually be stopped by Hollyberry from surging forward and grabbing him, held back with nothing more than a somber shake of Hollyberry's head as her breathing becomes rapid, tone turning to pure desperation and begging.

“Please… d-dont.”

Near a prayer, she pleads to him, boisterous tone lost. Pure Vanilla inhales, his heart aches, but as much as he wishes to grant her the wish she desires, he knows.

He must see.

The doors open easily, cobwebs and vines split free as the hinges creak horribly. A sprawling hall cascades down in front of him, stained glass portraits lining wall to wall with grand, embellished plaques below them. A hall of history.

Moonlight filters down through the fine sugar-spun glass, and when he inhales, the scent hits him.

Old jam. Decay. Dusty parchment and the sickly sweet scent of abandonment. Shadows stretch down the hallway, and like a heartbeat, there's an intense aura emanating, almost enough to make him stumble back. A sensation of pain courses through him, a rush of unknown emotion that isn't his own, fear and pain, loss and longing.

Wails cry out distantly from down the hall like specters.

Five beautiful panels sit atop the ceiling, acting like the domed windows of an observatory, figures of beautiful stature and radiant grace beaming down. The full moon hangs above, and the light it shines downwards is strong enough to almost cause the crystal and glass to glow.

A Fount of blue and white, with wings as wide as an owl, creating a crescent of radiance that funnels the very moonlight itself as a conduit, hair of pure starlight crafted perfectly from gemstones surrounded by the knowledge and light of the cosmos.

A Bringer of pink and blue, shining sugary iridescence, mothlike feelers curled into a heart as her wings form the swirling shape of hearts and flowers, fingers of glass outstretched to strum her harp and beam love and passion.

A Herald of red and gold, powerful stature, mandibles plated with auric metals, and numerous arms cradling civilizations in his all-encompassing grasp, a guiding paw to steer the rise and fall of life itself. An archive of history.

A Saint of cream and ivory, silken spider-claws weaving golden silk that pools like tears from her open, spider eyes, spun into the wishes and dreams of all who bow before her, seated in a lotus of gold and clouds as mighty haetae guard her, stoic and plentiful.

A Knight of seafoam and silver, powerful, cascading plumes of beautiful fire, or perhaps fur cascade from his helmet, body plated as a mantis shrimp and hands clasped over a sword, set to protect all who need it the most.

Their depictions are perfect and beautiful, not looking a day old with how well they’ve been cleaned and guarded despite the horribly degradation and desecration of the hall, butterflies of pure light languidly flutter around, their bodies prismatic in nature.

Pure Vanilla watches in awe, albeit still a bit stunned, passing by depictions of their glory, charity, guidance, protection, his fingertips coming to press against the cool crystal of a scene of… he supposes it was Shadow Milk.

Hand in hand, he and Elder Faerie gracefully arranged alongside butterflies and the full moon and her cycles, wings spread and mirroring each other as the both trade scrolls of knowledge. Each and every one of the virtues has a depiction of them meeting, all seeming to be joyous occasions.

Only one stands shattered, The Knight, Elder Faerie reaches outwards towards a shattered edge, white lilies have grown through the crack in the wall, but seem to unnaturally wilt and die when they reach the ground.

History passes Pure Vanilla by as he walks, the building, garnering, learning, and creation of cookiekind itself sprawling out as he walks down the long hallway, towards a grand room nestled right against the Silver Tree itself, roots built into the structure itself.

“Please. Not like this.”

Stronger, even stronger the closer he gets, the wails and cries become more clear, pleading, begging, sobbing. The pull is so strong he couldn't stop walking if he tried, whispers seeping, finally audible.

“I want to go home. It's so cold.”

The scent of decay grows closer and closer, blueberries, spice, curdled milk, salt, rancid flour, stale sugar, fermentation thick and choking as he steps in.

“It hurts. I’m so hungry.”

A wave hits him.

“Please. Don't leave me. I don't want to die.”

Agony. Terror. Guilt. Sadness. Hatred. Phantom screams claw at the horrific stained glass that sprawls before him, a tainted battle marred with destruction and jamshed, the virtues bodies, now twisted into beasts, being torn to shreds.

“I pray we meet again.”

Wings ripped from dough, arms cut clean off, claws blunted by the slash of a blade and fangs ripped from bodies. The beasts howl in the depiction, bodies contorted in agony as radiant forks split them, the colors used for their jam as perfect and color matched almost to a disgusting clarity.

Flashes of light crash, and the earth around him distorts and corrupts, until he’s there, watching the stained glass move in some strange dream state, animated forms of the torn apart crying out and wailing.

Mystic Flour claws at the sky, hands cut at her wrists and extra spider arms plucked clean from her, her own silken threads being used to tighten and slice her dough. Tears of light drip down her face, cutting through the black void that voids her face of all features but those glowing eyes.

Burning Spice lays bound by a fork through his chest, the forks prongs pinning his extra arms as a radiant hand yanks his tail. There's an unsettling calm about him, like he’s accepted sweet oblivion.

Eternal Sugar's wings are pinned, body slumped and colors contorted while her entire face is depicted as shattered, feathers glittering, geometric shapes scattered about the scene. Her hands are outstretched, clinging to something as she’s dragged, as if she’s begging.

Shadow Milk is held up only by his head, an entire hand wrapped around his face while blue and black wings are stolen from his body, stitching slowly coursing across his body to seal weeping wounds. In one fluid motion, his head is snapped clean from his head.

Silent Salt lies in the center of it all, armor split open at the chest, head hung up high as the silver tree itself grows from his chest, branches creeping out to consume the other beasts. He lays almost content, hands folded to hold his sword embedded into the ground, butterflies surround him.

Pure Vanilla stumbles back in horror, gasping, and when he blinks, the room returns to normal, vision clearing enough to where he can see it. No, not it.

Them.

Display cases. Grand, decorated things. Beautiful and engraved, the stolen parts of once-virtous beings lay mounted, bile running up his throat at their color. All are grey, not an ounce of color left in them. All except for the knight's powerful claws, still filled with color and sitting perfectly pretty.

His wings hit a vase as Pure Vanilla crashes backwards in horror. It's a trophy room. Glass shatters and his orchid staff unwillingly closes its eye in an act of defiance despite the cookie's own gaze still trying to open.

It's horrific.

It's disgusting.

It's cruel.

His blurry vision locks onto stolen wings, his heart drops straight to his stomach at how they look. Beautiful and pristine, they were clearly removed as perfectly as possible for some reason, color faded away like raindrops across a fresh watercolor painting.

 

°•°•°•°

 

“Do you ever think of flying.”

Truthless Recluse sits beneath the apple tree, body nestled in the soft grass and milkcrowns of the grand garden, it sits perched right against the steady River of Rebirth.

Shadow Milk lazes across him, languid like a cat and even softly purring, head repeatedly bumping up against Truthless Recluse's hand, nudging him to pet and run fingertips through soft bangs.

A scoff escapes the beast, languid and typical, before he rolls over, stomach to the air and his paws up in the sky, “Meh. It's alright.” Confidence oozes off his words, but there's a tangible bitterness to it.

Truthless Recluse blinks, head tilting, his bangs fall like a curtain, coiled and full of sticks and grass, “I said flying. Not floating.” Shadow Milk scrunches up his face, like he’s smelled something sour or rotten, huffing, ruffles puffing up.

“Take off your stupid hat. Your hair is messy.” In a fluid movement, Shadow Milk crawls up, pushing and nudging to try and remove Truthless Recluses hat, the blonde jerking back even as hands grasp his shoulder, beast crawling up further and further until he’s fully seated on his chest.

“Get off-oof-You’re not licking my hair. I am NOT a cat-eug-“ Despite his protests, Shadow Milk flops down, ruffles completely covering Truthless Recluse's face and muffling him. Shadow Milk settles, and before Truthless Recluse can push him off, the beast is licking his hair, like a damn cat.

Deflection, typical.

The beast lounges, and his hair comes to gently coil around the blonde's fingertips, soft but firm, “You still smell like that gnat. Eugh. Lilies… such an outdated scent.” Truthless Recluse scowls, squirming, but Shadow Milk is seated specifically so he can't get up while he tends to blonde hair.

“Do not call her t-“

Anger is spawned, Shadow Milk grabs his wrists, instantly changing their position to snarl, face to face with Truthless Recluse and pinning him to the grass. “Why do you care? Stop thinking about her.” Rage, pure and deep, seeps like a toxic sludge off each word.

“If you’re going to get in my face, I won't brush your hair.” Truthless Recluse narrows his eyes, pupils sharp as he makes eye contact in a vicious, low tone. It's a stab in the dark, but thankfully, a brief flash of emotion slips from Shadow Milk, ears pinning back almost in a nervous manner, before changing back to manufactured rage.

“You have some nerve. Making demands to ME. I am the god of this Spire. I am perfect. I was made to order out of the finest ingredients. I am the master of all lies and all truth. I can see right through you.” With each statement, he gets closer and closer, until they’re close enough Truthless Recluse can smell the blueberry scent of his hair.

Mismatched eyes are sharp, too sharp, menacing in a manner only shown when the beast is truly angry.

Truthless Recluse sighs. “…Yes. You are. Is that not why I fell to deceit? You’re always correct, a jack of all trades…” Master of none. He knows it's better to attempt to calm the beast than to continue arguing until he inevitably storms off to torment some poor soul.

Tawny fingers move slowly, careful to not make sudden movements as to avoid being bit, and his fingertips finally brush against blue and black hair, stroking slowly and in a soothing motion, cautious when pointed ears pin back.

They pin, a sharp and angry action that makes even his empty, rotted husk of a body tense up. Thankfully, murder seems off the agenda, and just as fast as they pinned, the beast lets them droop, slowly laying back down and nudging his face to be right up alongside the blondes, nuzzling their cheeks together.

It's an odd affection the beast shows, but it's better than being mauled.

“I said flying. Not levitation.” Truthless Recluse finally sighs, daring to prod and question while lounging back, just accepting it as the beast flops over and resumes his licking. “Same thing.”

“It really isn't."

“Up yours.” Childish, Shadow Milk sneers, grinning and starting to cackle at the scowl that earns him, giggling and squishing gaunt, tawny cheeks with a purr. “Ohhh don't be like that~” Shadow Milk hums, happy and utterly pleased with himself. “Fine fine fine.”

Lazy, his paws dangle midair, body twisting in that unnatural manner, and with a sharp movement, he twists his own arm off, cracking the joints lazily like he didn't just pop a limb off. Truthless Recluse nearly gags, groaning and attempting to push Shadow Milk off, "That's disgusting. How do you even do that.” Dry, he scowls when the beast dangles his own disconnected arm in front of the blondes face.

“I’m unlocked.”

“Thats. Not. E-“ Flopping over, ruffles completely cover his face again, muffling what he was gonna say, and Shadow Milk easily ignores whatever gripes he had. “Loooong long loooooong time ago, my dear Cluesy~ I had the most… magnificent wings.” Pride drips off his words, back arching like a cat while he settles to rest atop the blonde.

“Gorgeous. Six of em. Not includin’ the ones on my head. Radiant and perfect, the wings of a fallen angel.” Almost reminiscent, Shadow Milk dreamily sighs, brushing his bangs away to show off two starlike, pointed scars over his ears.

Truthless Recluse just watches in diluted shock, the realization sitting in slowly. The wings adorning the statues and stained glass are NOT, in fact, an artistic liberty. “They were godly.” Pride slowly freezes over, and in three simple words, Shadow Milk's words become pure venom.

“Then, a little butterfly flittered by.” The pupils in his hair sharpen, the tips of oily black locks lashing like a cat's tail and sharpening. “It stole, not only my lovely wings… no no. Something much more important before that.” Eventually, they’re close enough that Truthless Recluse can actually see starlight, dark and empty within the beast's eyes.

The darkness of the other side.

Claws have extended, far enough to the point Shadow Milk is actually digging into the grass and roots, dangerously spiked up to the point he looks…

Wrong.

Like something is breaking, straining to hide whatever is within, the soft fabric that makes up his bodysuit tightening, until the blonde swears he can see it morphing into actual scales. Instinct screams, and he acts quick to avoid fury, “…Well. I suppose it's good he-…that butterfly is gone.”

Cyan and cerulean narrow, judgemental, scanning him, before the beast flops back down from his arched up form, shifting, moving, until he’s settled further down, turning with a huff to signal he desires his hair to be brushed.

“Hmph. Don't patronize me, it's not a cute look on you. I need to look my best, I’m going out. Beast business.”

His entire demeanor seems to swap, confidence and smug joy radiating off him as Truthless Recluse instinctively moves to gently begin combing through soft blue, jellylike locks. Recluse's gaze locks onto the diamond, open cutout in the jesters back of his costume as he begins to shift and move the hair out of the way.

“I’ve got some berries to pick.”

Straight at the deep, jagged scars that patchwork down the beast's spine and back.

°•°•°•°

 

Pure Vanilla crashes into the wall in his bid to escape. The very room itself reeks of agony and pain, just standing in it alone makes his own wings hurt, like the beast's pain is being broadcast out straight into him, stabbing and clawing at him as he runs.

“Dont go. I’m scared.”

Tawny fingertips rest on the door to his escape, entire brain painfully fuzzy and sickeningly clouded as cold sweat runs down his body, twisting around to look down that hall again.

“Please no. I did what you wanted.”

Outlined, in total darkness, he can see the silhouette of The Fount. Standing and staring back at him in the entryway to the trophy room, torn wings resting behind him, the only thing Pure Vanilla can see is his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be better.”

Pure white. They glow like the moon itself, ivory tears slowly tracking down outlined cheeks, so much softer than Shadow Milk's own. Lips part, illuminated, jam pools from them, golden in color, spilling out and staining already tattered robes, hand reaching out to try and reach him as-

“…Pure Vanilla?”

He screams.

Hollyberry jumps back a bit, spooked, and when he whips back around again to stare down the hall, there's nothing there. The queen looks concerned, still solemn and gaunt, she reaches out for him, almost falling back as the blonde crashes into her in a hug.

Tears bead down his cheeks, eyes squeezing shut to try and block out what he’s seen.

Soft screams still call from down the hall, pleading and desperate, they grow softer and softer as she clings to him to guard and protect. A final whisper calls out, so soft he almost doesn't even hear it.

“I don't want to be alone again.”

Both cling to each other, she knows, he can tell. She must have experienced something similar to draw such a reaction wrought with fear and disgust. Whispers fall from his lips, rapid. “Why. Why… why would. Oh w-witches.” He can barely even form coherent sentences, what is he even supposed to ask? How is there any way to even begin to ask and explain such a display?

“It's cursed.” Hollyberry shakes her head, voice soft and unsteady, “It has to be. There is no explanation for what I… for what we saw.” Slow, she turns Pure Vanilla away, walking and gently holding him as he almost collapses, the air outside is fresh, almost a mercy.

Hollyberry trembles, her hands taking his own, “You heard them. You felt them.” Finally, it's like they break through a barrier, the suffocating sensation of terror and pain fading away all at once as they finally stumble outside, Hollyberry nearly collapsing into a cobblestone wall.

Tears bead down Pure Vanilla's face, thick and horrified, his hands clasp at the radiant gemstone he holds upon his brooch, gently clasping it in a gentle motion, like he’s cradling it. “They… they were so…” he trails off.

Scared.

Hurt.

Lost.

Abandoned.

Shuddery inhales make Hollyberries hair shake, flowing curls falling like a grand curtain over her face, hands finally finding their way to her shield to clutch it in a similar, protective manner. “I cannot remain here. Not after…” Her words slowly die off, until she stares off, glittering emerald and fuchsia eyes focused on nothing.

Soft, she whispers, “According to the texts, the… items were believed to have magic within them. That one day they would signal the arrival of the “New Virtues.” and signal better times.”

His mind drifts. The lack of color, but pure lack of any degradation of any of the items, as if they were still-

“Alive. The texts describe them. A piece of the lost ones, tethered until their time comes.” The knights. Their color.

White Lily.

The thought makes him jolt and tense up completely, if they haven't changed, what does that mean? What on earthbread is happening between her and her beast that she hasn't won?

Where is she?

 

°•°•°•°

 

The tile is cool against his back.

The Fount sprawls out with a sigh, lying surrounded by grand maps, scrabbled parchment adorned with a complete map of the stars he’s been working on for weeks.

What a joy his purpose is.

The open, yawning mouth of his observatory allows him to stare up into the milky galaxy, holding his palms up to measure the distance between two stars hung on a constellation while his magic scribbles away its visage.

Milk pillars stand tall, midnight blue curtains drape downwards and gently shift in the light wind that carried the scent of pine and fresh blueberries from the harvest.

A giddy sigh escapes him, sitting up and allowing his flowing hair to slide upwards with him, retracting from where it was once sprawled around him in a spiders-web as his ears twitch, the bell earrings adorning them jingling softly.

He’s been alone too long, his mind supplies, its irregular for him to find pure, empty time without company or requests.

Cue advisor in three… two…

SLAM-

“Fount! Oh Fount!” The nervous cookie rushes in, much smaller than he is, he elects to remain on his knees, robes pooled around his body while watching the cookie tiptoe and dance around his sprawled out papers.

It's amusing, the way they revere him like a god, bowing while stammering in joy.

“New cookies! Your teachings spread, Your Knowledge!” Hands clasped, they’re utterly giddy, the information brings a smile to his face. Upon his creation, he had settled easily, nestled in a tower resting in a forest of blueberry-pine and milk deltas, crafted specifically for him by the Witches as a gift.

Teachings had been easy enough to start, and when the mortals had learned there was one who knew all knowledge, and could guide and protect them, a small village had sprung up as easily as sap from a welt across bark. “Spectacular, absolutely wonderous, my student…”

Indigo wings spread, the cookie bowing to avoid the flap of his wings when the virtue stands, calling to the sky as fallen stars glitter down, landing in his hand and shaping into the form of his staff, “I welcome them with open arms, surely we can industrialize the grotto to expand the village?” A snap, and he pulls up the map of the area, letting it float with his magic while the advisor nods.

“Oh yes yes yes! Your divinity, such wisdom!” Like a small dog, they scrabble around him while he walks, slowly making his way to the grand balcony that oversees the entire village, pushing open starry-glass doors for him before he can even touch them. “I will draw up the plans for new cottages and milk-wells, you have done well.” His voice is always smooth and even, as he’s slowly learned the ways of mortals.

Odd things, the one before him preens with the praise, bowing and scrabbling to leave at a swish of his hand. He inhales, looking down at the smattering of homesteads that make up the town, many cookies look up and beam upon seeing him, a few even pointing up and whispering amongst themselves with joyous smiles.

Not a day goes by that he cannot find something new to teach, to write, to work on, it's wonderful. Swaths of downtime cushion the momentous work he has, and recently, he’s even been able to take up knitting!

He raises a hand skyward, golden cracks appearing across the sky as he calls, clasping his hands in prayer with glee.

“Oh Witches, my teachings have taken root, a seedling of Knowledge now grows across Earthbread…” Pride drips from his tone, and he stands tall when the cracks glow, the thrum of voices like a string quartet.

“Excellence, as always, Fount of Knowledge. Continue your given duty, share with them what they desire, redouble your efforts to shape cookiekind.” His wings fluff up their feathers at the praise, eyes happily shutting as he basks in the warm light of their words.

The Fount bows, nodding in acknowledgment and exhaling deeply when the cracks fade, he’s doing good, pride stokes his happiness. Not that it matters, of course, he has to remind himself. He is a virtue, no matter what emotions his work brings, he should always be prideful.

There is much to do, and so much time to do it, a million things at his fingertips to teach or learn, try and test. Sometime he should go to visit his beloved others, he’s missed the warmth of the Spicelands upon his feathers.

He’s truly been blessed.

Wings spread, and with as much ease as a blueberry-owl, he glides, landing in town and holding his head up high. The smells of town fill his senses, draping robes landing and pooling out as they act more like liquid than fabric.

Fresh bread, soil, smoke from the furnaces, fish, fresh from the rivers that pool around his home, berries plucked from the vines now finally in the height of their harvest season from last month's teachings on agriculture.

To think mere years ago this entire area was nothing but wild earth.

Cookies watch him with joy, like he’s an old friend, and children rush under him as he walks, some play with his wings, while others chatter and show him their little crafts and items they’ve made.

It's odd, the mannerisms he’s learned from them.

They treat him as if he is one of their own. Though his body does not tire, the maidens and mothers of town urge him to rest and sleep, though he does not hunger, food is always offered to him, even when there is little to go around, even though he cannot age, they celebrate his “youth”, such odd beings.

There is such grace in them, he has learned.

They age, learn, and grow. It's odd to him, the eldest in the village are only in their late 70’s, but apparently, that is considered quite old for mortals!

Many approach him while he walks, grape cookies asking for his knowledge on fermenting, apple cookies curious about sewing and carpentry. The Fount dispenses his knowledge as easily and smoothly as a skim-milk waterfall pooling over gobstopper ridges.

Children grab at his hands, so sweet and giggling amongst themselves, and one tugs on his hand gently, pulling on his sleeve at the golden waffle decals that adorn the fabric. “Fount! Fount!” They call up to him, giggling and beaming up when he pauses.

Leaning down, The Fount tilts his head, smiling, “Yes, little one?” They beam up at him, fidgeting and swaying slightly. The rest of the children are eager and playful, but roughhousing becomes more and more common, hands grabbing and yanking his sleeves, almost forcefully.

“Why did you let us die?”

He freezes.

The air drops to a deathly, frigid temperature, eyes scrunching in confusion while icy fear claws its way up his throat.

“…W-What?”

The children chatter, their playing slowly becoming rougher and rougher, until his feathers are being grabbed at, wings yanked as golden and indigo feathers spill out across the stony walkway.

“Why did you let us die?”

He attempts to step back, but the adults now crowd, a cry escaping his lips when one grabs one of his smaller, golden wings, yanking backwards while another rips at his hair. Their curiosity turns vile, hands grabbing and clawing, they want more and more from him.

Silver chains fly out, their hooks digging into his dough to drag him backwards painfully, sending him crashing, falling.

The ground shatters like fine glass, wings flapping, desperate and rapid, but they don't work anymore, flight feathers torn from his body.

Straight down into the rushing river of milk that awaits him, crashing through its surface and scrabbling beneath the rapids. Gold washes away into ebony, wings beating the surface while glittering starlight drains from his hair, eyes sprouting all the while black begins to stain and sharpen his hair.

The Fount blinks, and when he opens his eyes, he’s Shadow Milk, crying out and trying his hardest to swim to the edges of the river, crying and thrashing as hard as he can. He’s dragged under.

He can't swim.

The taste of apples rotted upon his tongue, like jam and metal, sickly in the worst way, sat out in the summer sun and baked until fermented in a putrid ooze. Shadow Milk scrabbles, clawing at a branch as it floats above him, his claws manage to sink in and attach to the branch with desperation, body hauling and kicking at the air while he clings.

Soaking, he hauls himself up atop the branch of a low-hanging oak, its leaves dipping into the milk with his weight while he comes ashore, coughing up milk and shadows into putrid puddles around him.

The beast blinks, slowly managing to become lucid in the meditative state he’d entered. Right, it's a dream. He shakes, akin to a cake hound, sending milk flying out across the tree he clambers over, before scrabbling down onto fuzzy grass that blends between being grass and carpet, unstable like the rest of the dream world.

Panting, he flops out across the ground, landing with a wet splat as his hair sprawls out completely. He shouldn't be able to remember things that far back.

He shouldn't be able to remember things at all.

Deep inhales slowly fill his aching lungs, beading away the uncomfortable suffocating feeling that had completely enveloped him slowly, until Shadow Milk can finally calm enough to let his eyes shut.

He’d forgotten how much it hurt to drown.

Shadow Milk scrunches his face up into a scowl, brushing off the sinking feeling in his chest, right behind where his souljam sits, hand subconsciously coming to rest over it while he thinks.

It slowly all comes back.

Right, he needs to connect to the others.

If he can. One of those assholes has got to be asleep, what else does Silent Salt have to do, mope over whatever the hell it is he’s been so fussy over?

The sinking feeling in his chest worsens.

“Master-Of-The-Ivory-Pago-DUMB! Bugface! Chicken-Legs! Knight-In-Not-So-Shining-Armor! One of you pick up the witch-damn telepathic phone!” Loud, he shouts, the sound ripples across the dream-realm like a droplet in water, and he twitches his ears to listen.

The dream realm is strange, made up of strings and water, and one attuned to dreamwalking can easily follow the trails that others leave in their slumber.

He inhales.

Sweet strawberries, ginger and molassas, icecream, no, no, no. The dream world contorts around him as he slips into lucid-dreamwalking, a vast void of empty starlight with open ponds, like portals, into other dreams.

Caramel brown-sugar, tart-berries, and the numerous sickly florals of the faes dreams fill his senses, lazily peeking through each pond as they open beside him, before shutting when he shoos them away.

He needs to expand his reach.

This is gonna hurt. A sharp surge of magic courses through him, and like glass shattering, the realm explodes tenfold. Perfect, never mind the fact he now has a nasty headache.

Shadow Milk inhales, salted rolls, coffee and icecream, bitter pomegranate seed-aha!

Salty, barren sea air.

The beast dives in.

The dream splashes, thick like water as he forces into the barrier, taking on the form of a bluebird midair and fluttering, god he’d missed flying, even if only in a dream.

Empty. How predictable. Silent Salt sits, billowing flames that make up his shrimplike whiskers fluttering in the wind as his segmented tail swishes, the fantail tip it has fully spread out and clicking like a clockwork in a satisfying sound. Always so lovely, it reminds Shadow Milk of the sound finely made wooden snakes make, their segments perfectly alighted to clack and click.

He sits criss-cross and elegant, body rigid, completely still, and Shadow Milk lands on his helmet. “SALT! Wake your shrimpy ass up and respond to my SOS you…” He trails off.

Silent Salt seems different.

Peeking in to the empty slits that make up the helmet's eyes, Shadow Milk really wishes he could see the knight's face, fluffing up his feathers and hopping to land on one of the whiskers that billows out from the saltshaker holes in his helmet. “Salt? Helllooooo?~ Anybody home? Is it finally time to mount your crusty-rusty armor up on a shelf?~”

Dangling, he hangs upside down, round little bird-body clinging to the whiskers while staring into the slits of salt-crystal armor. No response awaits him, almost like Silent Salt is asleep within the dream. Or dead. Wouldn't that be a sight.

“Ooookay. This is new. You uh, tryin something new?” He’s admittedly curious, and it's not like he can sense any of the others.

Which is odd, considering how Eternal Sugar is almost always dozing, mind partially dreaming even when she’s awake. The realization of her absence causes cold, strange fear to spike in his chest.

He shakes his head, before pecking the knight's armor repeatedly, even using one foot to bap at him in vain, “SALT! I swear to the constellations I will feed Nox to The Serpent if you do-“

A hand shoots out, wrapping around his soft, round little bird body, and a singular visible, lavender purple eye snaps open behind one of those pools of darkness that slit his helmet, glowing as its pupil sharpens to snap onto his form.

“Remove your talons. From my feelers.”

There he is.

Silent Salt pulls him, squeezing sharp talons only releasing when Shadow Milk finally releases his “feelers” since he’s so inclined to call them that. “Saaalllt!~ Now I was getting worried you were ignoring me.” Silent Salt just drops him, ignoring the light squeak the bird lets out, standing at his full height as the blank area around them shifts with his thoughts and whims.

Mossy, silver grass melts into formation beneath Shadow Milk, patches of empty salt-barren peek through as some of the blades of grass shift, becoming flowers, then mushrooms, then lilies.

“I have no interest in your drivel. Leave me.” Silent Salt slowly walks, tail swishing behind him as his hoof-like feet clack against steadily-forming cobbled tiles. With a shake, his tail lets out that lovely, satisfying clacking sound, like some kind of stress toy while his posture becomes elegant and tall.

A scoff escapes Shadow Milk.

“Oh yea, sure sure, I’ll scram as if I havent been calling out with an SOS for the past-” His body shifts, feathers splaying, before melting into fingertips. The beast's back paws kick while he stretches, shaking and removing any residual milk still soaking his ruffles. “-however long it's been.”

Feelers twitch, and Silent Salt pauses, if only for a moment, before shaking his head, “I do not fight the battles of others.” Blunt, he makes his way over to a slowly-forming tree, a willow that sways gently, and the scenery slowly morphs into the River of Rebirths shoreline.

Shadow Milks ears pin back, hair lashing side to side slowly at first, the knight is getting on his nerves, to say the least, “Oh yea, because you’re sooo busy. At least tell me you swatted your gnat.” Silence. The knight's shoulders tense, a willow leaf in his hand shifts, flapping and turning into a butterfly as more follow, until they drift through the air, ambling like fallen stars.

Gentle, their wings barely have to flap, one lands gently atop his helmet, causing his whiskers to gently droop, posture relaxing to an almost contented position. Wings flap, and the butterfly atop his helmet slowly ambles through the air, leaving him while he turns stern.

“I will vanquish the unworthy. Her facade of a saint's dough will tear under my blade… if she is even deserving of such mercy.” It sounds practiced, measured and steady, each word sharper than his blade, and just as cold as well.

Shadow Milk just blinks, lazily floating forward and glaring at the butterflies with a sickened scoff, “So. Is that a yes, a no, or are you still working on it?” Silent Salt does not respond. His claws open, unfurling like a lotus to let a butterfly free, watching it slowly flutter away over the river, hand outstretched as if he desires to follow it.

Especially broody today, isn't he?

The jester rolls his eyes, folding his arms over his chest while sizing up the other beast. Did he always have that seafoam tinge to his armor? Never the matter.

“Dont tell me you didn't actually…”

Armor-clad shoulders tense, a solid rigidity that matches the sharp crystal shards growing from the beast's tail as Silent Salt visibly tenses, Shadow Milk just blinks, once, twice, before it clicks.

“…Ha… Haha-HA!-“ Laughter cuts through the dreamspace, frigid, Shadow Milk cackles as his clawed hand comes to rest on his forehead, while the other holds his side in a splitting, manic laugh. “HA! HAHAH-YOU!” Tears, or a snide mimicry of tears, drips down his cheeks at how hard he laughs.

“YOU LOST. TO A GNAT!?! WOW! And here I thought I was supposed to be a fool!”

With a poof, a dunce cap appears over Silent Salt, the armored beast not even reacting as a banner unfurls, confetti blasts, and Shadow Milk teleports to blow a trumpet. “HERE HE IS! Wow. Just wow!~” Sick pride coils in his chest, grinning lopsided in a near sneer. “Let me guess. You ran away, got your shell handed to you and turned tail, whiskers in the wind?~” Grinning with a sneer, he pats the knight atop his helmet, cooing with condescension.

Silent Salt turns, rough and sharp, beginning to march with purpose off into the melting landscape, silvery willows growing in place of the sickly, death-bidden trees, “Oh there he goes! Running away again. That's all you know what to do. Run run run~” The shadows coo, slowly grinning as their eyes watch, whispering praise to the beast, urging him. More. More. More.

They need more.

Fill the void of emptiness his lack of magic has left, stoke and cure his own…

Something.

Shadow Milk grins, fangs glittering, and in a sharp motion, he grabs a butterfly, crushing it in his hand and smirking as it turns to black ichor, leaking over the joints in his fingers.

“Always protecting those in need!~ But you don't, do you?” Silent Salt freezes. The temperature drops several degrees, almost frigid as silver willows blend with apple trees, “You wanna hear a fun bedtime story? It's so great. So wonderful.” Tension courses across the dream realm, thick and toxic, Shadow Milk just lands to stalk slowly. His body moves with the languidity of a serpent, slowly approaching its prey, oblivious and ripe for a feast.

“Once upon a time, there was a lovely king. The king was so generous, so kind, he had a pure, perfect, powerful armada of loyal knights, and four of the bravest kings and queens to help guide the lands they governed.”

Silent Salt tenses visibly, turning slowly, “Stop-“

“The king was well known, for he helped any who needed it, to guard them, to protect them. He swore that no matter the situation, he would always be there for his fellow royals, his guard, his people.”

His hair lashes, side to side while his claws slowly extend, darkness bubbles over the willow trees like a plague, despite Silent Salts demand.

“Oh, but over time, he forgot that promise. The royals began to fall, one by one, pleading and begging him. But he was too busy.”

Silent Salt snaps forward, hoof-like feet clattering the ground, “Hold your tongue-“ Shadow Milk just grins, almost yelling over the other beast while the knight's tail lashes side to side viciously and sharply enough to cut through the air.

“He was soooo distracted! So busy with his guards and his people, too busy to even check if the nobles were in good health, no. He was too busy for that. He stood proud, when they begged for help, he puffed out his chest, “Nobles don't feel such emotions. It is your people before your wellbeing, that is the sole purpose we exist.” The king waved them away, just like that!~”

Bitter darkness begins to infect Shadow Milk's words, until both beasts are face to face, the jester having to actively levitate just to be eye level with the knight.

“No. The king cared so much. But so little. He was too busy chasing butterflies. Sound familiar?” Shadow Milk lets his voice drop, low, venomous, the single, sharp, lavender eye that peers out from Silent Salts helmet locked onto his own, the blazes across his feelers burning near white with rage.

The dream shakes at the edges, like tv static, Silent Salts fists balled at his side, tone dropping to be as ruthless as his blade, “I did what I was supposed to. I followed my Virtue. You abandoned yours. You let evil taint this world. And now, you let yourself get caught.” Cold, the last words are finished with an indifferent huff, the beast standing to his full height and looming.

“Your Virtue?”

Shadow Milk's ears fully pin back, something deep within him bubbles with rage, like a repressed or erased memory he’s probably stuffed down. Silent Salt turns, beginning to walk once more, gait stiff and uncomfortable.

“You’re no better than us. At least we can admit we’re monsters. I would rather be feared than loved, free from the shackles of wanting anyone.”

The knight freezes, but this time, he doesn't turn, instead muttering, intentionally loud enough for Shadow Milk to hear.

“Good. Because nobody in their right mind would love what you’ve become.”

A stabbing pain hits Shadow Milk like a truck, a sensation so painful, right where the lock branded to his dough sits, and his ears and hair visibly droop. “…What did you just say to me.” There's no mocking, no joking or playful jabbing.

His heart pounds in his ears, rapid and uncontrollable.

That's not right. He’s a beast. He’s not supposed to feel fear. He’s not supposed to feel regret. He destroyed those emotions with dark magic and repression spells.

He had to destroy what made him weak..

Silent Salt does not turn, does not look to him, just shakes his head, “I pray you do not fall in love. You and I both know what happens to the cookies you love.”

A strike, like a lightning bolt, shoots through the jester, making his hair straighten out completely like a scared cat, a sensation of complete agony shooting through him as in a blink, the dream world rips and tears, control slipping through his claws like tv static, shredding apart the ground he stands on.

Shadow Milk lunges, claws outstretching as pure rage controls him, Silent Salt easily snaps around, raising his sword, but it's not his sword.

The golden, broken key glitters in the moonlight, blue jam dripping from it like a putrid wax.

Glass shatters, the ground beneath him becoming that stained glass depiction of The Fount, shattering as he crashes down, glass embedding into him while he shrieks. Pain rockets through him, the ground hitting hard when he crashes into the milk lagoon, the statue of his past looming down at him with disappointment in those eyes.

“Shadow Milk?” They speak so softly, eyes wide and sad, full of betrayal, before shaking their head, like a disappointed parent.

It moves, and vanilla orchids burst from the earth, wrapping and pinning his writhing form while the statue lifts its key staff, holding it so the moon aligns perfectly with his souljam, before bringing it down, straight onto the lock embedded in his dough.

Shadow Milk jolts awake.

“Shadow Milk?”

He acts on pure instinct, lunging, before choking as the chain attached to his neck yanks him back, snapping with a snarl and letting out a gag.

Pure Vanilla steps back, cautious, he stands behind the bars, safe and guarded, and all the needed measures seem to be in place once more. The beast snarls, dazed, he blinks sluggishly while attempting to discern if he’s awake or not. “You.” Hoarse, the stupid chain tugged slightly too hard from his movements, and now seems to work like a snare of sorts.

Blonde hair catches the rays of light coming from outside, and Shadow Milk growls, watching with narrowed eyes to take in the disheveled appearance that greets him.

Definitely looking rough, this one is. Pure Vanilla fidgets uncomfortably, almost seeming to be trying to catch a glimpse of something each time Shadow Milk moves while slowly sitting up.

“…I brought you something to eat. You… you were asleep when I came in. So I just set it d-“ Shadow Milk pins his ears back while listening to him stammer and snivel, scowling, but when he inhales, the smell catches his attention.

A bowl of plain oatmeal sits, topped with a few nuts and berries, its warm, undeniably smelling somewhat good with a brown sugar base. “Oh how wonderful. Here to poison me again?” The beast cuts off whatever Pure Vanilla was saying to mock and sneer, hair lashing where it's stuck in a net.

That comment seems to get Pure Vanilla, a look of sadness and disappointment crossing his face as he sighs, low and soft. “I. I’m sorry about that. You were just. You were fighting so intense-“

The beast cuts him off almost near instantly, “Oh? I was fighting intensely? Gee. I wonder why the cookie you netted, chained, snared, and started to drag away was fighting! How peculiar!” Tapping claws against blue-cheeks, Shadow Milk feigns shock, tilting his head as far as it will go while he’s secured.

“Its almost like living beings with autonomy don't like… whats it called? BEING KIDNAPPED!!!” With a shriek, he lunges to prove his point, not quite as hard, but straining enough against his chains to cause Pure Vanilla to flinch and nearly fall back, clutching his staff to his chest, before standing tall.

His face is soft, and the beast almost expects him to simper and whine, bend over backwards like the good lamb he always is.

But he doesnt.

“And I said I was sorry. Which is far more than you’ve done.” Tone hardening, Pure Vanilla asserts himself, ignoring how Shadow Milk blinks in mild shock, “You terrorized the children, you tortured me, you murdered Elder Faerie. Shall I continue to go on?” Agitation grows with each and every point Pure Vanilla makes, until the beast is actively growling with his ears pinned back.

“Cry me a yogurt river. Either kill me and get your little revenge over with, or whine and cry before trying to sing campfire stories with the enemy like you always do. Come on pal, hit me with the power of friendship!~” Shadow Milk coos the last part, causing his eyes to sparkle and even batting his eyelashes while raising the pitch of his voice.

Pure Vanilla just sighs, shaking his head.

“No. You’re hurt, and that is partially my doing.” Softer, he approaches the bars again, kneeling down gently and getting to the beast's eye level as his golden hair pools around him, almost glowing as those stupidly perfect eyes stay open. “You and I are connected, I want to help you, I want to be your fr-“

“There it is! That word again!” The words come out a snarl, Shadow Milk making a point to comically retch like he’s going to hurl, wincing as the action burns and causes pain through his side, "Don't you ever learn? Or were you the dunce of your class?”

“I was actually top of my class… but, I thought you knew that… didn't you?” Even and calm, Pure Vanilla tilts his head, but genuine confusion seeps in at the end of his words, eyes locking onto Shadow Milk's own.

The beast freezes.

His ears pin, before drooping, and in a fluid movement, he snaps around, sulking and slowly dragging himself over to the food to face away from the blonde, eyes in his hair scowling the whole time. “Shut up. You don't know anything about what I know.” The words are practically spat out.

Shadow Milk snatches the bowl, blinking as he realizes the muzzle is off, before glancing around to scowl at Pure Vanilla, staring at the offending item he holds at his side.

It doesn't go unnoticed.

The concerned look he had softens, burning away into one of recognition, before he sighs with a “ah” sound, “Yes, I figured, since you were asleep, it would be wise to remove it so you could ea-” The beast snaps to attention, slamming his fist into the ground hard enough to cause a ringing of metal to course through the air.

“Dont you ever lay your thieving hands on me while I sleep again.”

Low, cold, Shadow Milk says it at near a whisper, making the threat clear as day, and to his disappointment, the blonde shakes his head, “I’m sorry, but I fear I will have to in order to tend to your wounds. You already attacked me once” That severely ticks him off.

“Oh, is that so? Try and touch me again, and I’ll snap your fingers off and use the bones to make sewing needles.” With a low growl, Shadow Milk starts to snap down food.

It's bewildering, the way he eats, and Pure Vanilla lets his eyes widen. Hunched, it reminds him of a feral cat or wolf, snapping each bite down hungrily like it's the last time he’ll ever eat, causing growing concern to bloom.

He’ll have to inspect how thin he is the next time he gets a chance, even though the thought of unwanted examination makes his heart twist.

But Pure Vanilla can't ponder on that, instead, shaking his head and simply rebutting, “If you feel such a way, then I fear I will have to resort to sedation.” Visible fear. The beast's ears actually droop, eyes in his hair shooting wide, and he practically whips around, lowly hissing and pointing a claw at him.

“Dont. You. Dare.”

He has to be firm, that much he’s come to learn from his dealings with Shadow Milk, attempting to act unphased even as the beast looks like he’s actually about to invent a way to blow up his head with his mind.

“I cannot do that anymore. I tried. You attempted to maul me, there are consequences to your actions, Shadow Milk. I am not doing this out of hatred.” Mismatched eyes narrow, movements slow, almost stalking, and Shadow Milk just lets out a snarl. “Burn up in the oven. You and your gnats you call friends.” Pure, icy venom drips off his snarled syllables.

With that, he’s back to his food, glaring the whole time and nearly hunched over, Pure Vanilla sighs, simply sliding down and combing his hands through his ragged hair.

This is not going to go well, but he inhales anyway, speaking up after bracing both physically and emotionally for what comes next.

“We’re leaving for Crispia tomorrow."

Chapter Text

“WHAT!?!”

The bowl of oatmeal is sent flying past his head, flung in an act of pure, unfiltered fury as Shadow Milk lunges and snarls.

There it is.

Pure Vanilla flinches as the spoon is also thrown, actually impacting with the wall and imbedding down to the handle, but he remains calm. “We leave tomorrow. It will be a couple days long tr-“

“NO! NO NO NO NO! YOU LIAR! YOU GNAT! YOU MOLDY, DISGUSTING, THIEF-“ A slew of curses escapes as Shadow Milk has what can only be described as the mother of all meltdowns. Well, to him it is.

Shadow Milk is panicking. “YOU! TRAITOR! I should have DESTROYED you when I had the chance!”

He’s never left beast yeast. His home. His bakeland. Black Sapphire, Candy Apple, they’re both still here, he needs to get OUT. Paws kick the air viciously, struggling and fighting like he’s completely possessed, until they hook onto the forged bindings on him and claw for freedom.

“Shadow Milk, its o-“

“NO! NO! LET ME OUT! YOU! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!” Twisted and contorted, the beast wails and howls, Pure Vanilla stands sharply at the sight, alarmed and attempting to speak softly. “Please. You’re going to tear your sid-“ The sound of claws puncturing metal actually spooks him.

Yes.

Shadow Milk kicks repeatedly, and his back claws manage to puncture into the silver, ignoring how it begins to burn, he kicks harder.

Pure Vanilla knows an incident has already happened with him breaking the metal, and out of pure instinct, he jolts back and away from the bars. The raw strength and flexibility being shown off is horrific, Shadow Milk snarls and bites, twisting himself around to actually sink his fangs into metal trapping his back legs.

He yanks.

Each time, it pounds against the ground, letting out a horrible sound of creaking metal and straining stone, Shadow Milk can FEEL it struggling to hold on.

Perfect.

He yanks, harder, harder, and harder, Pure Vanilla is yelling something, probably for him to stop or calm down, but he has to get out. Shadow Milk crunches down on the chain, body pulled taught alongside it, he’s so close.

Shadow Milk is shaking, pulling, struggling.

His rage fuels him. This stupid fake, a wolf in sheep's clothing, the shepherd leading him like a lamb to laughter, the cage that binds a dove eternally. Every plotted plan, every single thing he had worked through countless times to get RIGHT. All to fall apart at the hands of this disgusting monster wearing HIS stolen power.

He’s supposed to be able to see EVERYTHING. Know EVERY outcome. Shadow Milk yanks the chains.

But it doesn't break. The harder he pulls, the more he kicks. None of it works. Exhaustion sets in, and it clicks in his mind faintly. The ground hurls towards him when he finally loses his grasp, thudding into the cobblestone and panting.

With no magic, there's nothing to feed him in place of regular food, no energy to strain in place of sleep, and he hasn't eaten or slept properly in days.

His body is giving up on him. The world spins, pain shooting up his side sharply and agonizingly. Shadow Milk pants softly as his vision blurs, shuddering and snarling with the last of his energy waning.

“Please.”

Soft, Pure Vanilla pleads against the bars, leaning and looking at him with stupidly kind eyes. “Please stop.” That makes Shadow Milk laugh.

Breathless and delirious, he giggles, body sharply jolting while he gasps for air, gaze narrowing when guards finally rush to the king's aid.

These ones are new.

They wear gold and blue, flying high colors and reeking of light magic, “Stop?… I will never stop. Never.” The doors open, and two guards stand close to Pure Vanilla as he stands and enters, slowly taking cautious steps forwards.

“I know that. That's why I have to take you away from here. This place is not good for you.” Shadow Milk attempts to raise his head and snap, but one of the guards uses a strange pole, resembling one a cookie would use to spearfish with, to pin his neck down. Furious, Shadow Milk can't help but narrow his eyes in rage.

“What do you know? You know nothing about me. You are nothing TO me.” Each word slips out as nearly a pant, hair lashing violently in its binds when Pure Vanilla comes to sit on his knees before Shadow Milk, getting on his level and pulling his hands together to start creating some spell.

“I know about the trophies.”

Shadow Milks jam runs cold. Frigid. Icy. His breathing sharpens, rapid, entire body beginning to shake in pure rage at the audacity for him to even mention- “I know what they did to you. I saw who you used to be. He-“

The beast lunges, instantly pinned before he can move again to snarl and hiss, “YOU. You stay away from HIM. THAT LIAR-“

Pure Vanilla does not back down, hands shifting and making runes until Shadow Milk can see its some kind of spell. “He’s shown me things.” Writhing, the beast completely flips from attempting to lunge at him to trying to scrabble away. He doesn't recognize that spell. “Some part of you is trying to talk to me.”

The guards advance, and one gets a better hold on their weapon, moving to take something from their bag, but Pure Vanilla stops them, raising a singular hand. “No muzzle. He’s not an animal.”

Shadow Milk blinks. That alone is the stupidest thing he’s heard from Pure Vanilla, mind instantly flittering to the still-fresh attack he had mounted. Almost on cue, Pure Vanilla makes eye contact, cradling a now fully-woven spell in one hand.

“However, if you bite again, and I mean ANYONE. It goes back on, and you will be sedated the entire trip to Crispia. This is a new, fresh start.”

Fingers gently grab his face, and before Shadow Milk can even snap or try to bite, magic floods his mind when the spell Pure Vanilla was holding rests against his forehead.

Lucky bastard. So lucky he’s held down. Exhaustion courses through him the second the spell settles, sharp ears pinning while he has to hold back an active snap to bite tawny skin.

Feel the jam rush to his lips. Taste bitter and sweet vanilla all at once.

Pure Vanilla stands, slow and careful, the guard who has the beast pinned taking a measured step backwards while retaining firm pressure to hold him. Pressure that steadily begins to release. “We’re going to let you go now. Don’t-“

Too late. Almost the instant Shadow Milk hears he’s being released, he lunges, slashing forward and twisting to gash clean through one of the guards leg gauntlets. A flurry of shields and darting movements twist around him, senses dulled but not enough he can't hunt.

Or, he thought, proved very incorrect when the jester rams into bars.

The guards and ancient have narrowly escaped through the gate, slamming bars shut when Shadow Milk jerks forward and yanks at his chains with a snarl, hissing and pinning his ears back like a feral cake hound. “S-Shadow Mil-“

“You only said biting, gnat.” A grin, cruel and nasty spreads across his face with pride. Right. He probably should have seen THAT one coming.

Orchid staff narrowing, Pure Vanilla watches the sluggish movements the beast is making, slow pacing that has an off-tilt, definitely exhausted and going to drop from the spell soon, he has to ignore the guilt from using it.

“I suppose I did say that… I’m sorry for t-“

And the fighting has resumed. Shadow Milk SLAMS against the chains, growling and shaking hard enough to where sparks fly off the metal striking the ground. The Republic was perhaps NOT overreacting by refusing to transport him unless he was unconscious.

“They’ll come for me. You know that? My Beasts. MY friends.” Rambling, Shadow Milk paces frantically, ears pinning rapidly before hurling himself into another attempted bough for freedom. “I’d be SHOCKED if they aren't already on their way!~” Bark bigger than his bite, there's a certain tone to the way he prattles.

“Stupid… “ The first real sign. “Stupid cookie… idiot f-fool.” Shadow Milk groggily shakes, full-body like a dog may when removing water from themselves. His side hurts, sharp and PAINFUL. Sure Salt may not be jumping to rescue him right away, but he ALWAYS pulls through.

Liar.

The ground is suddenly much closer than it used to be when the jester finally crashes down from his feral pacing, drowsily letting his head thud against the ground after a moment of kicking his feet.

Like vultures, the guards start to creep in, not even deterred from his scratching, they both seem dead-set on wrangling him. “…Morons. All… f’you.” Spiking up his ruffles in a bid to appear bigger, it has very little fear factor.

Stars, he’s tired. Ebony hair melting in its binds, he lets out a sound akin to a huff, eyes drooping further and further shut. The spell feels unusual, gentler and softer, the horrible ache through his body calmed and the insatiable hunger of his magic quelled.

“Thats your opinion.” Blunt, and suddenly much closer, Pure Vanilla speaks softly, reaching out cautiously to try and brush away his bangs. “I’ll… laugh when t-they… crumble you all.” He attempts a snarl, but some stupid part of him keeps screaming to lean INTO the gentle touch.

“I hope it does not come to that.” Tawny fingertips gently comb through his bangs, and Pure Vanilla uses the hem of his pristine robes to gently brush dirt from the beast's cheeks. “You cant k-keep… me asleep… f-forever.” Avenue of intimidation exhausted, desperation seeps in slowly.

“And I don't intend to.” Despite his best instincts, the jester slowly lets his head droop into Pure Vanilla's hands, his tailcoat slowly curling up like a cat would their tail. “I want to understand you. I want to know why you hurt yourself and others.”

The ancient lets his voice fall to a whisper, keeping his voice lower, but a distraction while the guards work to get out what they need to restrain him. Final. Full. All restraints are silver and freshly made. “But I care far more about getting you healthy.”

Growling, Shadow Milk narrows his eyes, scowling the best he can but…

Pointed ears softly droop when Pure Vanilla runs his thumb over the crown marking over his eye, moving to do the same motion over his nose. He crinkles, growling, and Pure Vanilla pauses, only resuming when the jester stops, losing his tension.

It's too hard to be vicious.

“Whatever happens, I will not harm you. I will not take your souljam, and I will not let anyone take it.” Reassurances wash over him like the steady swipes across his dough imbued with calming magic, “My hope, my goal, is that I can actually let you go. I don't wish to change you, I don't want to force you to be something you aren't.”

That actually makes the beast's ears perk up. The idea of freedom. Even as his body fully goes lax, eyes drooping further and further while he mulls the idea.

Something Pure Vanilla picks up on, brushing his thumb against the beast’s forehead softly and smiling, the fool probably thinks he’s actually considering it.

Changing.

“You’re exhausted." No thanks to him. “I will be with you on the ship the whole time that I can. First, I have… things I need to tend to here.” That's the easiest way to put it. “Sleep…”

As much as Shadow Milk does not want it to…

It takes him.

 

°•°•°•°

 

“Slow down my student!” Laughter bubbles over silver foliage, ringing through the trees and making yeast spores bumble over themselves.

Little feet patter on moss and stone, tiny bat wings flapping their hardest to try and propel Black Sapphire to flight as he giggles and runs circles around The Fount.

“We’re late, we're late! Come on! I wanna show Mister Faerie my new suit!” Ever excitable, the little ball of energy grabs one of his smaller wings, giggling when it just gently flicks and tickles his nose. “Now, Black Sapphire. The most beautiful pearls are only birthed from time. We’re projected to arrive right on schedule.” The faewood is dense.

Branches block the path, but its nothing simple nature spells cant guide away, the plants here have remained undisturbed for centuries, he has not the heart to cut them down.

“You’re going to take off if you keep flapping so hard…” A scooping motion is in order, lifting Black Sapphire just as he attempts to grasp a yeast spore like it's a stuffed animal, unable to hold back a smile. Toothy and wide, the grape cookie grins, cozily coming to sit right in the crook of his shoulder and neck as they walk.

The Fount inhales, spring is heavy in the woods, soft and lovely, it should nearly be hatching time for the new, young fae as well, grubs, were they called?

Yes, adorable little dough, chubby cheeked with little antennae and grabby hands, this century's batch will wake to a plentiful year.

Dark shapes slither in the underbrush.

His wings cradle to guard from morning dew, dripping down the cresting ferns and heavy leaves, the creatures of Fairiewood are always so curious, willow-stags tilt their heads while orchid-birds flap around, twittering sounding like silver bells.

He knows he’s close when the woods fill with eyes, flowers, rocks, trees, they all contain hidden watchers observing the pair out of caution. Hidden in the nature surrounding him lay the fae, he knows they’re still a bit frightful of him.

At least most are.

His cloak drags behind him like a wave, and with a swish of his wings, the moon in the sky glows blue. Bioluminescence glows, and the forest around him is transformed.

Houses become visible, lit up with markings for windows and hidden doors in mushrooms and trees, burrows for the beetles while flowers fully unfurl to have fae reveal themselves.

They instantly gravitate towards him, laughter and curiosity flittering about while Black Sapphire grabs at them, trying to play with glittering wings and antennae. “Oh Knowledge oh Knowledge!" A few flitter to braid his hair behind him, a few singing while others shower him in vanilla beholders.

“Oh Knowledge! His majesty has been awaiting you!”

“His majesty!”

“His majesty!”

They all chirp, and The Fount laughs softly, spreading his wings so a few smaller and lighter fae can land on them, playful and happy. Such curious creatures, they never fail to amaze him, quite a few seem adorned in their courting season colors and fabrics.

As they dip under him and swish around, he’s very glad he floats effortlessly nearly everywhere. “His majesty had specifically requested my aid, and what is my purpose but to serve…” Humble, he lightly bows, smiling while the fairies part and begin to flutter to guide him along.

Beautiful music hums while cricketlike fae play their wings, cicadas chirping while the lacewings sing, filling the hidden kingdom with music and glittering light.

They float effortlessly over the ponds are streams that mottle the garden leading to the king's home, the virtue gliding effortlessly over the water to walk on it, cresting flowers and willows blend into an open, overgrown nursery grove.

“Fount…” He hears Elder Faerie before he sees him, a sugar-wysteria having perfectly hidden the butterfly as he hangs upside down, unfolding and slowly dropping down with elegance.

The flowers around are larger and cuplike, and further inspection within them makes The Fount smile. Little dough lay within, eyes closed and curled up, each has their own flower they remain coiled safely within. “They hatched early! May the witches bless the sweet things…” He can't help but smile.

Black Sapphire is squirming, like a baby bat trying to escape while he tries to scrabble off and play with the littler fae that unhide themselves upon Elder Faerie revealing himself. His wing claws repeatedly get stuck.

One little flower fae is practically climbing his robes as well, scooped up gently by Elder Faerie while he laughs, “They progressed healthily due to the warm spell we had last autumn. Now, Silverbell. Manners.” Elder Fairy gently scolds the small grub, fluffy and squirming similar to how Black Sapphire is near impossible to hold at the moment.

Cyan eyes peer out from the dark, scales glimmering like obsidian.

The scene warps terribly, even as The Fount attempts to retain his conversation, gently setting Black Sapphire finally down, “Oh it's quite alright… they’re young. A silver tree does not grow in one day, does it not?” Visible hesitation crosses Elder Faerie, and the eyespots on his wings repeatedly shift between their beautiful periwinkle and blue to cyan.

Serpentine.

Gently, Silverbell is set down, and nearly instantly, the two tackle each other into a tumbling pile of fluff, bapping each other and rolling around while The Fount laughs, “Oh my. Will of the warrior this one has.” Indignant squeaking escapes Black Sapphire when the little face taps his face with his feelers, curious and intrigued.

“He retains a frightening curiosity…” Worry seeps, and Elder Faerie fluffs up the furlike cowl he has around his neck, akin to a moth, featherlike antennae twitching. “Curiosity is the nature of all children. It is how they grow, your majesty.” The Fount tilts his head up to the moon, it's full, but when he blinks, it turns into an eye, staring down at him, scrutinizing.

A smile forces its way onto his face, and he desperately attempts to cling to the memory, even as voices whisper and coo.

Scales click together, and he finally notices that the sprawling roots draping homes are not in fact roots.

It's there.

The Serpent.

The children's laughter fades, and Elder Faeries presence beside him becomes cold, a slash of purple jam coating his robes as a jagged slash forms across the king's chest, jam spilling out as he falls back.

“Oh now lovely it was to get rid of him.” It slithers out, and The Fount goes rigid, his robes melt, unable to choose between jesters garb or a mix between, “Gets what he deserves.” Massive scales glimmer, slightly blue in their iridescence, instinctively, he goes to grab and protect Black Sapphire.

Only to pick up a lifeless doll. Hand sewn, delicate.

“You’ve been talking. You don't talk. Shadow Milk talks.” Fury seeps into the deceitful snake's words, and he steps back, only to bump into its massive midsection, thicker than a tree trunk and at the LEAST 20 feet long. It grows every time he sees it. “We’ve been talking. I believe you forget he and I are the same.” That severely agitates The Serpent.

“Perhaps we bring him out. See what he says.”

It lunges before he even has a chance to deflect, shrinking to be small enough to stab clean through the lock in his chest, he keels over, black bile spilling from his lips into a putrid, writhing, oily-pitch pile that slowly forms into the shadowy jester form he’s used to.

Disoriented for only a moment, it's like a cracked mosaic, mind fragmenting while the beast is birthed from the ichor.

He’s not happy when he fully forms.

“You talked to the thief.” Thick, Shadow Milk snarls his words, shaking off ichor to fully form his body in the dream state, The Fount struggles to stand, unsteady and woozy, “I have said anything that your heart did not want to tell him.”

“Oh BULL-shit! That's a HOOT of a statement! Some Fount you were!” The ends of the beast's hair rattle like a snake, trying to puff up to seem much larger than he is. Even in the dream world, The Fount stands much taller than he does, “Now I’m stuck unconscious while we get DRAGGED away from beast yeast! Nice going.” Venom seeps off each word he spits.

He’s honestly somehow nearly more snakelike than that wretched serpent, furious and shaking to puff out his ruffles.

The Fount stands fully once more, wings flapping gently as he regains a composed stature, gently lifting to cradle the doll close to his chest and ignoring the furious jester, “Would you prefer to stay in this prison of silver? Close to the tree?” The mere mention of the tree makes the entire dreamscape shift, darkness poisoning streams and pitch filling the once ethereal sky.

“I would prefer to haul ass and get back to the show. There's a script to follow, and the star is missing!” Impatient, the beast snarls and paces, growling furiously and nearly lunging to attack foliage. “None of the others are coming.” Plain and simple is the only way to describe how The Fount states things, sitting atop a massive toadstool to brush moss and grass off the tiny doll in his hands.

“Whats done is done, you and I know that well enough. This is for our own good.”

“OuR oWn GoOd~ Ew you sound like a guidance counselor.” Shadow Milk storms, standing to scowl dead into the virtues eyes and snarl, only getting more and more angry the longer he’s ignored. “You’re supposed to shut up and STAY shut up. Everyone up here seems to get that.” He jabs one finger into The Founts chest, intentionally jamming his claw against the lock embedded into dough, while poking his own head with the other.

“That only works as long as you keep a steady supply of Dark Moon Magic. Which you’ve been plummeting into withdrawal from. Centuries of addiction will do that-“

Shadow Milk laughs, sharp and interrupting intentionally, folding his arms and mockingly cackling while wiping a fake tear from his eye, “ADDICTED!? HA! I’m!? YOU! HA! Oh you ARE dumb! I’m not addicted. If anything, that magic needs ME. You think I’m gonna fall apart without a little magic? PUH-LEASE.” The beast grins, fully showing his teeth in a sneer that does nothing to phase the ethereal virtue before him.

“Yes. I absolutely know you will. Your dependance has grown unsurmountably.” His starry hair swishes gently, flowing constantly like fog or water in its boundless curls, a direct contrast to the beast's own oily-drenched mass of magic-based hair. One that will dissipate if he doesn't get enough magic soon.

It's little known to many that the beasts black parts of his hair are not, in fact, true hair, only the white and blue parts being his only actual hair. “You’ve been dependent for centuries, something I am to blame for, and I feel deep sadness over creating. You can tell your other half, or I will, because you will not survive withdrawal.” Instant rage.

“YOU. Will keep your STUPID, UGLY nose OUT of MY Business. You’re dead. Done. Dust. NOBODY cares about The Fount anymore. Shadow Milk is in charge so SHADOW MILK is the one who handles all the stuff on the frontside. Shadow Milk is the one who's gonna play this sucker into healing me and letting me go. Got it?”

He’s the star. He’s the one in control. “I freed us from a life of enslavement for a Witch that abandoned us and DARED to come back ONLY to rip us apart and STEAL our freedom.”

All he receives is a stonewall of an expression, only broken slightly by the subtle pin of The Founts ears at the mention of their creator. Sore spot. Shadow Milk narrows his eyes, tone lowering, ears pinning similarly and hair rattling as he hisses, “Besides. If I die, I’ll have Dark Enchantress whip me up a new body. What else is that director she has good for anyways?” A grin spreads across his face, confident and cocky with dripping pride that seeps smugness. “She needs me. I’m the only one who can tell her the spells she needs for her silly little project.”

The Fount just shakes his head slowly, wings gently flapping as he gazes up at the sky, solemn and soft, "She's using you. Did she not throw and discard you like a used toy? Or have the wounds ceased their bleeding?” The beast SLAMS a paw down to stomp, enraged and fully storming to grab ahold of the milkcrown that hovers atop The Founts head, attempting to drag him down to his height.

“You. Curdled, rotted, mouldy, foul, clotted, disgusting, fermented, dry, underbaked FOOL! I am the one using HER!”

The larger cookie grabs him by the wrist, and pain shoots through his brain while the area around him twists and changes, “And I suppose you’re content to experience the lab once more?” Sharp pain shoots from his shoulder.

A scorpion stinger embeds in his dough, and it only takes seconds before he goes completely limp, collapsing to the suddenly concrete ground as the scenery completely shifts to the darkness of the lab.

“Up and healthy! Matcha! Take notes! Licorice! Charge the Extractor!” The beast's jam runs frigid.

Jam, metal, salt, rot and decay. The scent is putrid while pipes thrum, full of lifepowder and jam as he’s grabbed by a gloved hand. Souls sob and cry in agony while the pained magic that permeates the lab nearly chokes him in suffocating pain. He can't break free, even as the shadowy figures of a hulking cookie and their assistants crowd the beast.

“Strong! But fragile. Let’s avoid breaking any more of his bones.”

He can't move at all, entire body numb as his head is grabbed and forced up, mouth open and inspected by glowing, fire-orange eyes while the foggy figure draped in reaper's garbs and the strange half-baked cookie skitter about.

The Fount just watches, standing alongside the lifeless figures of his fellow beasts as they float within their creation chambers, his regularly slender fingers grow claws, “We did not enjoy being poked and prodded then, but I suppose things change.” The cookie with golden eyes swishes his stinger, sharp and glittering when Shadow Milk attempts another bite, instantly dropping limp when another injection pierces his body.

“Fantastic fang composition. Canine, serpentine, and cookie all in one mouth! Now! Lets see if it works today.”

He’s dragged across the floor, further and further from the safety of the creation chamber he was yanked out of, dreams blending with memories, except these ones aren't pleasant. Dark Enchantress watches him, blurry, but standing over a catwalk and simply overseeing him as he’s practically dumped onto the plate atop the machine. Like a cage, silver prongs snap down, securing him firmly.

“As much as she did grant you your body, she did much more than that, didn't she.”

Shadow Milk blinks, trying to sit up, but the machine thrums to life, electricity shoots through him, endless agony as magic is siphoned out of him. The machine resembles an espresso machine, and the longer it thrums, the weaker and weaker he gets.

“This is not the worst she could do to us.”

Thick, glittering navy liquid drips out from the press, collected by the mad cookie with golden eyes in a beaker, it glows like lifepowder, and they’re speaking foggily amongst themselves.

“But it was bad enough you erased it with spells and addictive magic.” He doesn't remember this. “It hurt me just to think, just to know everything. So I gave in, lured by promises of control and power.”

Shadow Milk pants raggedly, clawing and attempting to lift himself before another pulse of agonizing electricity shoots through him, as faded as it is, the memory-dream is scratched and tarnished.

“And we got what we wanted. Flour left her cocoon. Sugar learned from our manipulation. Spice humored unspeakable acts. Salt only had us in the end.”

Details are missing, eyes peer out from everywhere and watch him, a horrific sense of deja vu creeping up and sinking through him. The longer The Fount talks, the more twisted he grows, wolfs fangs, rams horns, snake scales. His body twists and becimes monsterous.

“But none of that fixed the gaping cracks left within us, merely momentary relief before the drip started again. Before the serpent got hungry. Before we were the fool forced to answer questions.”

The beast remembers much of those times, but nothing like this. “It worked! Pure, perfect, ACTUAL life powder from a BEAST! And he's not dead!” Finally, the machine shuts off, and he goes completely limp in a melted puddle, body physically giving out in a struggle.

“Even now, you need to return to the enchantress, because she somewhat needs you… and that feels good. To be wanted. To be looked at like you’re precious again.”

Dark Enchantress hovers down atop her fork, holding out her sharp claws and taking the beaker with a cruel smile, “And he’ll replenish the supply?” Laughter barks out from the towering cookie, “If he doesn't, he’ll crumble! If that happens, we’ll just bring him back!” Hooves, sharp and tactile, click the ground as she walks, examining the beast where he lays in a melted pile.

“Good.”

Pain shoots through him as she throws the switch again, the dream itself fragmenting and splitting much like his body, hands reaching out desperately towards the still too-far away chambers that hold his lifeless fellow beasts. The Fount has completely warped, form changed to The Serpent as he gets closer and closer, maw open to consume him as he lays helpless.

Dark Enchantress just laughs, tilting her head and smiling.

“I’ll need more. Much more.”

Coils tighten around him, the monstrous snake coiling until they’re eye-to-eye, forced to stare into his own reflection. Wide eyes, bags beneath them, full of tears, he’s The Fount. Robes torn and ragged, The Serpent grins and bares its fangs.

“We can help you. We can make you happy.” Tighter and tighter, he’s squeezed until his dough begins to crack like porcelain at his doll-like joints, “Just let Shadow Milk deal with everything.”

In a flash, fangs bite down.

He wishes it were painless.

 

•••

 

Shadow Milk is thankfully, placid.

Well, as placid as he can be. The beast has collapsed into a pile, sleeping away and softly twitching. He reminds Pure Vanilla much of a cat, albeit a cat that just made him have to give magic stitches to one of the guards he’d mauled.

His staff is deeply displeased, leaves rustling and petals spiked up fully in defense.

“Are you alright now?” Soft, the blonde smiles when the guard nods, sighing in relief and examining the bandages, “Yes, your majesty… Thank you. May the light be with you.” Always so polite, the Creme Republic knights have already been so much help.

“Lord. He’s tall.” Speaking of, Clotted Cream has showed up, slowly making his way over to where Shadow Milk lounges, breathing sharp and heavy while three guards work to secure tight binds, taking special care with the beast's sharp back claws. “He’s the shortest.”

When Pure Vanilla says that, Clotted Cream looks like he’s nearly going to pass out, blanching in shock and murmuring, “…Light forbid. He has to be at LEAST six feet… what on earthbread.” He leans down, reaching out, and the ancients staff quickly uses its vine to gently whack the consul.

He jolts, and Pure Vanilla gasps softly, scolding but following suit, albeit softer in his ways, pulling Clotted Cream back to stop him, “I’d avoid that. I have no clue how resistant he is to certain spells. Did Espresso join you on the ship?” Proving him right, Shadow Milk audibly snarls in his sleep, twitching and shaking like he’s caught in a web for a few moments while the guards strain.

Honestly, Pure Vanilla is getting used to it. His hooves click gently while he stands and guides Clotted Cream upwards, attempting to focus, “Hm?… Oh no. Unfortunately he seems to have gotten caught up in something. But he’ll have all the preparations finished when we arrive.”

Preparations Pure Vanilla is VERY thankful are being done.

Especially since he has his own matters to tend to before he can leave the continent. “Will you be alright tending to him? The airship is secure?” Anxious, he glances to watch as Shadow Milk is set over a strange board, a base almost, chained down to it before bars are set up around him.

Clotted Cream nods. “Everything is as it should be. I understand you had something you wished to attend to?” Head tilted, the consul smiles, polite and formal, a silent confirmation that Pure Vanilla is in the clear to go. As much as he does not wish to leave the beast alone, he must.

“Yes… I intend to visit his majesty's grave. The others and I discussed leaving tokens, a tradition the fae carry.”

Gently running his hands over his staff, it crinkles its eye upwards happily, finally calming from its aggressive bristling towards the beast. “I find it only fitting. I won't take long, and if preparations are finished early, please feel free to fetch me.” As he speaks, Clotted Cream seems to be averting his attention back to the beast, watching with curiosity while nodding along to the healer's words.

“Of course. Things should be just fine here, and if not, his majesty Dark Cacao has offered to help. I believe her majesty Hollyberry and his majesty Dark Cacao were looking for you though. They are most displeased with your lack of sleep shedule…”

Pure Vanilla perks up, head tilting and ears twitching as he smiles, of course they are. “I thank you. I’ll keep an eye out for them… ” With a nod, he finally fully goes to leave, pausing to ensure the beast's safety.

Nothing but a blue lump of sleep and curled limbs meets his eyes, curled in on himself like a cat would while tucked safely into the cage. His chest hurts, a thrumming pain that aches and causes tight nerves to constrict. The only true benefit of him being asleep would be the easy tending to his wounds.

Wounds that make his jam boil.

The healer shakes his head, finally stepping out and up the steps to be bathed in moonlight, inhaling the deep, sweet air and feeling the breeze on his dough.

It truly is beautiful. Paths of soft stone and moss, cracked with flowers growing between them beneath his hooves. The night breeze blows and causes the wisteria and willows to swish gently. Hummingbirds flitter about, iridescent and luminescent in the darkness, they gently pollinate flowers, fluttering around him curiously and inspecting his staff while he walks.

If he listens, he can hear laughter and bells, music and play, and he only pauses to take hold of a delicate weaved basket he’d left outside the area Shadow Milk was contained in.

So many flowers bloom under moonlight, soft under his hooves and regrowing as he enchants them to spring back up, healthy and vibrant. He picks and chooses the best he can find, humming to himself while wandering towards the botanical gardens.

Or, oddly enough. It's called a nursery garden. Whatever they call it, flowers grow and spread out, millions of them spread out from towering lupines to humble buttercups. Baby's breath, pansies, even a few dandelions are chosen, witches he wishes he remembered the flower symbolism unit in his schooling days.

Golden feathers sit across the moss and cobblestone.

Pure Vanilla pauses, fear spiking up through his chest for only a moment before his ears twitch, hearing what sounds like… soft cooing?

He treads lightly while advancing, noticing just how many flowers are utterly massive, large enough to rival a ripe melon or cake hound.“Oh… littlest treasure.” Soft, definitely Golden Cheese, her words are barely audible even as he reaches a small ring of cleared, stony patches.

The radiant queen cups something, small enough to fit in the palms of her hands as she smiles down.

“Golden Cheese?”

Her eyes dart up, gold and teal blended as her gaze softens upon seeing him, for once, she’s standing as opposed to hovering, but when she gestures him closer, he realizes why.

“Look!… It's so… quaint.”

Small, delicate, cupped in the palm of her hand, sits the smallest baby dough he’s ever seen. Barely larger than a baseball, it's a chubby little creature, small antennae, grublike body with a segmented tail tipped with a glowing orb like a firefly.

He recognizes it instantly, definitely a baby fae, even though it lacks its second and third sets of arms or its wings. “Theres more of them.” Golden Cheese swishes her wing, brushing open the petals of a massive tulip just enough to where Pure Vanilla can peek inside.

Bundled up, cozy, more grub lay within the flowers, some alone, some in little piles, cuddled up and glowing softly. He can only blink, stunned and in awe. “T-They’re…” The blonde has nearly no words, even less-so as Golden Cheese brushes one over its face with a wing, resulting in a chirp akin to a grouchy moth or spooked katydid.

“Little? Precious? Brilliant?” Ever radiant, her eyes glitter, the baby-dough within her hands cooing and squirming a little as they talk, grabbing ahold of one of her golden rings to try and chew on it.

When he looks at her, she’s nearly a perfect reflection of how she was years ago, eager to show off the tiny fluffballs of bird and catlike cookies Smoked Cheese and Mozzarella were when little. The way she had lit up, showering them in gifts and treasures.

He still remembers when she first put the beak-headress atop Smoked Cheese, the way she beamed with pride even when he had tumbled over from its weight.

The little dough she cups even now is a golden thing, perhaps some kind of beetle or butterfly. Undoubtedly nostalgic. “Oh how my little treasures were not even this small.” Golden Cheese cradles the tiny body against her soft feathers that drape down her chest, smiling when tiny hands grab ahold of a feather to chew it.

Pure Vanilla can't help but smile, examining, albeit a bit confused, “…I figured you’d be gone by now. I’m certain Smoked Cheese is eager to return, as are you.” She had seemed MORE than eager to fly herself over the sea in one day, so her presence is…

Odd. But not unwelcome.

Her ears droop, the brilliant jewelry that dangles from them glittering in the light matching her eyeshadow and pristine, teal lip-shimmer. Beats of silence hang, even as the ever-radiant queen gently allows the grub to chew on her finger, softly chirping to itself.

“Oh. Well yes… I do intend to leave. But perhaps I should stay, just until White Lily comes back. Apparently it's the guardians responsibility to watch these little darlings.” Her golden claws make no sound, steps perfectly practiced to intentionally avoid clinking and waking the sleeping dough.

The flower before her opens, a beautiful daffodil that unfurls and opens to make a cradle, reaching down to set the baby down, it stretches and yawns, settling to curl around a feather she offers.

“Apparently she never returned after you two departed… without their guardian, these cookies are vulnerable.” Pure Vanilla tilts his head, flustering a bit when she gently takes his hand and pulls him towards her, wing tucking around him as she gazes out into the endless garden. “They’ve lived for centuries, and yet, they have this… innocence and curiosity.”

Dew has started to gather across petals, threatening to seep into the centers of flowers, and with a regal swish of her wing, a small gust of wind rocks the flowers free of the offending liquid.

The knowledge that White Lily truly hasn't returned unsettles him deeply, and Golden Cheese isn't exactly wrong. They frolic, sing, live their lives playing and guiding nature, only the knights fight, the rest seemingly having little-to-zero experience with defense at all.

Elder Faerie was all they had, their guardian, their leader, ruler and guide. He was everything, and a tinge of guilt creeps into his chest for just leaving the kingdom in disarray. Elder Faerie took care of countless things, so many they probably won't know about until they’re upon them.

When the skies the limit, there's so much further to fall.

A butterfly flaps, languid, landing atop a singular lily and flexing its wings slow and soft to let gossamer soak in watercolor moonlight. How much did the late king have to handle all on his own? How many responsibilities drowned him after the virtues fell and left the continent torched?

Golden Cheese inhales, deeply sighing and looking downwards, before finally tucking the daffodil shut once more. “In a way, they remind me of her.” Pure Vanilla's ears instantly droop, and he knows exactly what she means, diverting his gaze downwards to his basket of flowers.

“Its no secret you miss her. And… I’d be lying if I said I didn't.” She struggles, and he knows it's better to just be a reassuring force beside her, it's no secret the radiant goddess has pride as large as her hoard of jewels and gold.

Ruffling her feathers to smooth and preen them, like a clam, she snaps shut once more, “But in her absence, perhaps helping this kingdom can help me better understand her.”

Pure Vanilla smiles, spreading his own wings to cup around her in a reciprocatory hug, "That's incredibly noble of you, my lotus…” Praise makes her instantly puff up with pride, grinning and wrapping him in a hug so tight he’s lifted while she grins. “Praise! From the humble and ever-elusive Pure Vanilla Cookie? Perhaps this is a treasure I should keep just for myself!”

“C-Cheese! O-Oh goodness-“ Kisses pepper his face and nose, feathers soft while she squeezes the much smaller cookie. “Oh hush! By my own golden feathers, if that beastly jester weren't in the picture I’d insist you stay…” She definitely seems intent on that part.

Alas, it cannot last, and with a gentle bump to press their foreheads together, the healer regretfully has to pull away, even his orchid staff crinkling its eye unhappily at having to leave her when she gives it a little kiss as compensation.

“You’d better get some rest! You look dreadful…” Gesturing, she points at his staff, making an eye contact motion, “Make sure he eats, and don't forget to write! I’ll send messenger birds every day!” Pure Vanilla attempts to freeze, stammering while turning around.

“Oh, Cheese that's not nec-“ His own staff tugs on one of the wings atop his head, and Golden Cheese laughs, blowing him a coy kiss and cooing when he blushes, stumbling back out of the nursery.

“Rude!” Pure Vanilla lightly scolds, unable to hold back a smile at how it just smugly upturns, clearly prideful of itself and rustling towards the basket of flowers he has, pupil forming into the shape of a clock to emphasize. “Oh! Goodness!” He’s barely going to have time to do the very thing he came out to do.

Stone tiles click under his hooves, the forest thickening and growing more somber the closer he gets to…

It.

The grave.

Lit candles glow, leading up to the stepping stones outwards towards the thickly wooded area, his hooves struggling a bit as he has to actually step atop a few riverstones around the crystalline, natural creeks that cut the ground. Swirling shapes glow, runes within the rocks carved in and portraying the fallen king's life.

Depictions of visitors, starlight, beautiful wings being torn, butterflies and sprawling branches. The runes shift through purples, blues, and cyans, shifting to mimic the fae's wings the closer he gets to the center.

A large tree was chosen as his resting place, a silver wisteria that heavy chains hang from, blending into the ethereal blossoms.

The entire area smells just as the king had, hyacinth and forget-me-nots blending with nectar, Pure Vanilla allows himself a moment to relax, inhaling and letting his eyes shut as he steps forward.

Peaceful and-

“Make your purpose known.”

Striking, their tone is sharp and clearly threatening, instantly making the ancient jolt as both his seeing eyes open. The guest stands before the tree, guarding a bouquet of flowers, pristine and pure. He wasn't expecting to see anyone, let alone at such hours, let alone so close to the grave.

Most of the fae struggle to even get NEAR it.

His jam feels frozen.

They’re one of the tallest cookies Pure Vanilla has ever seen, cloaked in a fully black mourning cloak and veil, a menacing, segmented shrimp tail is the only feature that peeks out as they sit on one knee. Hundreds of butterflies have gathered around them, landing atop the glittering silks that compose their attire while others lazily flutter.

The grave is immaculate, and they stay in complete silence, even as Pure Vanilla slowly begins to approach despite his best instincts, cautious not to harm any of the insects, “Oh dear… I was unaware anyone else was here. I’m terribly sorry for interrupting." Guilty, he folds his wings gently, tucking them closer in a bid to seem smaller. Fog seeps, gentle and hazy over the lilypad-laden ponds that guard the silver wisteria in the center of the tomb.

The energy that radiates from them is strange, familiar, yet highly aggressive, like a lone wolf bearing its fangs in a clear warning. “I-I just. I can leave…”

Veil blowing in the wind, they say nothing, before reaching out and resting an armored, clawed hand atop the grave.

A rattling sound, like crystals or bone clinking together come from them as they inhale, head shaking, never harsh enough to scare away any of the butterflies.

“No. It is I who is sorry. The grief of mourning is not mine alone, as much as I wish it was.” Beautiful crystals begin to stretch across the lily flowers they hold, immortalizing them forever while they set them down. Pure Vanilla slowly walks forwards, the flowers he had tucked in his basket suddenly seeming much less adequate.

The bouquet this visitor has is perfect, now fully crystalized, it is composed of white lilies, bleeding hearts, and forget-me-nots, all held together by a singular sleeping salt-hyacinth. Larger purple butterflies land gently atop the flowers, and despite claws, the visitor is gentle with each one.

Even sweeping away a singular drop of dew from the petals like a lone tear. The softness is striking, volatile as wind and sharp as a blade somehow. A softness he recognizes from years of being a healer.

Grief.

“I suppose you must have known him better than I… I’m terribly sorry for your loss. I wanted to bring an offering but was… uncertain of what flowers to bring.” His staff looks downcast, sheepish and shy, squinting when a butterfly lands directly on its eyelashes, but the guest just hums softly. “There was no flower his heart did not have room for.”

Familiarity comes off the cookie in waves, growing stronger when the blonde finally comes to stand beside him, gently starting to gather and bunch flowers together to lay them beside the other offerings.

Crystals, flowers, instruments, poems and songs, all have been left as gifts for the guardian to protect his soul, tradition the fae take with utter seriousness. The others had left their gifts, cacao tablets, sugared berries, gold and turquoise.

None compare to just how finely made the bouquet this guest holds.

The veil completely obstructs the cookies face, but Pure Vanillas staff catches a singular, lavender eye staring out, hauntingly pale, it fixates on his wings. “You depart soon.” More a statement than a question, Pure Vanilla nods at the words, sheepishly fidgeting. There's no emotional or tone indications provided, not even the shift of the cookie's body language, blank and empty like a statue.

“Yes… I understand you and your people probably do not wish for Shadow Milk to remain here.” Despite how close they are, Pure Vanilla cant see the outline of the fairies wings, at least, he assumes they’re a fae. “An observation most astute.”

Incredibly blunt.

That should not make Pure Vanilla laugh, but it does, sad, but light, he shakes his head and sighs. The cookie beside him visibly tenses upon hearing him laugh, like he’s been spooked, “O-Oh goodness. My apologies I just. That was a silly question. You’re rather blunt.” He’s stumbling over words and trying to catch himself.

Stupid. Laughing in front of a GRAVE.

Stiff, the visitor looks tense for a few moments, before slowly relaxing, shaking their head and letting the lace from the veil swish almost ethereally while a painfully familiar butterfly perches atop it. “No, no… you just…” Softer, there's an audible hitch in their voice.

“You remind me of someone. Your laughter.” Emotion slips into what was previously flat and monotone, soft and almost bittersweet. “He’s gone as well now.” Cold spikes in the blonde's chest, aching and sad, when he tries to speak, nothing comes out.

The visitor does seem to pick up his turmoil at least, head lifting as they speak, “Fear not, they’ve been gone for centuries.” He’s not sure if that's supposed to be reassuring, but the way they say it does definitely seem to suggest that.

They stand, and Pure Vanilla has to visibly take a step back.

Huge. This cookie is not just tall. They’re huge. Their coverings sway in the wind to allow armor and massive plated scales to be shown across their body. A secondary set of smaller arms hold their place secure at the visitors side, one of his arms fused with a massive sword blade as hauntingly empty eyeholes in the helmet stare down.

Pure Vanilla has studied history. He knows armor making techniques from across time. The armor before him is none he’s ever seen, most of it created with what he swears is impossible to preform
techniques.

The cookie's stomach is hollow like a saltshaker, crystals clattering around within softly when they step forward, monstrous hooves clicking the ground.

“You are kind.”

Pure Vanilla cranes his head upwards, unintentionally slightly shrunk back, a thick fog courses out from the armor's grooves, seeping downwards like a thick pool of satin silks.

A horse's hooves thunder distantly. “I-I… thank y-“

“You are also foolish. A king for the jester.” Sharp, curt, they cut him off when the blonde goes to accept the previously kind words, metal gleams as the towering visitor leans down, face to face. They stare at each other, the looming helmet slowly tilting like a predator sizing up a prey animal.

Until they stand fully, back up to a towering height to nod once in acknowledgement. “Your friends call.” From the fog, a horse leaps, pure ebony and flames of salt and glass, rearing up as Pure Vanilla stumbles back, guarding himself with a wing. When he looks back up, they have mounted the steed, like a horseman of the dead, their veil slips back over their features like a solemn chrysalis.

The horse is unlike any he’s ever seen, huge, neighing and stamping a hoof, salt and crystal mixed with spiritual fire lighting its body while ancient wounds and arrows mark its body.

Previously thundering, as the horse turns in one fluid motion, the fog swallows it and any sound its hooves may have made, fog seeming to follow it off into the woods, leaving nothing but crystalized flowers, not even hoofprints in the ground.

Gone without a trace.

“Pure Vanilla!” Faint, the second the fog clears, numerous voices all seem to appear, Clotted Cream and Financier followed by Madeline as they break brush, “Your majesty!” Quick as always, the paladin rushes forward to lift Pure Vanilla, the other two coming to fuss.

“There you are! We’ve been calling for ages!” Clotted Cream brushes grass and moss from the healer, who just stares out into the retreating fog with a confused tilt of his head, “What? N-No I’ve been here this whole time-“

“Its time to leave, the ships are ready and the beast is secured, your majesty.” Financier fully props him up, all while the other two help and begin to guide him away from the grave site, “We were seeking you to depart, light forbid, what happened to you?” The consul chimes as they walk.

If the kingdom was bustling before, it's now electric, the fae are utterly delighted by the airship where it has docked, playfully fluttering around while Creme Republic guards look bewildered.

Even though some do seem strangly… fearful.

Odd.

“Pure Vanilla Cookie!” Both Hollyberry and Dark Cacao greet him, the latter coming to scoop him into a hug as soon as he’s close enough. “My friends!” Before he can escape one hug, he’s dragged into another by Hollyberry, “Goodness! You look like you got trampled by a beast!”

Ever-joyful, she always brightens his mood, combing through his hair while Dark Cacao's dragons playfully bump to curl up his staff, coiling around the orchid to play and snap at it while it bristles.

“Now Hollyberry, manners.” The normally bitter-king hums, softening his tone when Clotted Cream busies himself with the airship itself. “He’s already in for a rough ride… this continent is not forgiving to those entering or escaping.”

Hollyberry tilts her head, beetle-horn glittering in the light before she grins, scooping Pure Vanilla up into her arms to practically steal him away, strutting up into the airship and whistling while looking around the top deck.

He laughs, spun and carried like a bride being carried through a newlyweds home, “My! Spacy!” The ship is, admittedly, larger, sturdier, and clearly heavily weaponed and armored. Dark Cacao follows, new, draconic claws clicking the ground when he walks as his tail swishes.

“The Republic insisted. It has its own magic dampening system even to keep the beast contained. Supposedly it's strong enough to hold a dragon.” He inspects the ship, cautious while Hollyberry gently sets Pure Vanilla down.

“I just hope THIS trip won't end with my airship getting attacked. These wings aren't quite ready to catch my fall-Oh! The children!”

Instantly, before he even has a chance to start his panicking, Dark Cacao gently lifts him by his hood, “Are sleeping down below. Hollyberry wore them out with her “tales of the red dragon”… which I still believe may have been too graphic.” A scoff escapes the berry-cookie while she leans over the railing.

“And I suppose your tale of the giant cookie eating silkworm-spider was more suitable?”

Staff's eye widening, Pure Vanilla practically yelps, “What!?” That draws a good laugh out of both parties. “Dont fret, I entertained them with a more tame story, now. Speaking of rest…”

A shadow looms over him, before Hollyberry snatches him up again, grinning when he flaps his wings and yelps, “Holly!” She just bumps their cheeks together, grinning, and even when he looks pleadingly towards Dark Cacao for support, the twin dragons he has snatched up the blondes orchid staff.

“My apologies, Pure Vanilla… there is nothing I can do to stop her.” Squirmy, Pure Vanilla looks like a wet cat in her arms, suddenly realizing perhaps why Shadow Milk enjoyed being held when he was in his time as Truthless Recluse.

Yea. He’s not getting out of it. Doomed to be put to bed.

What a way to go.

“Holly! I have to speak with Clotted-“ He’s squished up against Hollyberries chest as she opens the door to one of the private rooms, warm and cozy with airship-specific furnishings that remain steadfast even through turbulence. “Oh-ho! Fancy indeed!” He’s dumped gently onto the bed, and both twin dragons slither to lay across his body, purring and pinning him down.

Hollyberry hums, fluffing the pillows while Dark Cacao gently removes Pure Vanilla’s hood and thicker robes, dragons helping to cuddle up against his turtleneck,”Honestly, I can undress m-mysel-hey!” The white dragon licks his cheek gently, chuffing and speaking in dragontoungue, something that makes Dark Cacao nearly smile.

Blankets are practically dumped over him and his serpentine captors, Hollyberry finally crawls into bed alongside him, resting atop the sheets as opposed to getting in, something Dark Cacao mimics when he joins.

Squished between his beloveds, there's not much room to argue or squirm, head drooping sleepily when Hollyberry starts to brush his hair tenderly. Strands are picked through, then braided when she hands them off to Dark Cacao.

“We’ll handle things.” He reassures, smiling, still a strange thing to see the usually stony king do, but it makes Pure Vanilla beam with a smile. “The time to rest is upon you. You’ve avoided this like the plaugue…”

That causes Pure Vanilla to fluster a bit, stammering, before just sheepishly looking down. Hollyberry laughs, pulling him tight to squeeze him and settling down, close to her chest and cozy.

His eyes droop faster than he can even process, comfortable and loved.

It feels right.

°•°•°•°

 

Hooves thunder closer, rapid and sharp as the spectral steed neighs and clatters, rider dismounting when it slows to perfectly go into a bow, deep and low, his veil swishes.

“They leave, My Light.”

She stands, firm and tucking the leafy robes and veil she bears to guard her form, matching his own, save for the intricate lacing and beading of gemstones across the shoulders.

Low, his voice is soft, bowing to be lower than her while he speaks, her own eyes narrowing at the airship docks, watching how everything bustles with an aching heart. “And he is free of any hex? Any illusion that causes this… unwise choice?” Her wings flutter, voice full of trepidation while they catch light, beautifully transparent like gummies, her antennae twitch.

“None. The jester's magic is weak. He could not conjure such twisted magic even if he wished to. Your friend's poor choices are his and his alone.” Blunt as always, she shakes her head at him, sighing. “I’m sorry I had to send you… they would have felt me.”

“I do not mind, I follow your command, My Light.”

The visitor stands fully back up to height, tilting his head skyward before stepping over, tail lifting to shield her just as rain starts to patter down gently. “If you desire, I will kill the jester quickly before they leave. It would be fast and silent.” Her eyes widen.

Despite a moment of contemplation, she just sighs, looking up at him with a shake of her head, “No. No… as much as I detest him, his existence is not ours to dictate.” The visitors whiskers twitch unhappily, and his armor rattles much like a snake, albeit softly, but he relents.

Deep, he sighs, “…As you wish. Your friend's self-care leaves much to be desired, and his company choice is poor.”

Soft, a smile crosses her lips at that comment, breaking tension rapidly, she shifts, holding a lily to her chest while she sighs and exhales.

“That sounds like Pure Vanilla.” Longingly soft, she lets it go, watching the flower glide away on strong winds, eyes focused on the blonde as he’s lifted, carried below deck while Hollyberry laughs, loud enough she can still hear it.

“And of the shield-bugs parasite?” Purple eyes narrow beneath his helmet when the visitor watches Hollyberry, looking downwards for guidance, softening when she raises a hand in a placating manner. “Her, I worry less about. She’s set firm boundaries that her… problem… seems to be abiding.”

Thunder rumbles from deep out across the ocean, like the sea itself is angry, but she knows better. She knows dark clouds, concentrated eternally like a shroud, mean no good.

The visitor chuffs, armor rattling while the fan-tails on his tail spread out like an umbrella to keep her wings dry, “I just hope your friends know what seeds they’ve planted in their garden.” She frowns, head tilting downwards with a worried, discontent sigh.

“So do I.”

Chapter Text

The Fount loves his job.

“Fount of Knowledge… do my crops need to be necessarily planted IN soil?”

Of course he does. Cookies ask all kinds of questions, his Spire flourishes, he is alone, but happy. There is no reason for him to want anything more or less.

“Oh wise emissary! Every night, does the sun leave us because it hates us?”

He couldn't be happier, fulfilling his duty, sitting day-in, day-out and answering every. Single. Question.

“Beacon of Knowledge, why do my housemates keep telling me I need to clean up after myself?”

Every. Single. One. Force, no not force. Put on a smile, be polite, kind, meek. Give the cookies what they want and help shape their lives, fulfill his duty. At the end of it all, he can speak with his creators!

“One of knowledge unending… my son has fallen ill. He was within a sparring match with my neighbors child, and a small nick has developed into an infection.”

That one gets his attention, snapping out of the near-mechanical daze he allows himself to fall to, the virtue stands straight and proud, ethereal wings gently flapping, “Oh dear… are you in need of assistance finding the correct medicine? I can of cours-“

He doesn't get to finish, cut off like he isn't even speaking, “I would be correct to retaliate with force towards my neighbor, correct?” He freezes. Blinking, there's an actual moment where he attempts to consider if the cookie before him is actually asking such a tone-deaf question.

“What… no!” Too much emotion comes out, and he has to rapidly correct himself, clearing his throat and calmly straightening out, “I mean. It would be most unwise. Children's play and fate are no reason-“

“It was a deliberate attack on my family, I know of it.” Despite his attempts to calm, the cookie seems to grow agitated with his answers, frowning, “You’re supposed to know all, how can you not see that?” Arms folding, they scowl at him, an expression that sparks an odd, uncomfortable feeling in The Fount.

The argument is thankfully cut short, but not exactly by some saving grace, instead by other cookies clamoring for time to have their own questions answered, butting in despite The Founts attempts to focus and answer.

“Why do I get sick from drinking water-“

Even-toned and calm, the virtue articulates,“I understand it may seem to be a deliberate turn of fate, but I recommend-"

“Why can birds fly but we cant-“

That uncomfortable feeling mounts in his chest, “-taking a step back and seeing things from a-“ Yet another question cuts him off.

“If you’re so all knowing and powerful, how come you can't answer multiple questions at once!”

It feels like someone is pulling wire taught, tighter and tighter while he has to balance, smiling and forcing words out through gritted teeth, “-more logistic view.” The answer does not seem to please the cookie, squinting up at him with a near sense of disappointment.

Like he’s nothing more than a book telling him information he doesn't wish to hear.

“Some help you are, how can you even claim to help my family when you have none?...”

His pointed ears tilt, pinning back sharply while his feathers ruffle, clouds in his hair becoming slightly stormy, something he has to near-instantly clear up and mask.

But they’re right. It hits him awfully, like a freight train, the realization only sinking in as he looks around. The cookies around him have families, siblings, relatives, loved ones.

Uncomfortable pain strikes his chest, right under the lock embedded in his chest. Not that he can do anything about it.

Just smile. Be nice. Be helpful. After all, The Fount loves his job, and cookies love him.

He’s happy.

 

°•°•°•°

 

He’s not coming back.

Black Sapphire has to practically cling to Candy Apple as she wails and cries, squirming and biting to be freed like a small dog. Black Sapphire deeply wishes she had never SEEN Shadow Milk biting, now its her go-to.

“Put me DOWN! MASTER SHADOW MILK NEEDS US!” Her cries are piercing, loud enough his staff winces as Candy Apple thrashes and bats at the radio hosts face. “Candy Apple Cookie! There's nothing we can do!” His pleas go uncared for.

She kicks, running to scrabble to the window in an attempt to leave, “We should be out THERE! Not-“ Grabbed again, Black Sapphire scoops her up, wincing as she wails.

She's going to draw unwanted attention, and he’s already frightened of the new chain of command he’s found himself in.

That they all are.

Cloud Haetae is curled up in a ball under the bed in the large dorm they’ve all been forced to share, door locked as Nutmeg Tiger sits patiently before it, ears pinning while Candy Apple cries. Pavlova just sits on the top bunk of one of the beds, facing away and tucking his wings to himself, tied together with magic vines Dark Enchantress had crafted.

They’re sitting ducks.

Stuck. Trapped. Waiting. Stripped from their masters. Masters Black Sapphire hasn't heard head or hindleg from. A sapphire bat squeezes through the window, squeaking and shaking its head no when he glances pleadingly for any sign of the beasts.

“Shut. Her. Up!” Snapping, Nutmeg Tiger roars, standing fully and nearly pouncing on the two, “Its YOUR masters fault this happened! That ignorant FOOL-“ Black Sapphire fully spreads his wings, making her back down as he puffs to his full height.

“You should know better than to blame ONE of our masters. I didn't see Burning Spice carrying any new souljam in as quarry. Only new scars.” Fury courses through the general, and she visibly has to hold herself back from pouncing again.

Soft whines come from beneath the bed, Cloud Haetae slowly tucking themselves further back and cuddling up to the small bundle of silk Mystic Flour had wrapped for them before having to surrender them. With a firm kick, Candy Apple dislodges herself, stamping and yelling, “Why are we even listening to that old coot! She's not our master!”

“She is now.” Pavlova finally pipes up, soft and drooping his strawberry-meringue ears, quiet, he still refuses to turn around. Uncomfortable silence hangs after that, Candy Apple visibly deflates while Nutmeg Tiger tucks her ears down.

Black Sapphire tenses. He hears heels. Clicking, slow, methodical, his bat-ears shoot up like radars, and Nutmeg Tiger instantly notices, backing away from the door steadily. “What do you hear.” Despite just fighting, she stands by him, protective and sitting in a pose ready to strike.

“Hear what!?” Candy Apple pipes up, skittering about trying to crane her own ears to no luck, shushed by the radio host softly, he murmurs.

“Heels. Short. Made of… wood or bone.” Tilting and twitching, he takes off his earrings to hear better and less restrict. “Cant you echolocate?” He rolls his eyes at that, “Not with how far they are. And do you really want to be close when I screech?”

After a moment's thought, she relents to that thought, puffing up her fur and sniffing the air, “I smell fruit. Bitter. Not sweet.” The closer they get, the more unsettled they all grow, Candy Apple quickly skittering to hide under Black Sapphire's wings and peeking out.

The noxious, deep-red, thorny chains that bind across the door slowly melt away, the door itself opening via shadowy hands as heels click. Pomegranate Cookie.

The horn atop her head glows, like a beetle or unicorn, and she holds her mirror like its a clipboard, a smaller, transparent cookie following along behind her. They wobble, made of jelly and happily trotting along while chewing their own sleeves.

Pomegranate merely looks up from her mirror, looking through the room and surveying like they’re livestock.

“You.”

Black Sapphire's ears drop when she fixates on him, languidly tilting her head as she speaks in an all-too-smug tone. “You’re first.” First? That makes his stomach drop. First for what? Upon his hesitation, she snaps, like he’s a dog, and Black Sapphire has no choice but to hesitantly step forwards while Candy Apple shrinks back, hiding behind Nutmeg Tiger.

His heels click the ground, stance confident even as Pomegranate leads him out of the room, vines rapidly regrowing on the door to slam it shut behind him. “As I’m certain you know, you obey Her Darkness now.” A statement. A fact. There's no room for doubting or attempting to contradict her.

The halls are endlessly tall and dark, too many sounds reverberate for Black Sapphire to be able to single out just one to focus on, “As such, consider yourself property, as we all are.” The clear-cookie lags behind, pace slowing to walk alongside Black Sapphire, they look up at him and offer what they appear to have been munching on.

It's a rock.

“Property has function. We have purpose, fail to fufill your purpose, and there is no use for you.”

They come to the end of the hall, a massive elevator prying its doors open to reveal the elevator within, shaped like a birdcage, she practically pushes him to enter, standing alongside him and snapping to make the jelly-cookie follow.

Rumbling. The chains that hold the cage up rattle as they start to descend, clanking and the grinding of gears ominous while sinking deeper and deeper into the depths. Unusually, it gets warmer the further down they go, hotter and hotter, like he’s plummeting straight down back into the oven.

“You speak when spoken to. You do not touch anything. When someone asks you for something, you do it. Failure to comply will not only cost your freedoms, but that brat that tags along with you.”

Rage boils up in his chest, ears instantly pinning as Black Sapphire has to bite his tongue to not snap at her, something she picks up on and just sweetly smiles. “What? You two are a package deal. Consider it this way, your mistakes are hers, hers are yours.” A small ding, unbefitting of the monstrous contraption he’s trapped within, rings out.

Opening to what might actually be hell.

Machinery clanks and blares, pipes and tubings running all across the hallways as workers dressed in lab gear bustle about.

He hates this place.

The Laboratorium.

Months spent curled up beside a creation chamber, waiting and hoping for Shadow Milk to wake up. Just to lose him again. Machines blare with alarms, and a sinking feeling creeps to his stomach as they walk further in, ovens roar with an unholy fire that should not be tampered with, yet it is.

Scientists scrabble to escape the scorn of Pomegranate, skittering out from their way as Black Sapphire and the jelly cookie follow along, though the latter seems much happier, waving playfully to workers as they pass.

The main atrium bustles with life, however stolen it may be, and Black Sapphire cant help but pin his ears back as a booming voice calls out. “Prep Mixer 12! I need cultures from the nursery! Take the last batch out now!” Butter Roll.

An utter monster of a cookie, both in size and in power, yet frighteningly joyful at all times. His scorpion tail swishes, lions-paws silent as he stands on a catwalk overseeing production.

Only to spot them instantly.

“Pomegranate! Took you long enough!” Like it doesn't matter, he tosses his whisk down, leaping over the rail in one fluid motion, landing and catching the whisk before it can hit ground, all FAR too quick for a cookie his size and strength.

All the usual suspects fill the lab, workers Black Sapphire recognizes, Matcha skitters about, cleaning and snagging discarded dough.

There's an unusual, missing character. The necromancer that's normally glued to Butter Roll is nowhere to be found. Odd. “It's Pomegranate Cookie, to you. And I was stopped by Agar Agar.” Pomegranate narrows her eyes, but avoids directing her temper to the gelatin cookie, who has already scrabbled over to attempt to climb the scientist's tail.

How she's not scared of him, Black Sapphire has no clue.

Golden eyes snap to him. “Perfect. You brought him!” When he grins, every last fang is visible, the expression clearly supposed to be reassuring. It is not. They speak as if he isn't even there. “Yes, yes, I fetched him. Where is Her Darkness?” That's a question Black Sapphire does not entirely want to know the answer to, visibly shrinking back slightly and curling his wings around himself.

That does not stop Butter Roll from gently taking one, spreading it and beginning to inspect Black Sapphire while he jolts.

Man he can move fast.

“She’ll be out, we got a concentrated batch from the red one. He’s in cold storage to calm down… did you know centipedes go into hibernation and their bodies shut down from the cold? I do now!”

The unbridled, neverending positivity makes Black Sapphire cower, snapping when Butter Roll attempts to stretch out his wings fully, “Alright alright… no need to get snippy. Let's start the inspection.” Before he can even think to fly off, run, or open a portal, Butter Roll grabs him by the scruff of bat-fluff he has, lifting and careless as he thrashes and squeaks.

He’s tilted, inspected for any weapons or injuries, “E-EXCUSE M-“ Completely, he’s silenced. Physical, it feels like a hand clamping over his mouth as Pomegranate's horn glows, clearly casting some kind of spell to quiet him before he even gets a chance.

“Did I not warn you? Speak when spoke-“ Whatever she was going to hiss at him is stopped as Butter Roll sets him back down and laughs, “Oh! My manners, now now Pomegranate Cookie. Can’t blame him!” If she could, her scowl would no doubt be burning straight through both of them.

At the very least, Butter Roll grants him a decent berth of space while gesturing for them both to follow, using his tail to lift Agar Agar, who happily hangs off the stinger as if it's NOT a steak-knife sized venomous syringe.

Only a few scientists approach, asking questions that are answered in near a few seconds, going deeper and deeper until they reach a partitioned-off area, like a medical examination tent. “I just have a few questions, need a jam sample, magic sample, and you’ll be on your way!” The curtains swish open, a cold, strangling feeling creeping up Black Sapphire's throat at the contents within the area.

“Now Pomegranate, I’ll have to ask you to stay outside for this!… you too Agar Agar.” Surprisingly gentle, the blonde sets the smaller cookie down. gently patting her head when she tries to grab at him, only quieting when he pulls out and gives her a few jellies to snack on from his apron pockets.

All before rearing back up to his full height, ignoring Pomegranate's complaints,“Come along!” Neither get a say, it's much more of a declaration as the batlike cookie is dragged in.

Syringes, IV equipment, jars, a rather concerningly restraint-covered examination table, most concerningly, a large whiteboard in one of the corners by a cabinet. It's some kind of spreadsheet, showing “Subjects”, dough content, magic type, what animal features they present.

Subject “LC”, Licorice extract, dark magic. Ovenborn, displays mountain-goat traits, the only known cookie of this type seen since the extinction of the Cacao tribes. Viable.

Subject “RVC”, Cocoa powder and red dye, wild magic. Exhibits hound-traits and seems to be the offspring of an ovenborn experiment to mix cake and cookie. Viability questionable.

Subject “PMC”, toxic, formed from several mycelium types, shows poison dart frog traits, cookieborn via accident. Poor cognition and unawareness. Not viable.

Subject “AG”, Gelatin, obtains magic and traits via some form of consumption. Unsure of origin, shows traits of cookieborn, yet also displays contents of being ovenborn. Viable.

Subject “MC”, Matcha powder, unstable plant-based magic, shares draconic and horned traits from dough donor, ovenborn. Not viable.

Black Sapphire's ears droop, trembling, he’s not entirely certain what “Viable” means in such a context, but he does not wish to know. “Name?” Butter Roll cuts into his thoughts, walking over to the aforementioned board and unfortunately beginning to write.

“…B-Black Sapphire Cookie.”

Subject “BSC”.

The scientist hums, tilting his head as his ears flick, listening, “Ingredients known, or uncertain?" He really does not want to answer that. “Um. G-Grapes.” Glancing up, the look he’s getting is slightly probing, and he picks up on the silent question quickly, “Sweet sapphire variety. Also called moondrops.”

“Perfect!”

Sweet Sapphire grapes.

Each new bit of information is slowly added, like a stake driving into the ground, the radio-host nearly jolts as Butter Roll walks over, taking his arm and pulling out a small, clear gemstone, setting it against his dough before he can complain or squirm.

It thrums, a strange, not painful sensation shooting up his arm, like a bee buzzing against his dough, and the gem turns a deep, near-black purple, held up so the director can inspect it. “Certiantly dark magic. Not quite dark moon… odd! I figured you would inherit the beast's magic!” Chirping, Butter Roll hums and walks to open a drawer.

It's padded. containing a slot for the gem, alongside what has to be at least 10 others in similar slots.

Words finally register, and Black Sapphire squints, “W-What… the master and I are not related. Not-“ His face is grabbed as he talks, mouth opened so the scientist can inspect his teeth and curiously question, “Really? How odd! Are you certain? You both exhibit similar traits, connected magic, wings aren't common!”

He can't get a word in, inspected and prodded, yelping softly when Butter Roll manages to sneak a sample of his jam, ears pinning back, “Eye shape, body frame, wing placement, you’re both even fruits!” Relentless, the blonde doesn't let up, dissecting each feature while carefully putting the jam sample in a cooler.

Agitation wins, and Black Sapphire finally snaps, squirming and hissing, “We are NOT related. The master can't even have childre-“ He snaps his mouth shut.

Butter Roll instantly perks up, ears popping upwards in curiosity, and a fascinated glow appears across him, like a child in a toy store, “Really! How strange!” He’s said too much. Frozen, Black Sapphire just covers his mouth, mentally berating himself for falling to questioning that easily.

“Suppose that strikes out one of my theories! How odd though, he does seem to display a strong paternal and maternal bond towards you. Possibly a result OF that inability!” Completely oblivious to the other cookies turmoil, Butter Roll just happily begins to write something down on a clipboard, before moving onto the board.

Subject “BSC”, sweet sapphire grapes, dark magic, closely related to dark moon but just shy. Possibly changed by the presence of such magic throughout the subject's life. Displays fruit bat traits, and has fully developed wings.

Then, the word that makes his stomach sink is etched into the board.

Viable.

“I’ll have to devote research to this… but I shouldn't keep you! I have all I need.” Black Sapphire just trembles, not only at his own mistake, but that word. Viable. Like a curse, it plagues him.

“Pomegranate! Help Black Sapphire here back up to his room, please. It was wonderful to meet you!” Grinning, happy, Butter Rolls words barely even enter his mind, his focus on one thing.

Viable.

Not that he gets a chance to focus on it. Not when horns peek through the curtains, swished open with a monstrous fork as hooves click against cement. “Ah! Your Darkness!” Black Sapphire completely freezes.

She stands there, scouring the room, slowly stalking forward like a lion and lifting a single hand when Butter Roll opens his mouth to speak, “Leave. Only for a moment, rest assured. I need to have a chat with one of our newest members.” Her eyes are fixated, straight at him.

There's something deeply off about her.

Her horns now spiral, hooves sharper, claws and what look almost like scales have begun to show on her hands. Narrow slits replace her pupils, unnatural, a trait very few cookies have.

Butter Roll blinks, ears drooping like a kicked puppy, before he slowly leaves, any warmth he had brought with him is sapped the second he leaves. Alone with her now.

Dark Enchantress tilts her head, posture slowly regaining its humanity, formal and proud, she takes steady steps towards him. “Alone again… are we?” Her words are almost frighteningly sweet, dipped in honey all the while she stalks behind him, too frozen to even turn and watch her while she stops at the board.

“Its not the first time you’ve been abandoned by him.”

The nerve she has causes his ears to pin straight back. SHE harmed him. SHE sent the other beasts to maul him like a chew-toy. Claws rest on his shoulder, threatening to sink in but never quite. “Master d-did not abandon us.” It's a bold move, daring to speak up, but thankfully, it's one that does not result in repercussions.

“Is that so? How… deluded. Such is to be expected from a cookie whose life has revolved around abandonment.”

His eyes narrow, expression stony, “I’m not sure what you mean.” The radio host nearly hisses his words, scowling, the pit in his stomach opens up to a chasm as she speaks again.

“Abandoned at a… what was it. Altar? Taken in by a virtue? Only to have that same virtue abandon you again and leave you with a monster. Even then, the monster abandoned you, and that time, with a baby.”

How does she know any of that.

Instantly, he rears up, snarling and entering a combative state, ears fully pinned and sharp as he snaps, “Excuse me!? Who on Earthbre-“

Claws wrap around his neck.

“Unfortunate, that neither beast nor virtue seemed to teach you manners.” Dark Enchantress just sighs, like she’s scolding a child, claws tightening around his neck even as the air snaps from his lungs. He kicks, squirms, claws at her hand desperately.

It does nothing.

The sorceress tilts her head, tightening her grip more and more, “You think I didn't take the chance to prod around within those idiots minds while they slept? I’m no old fool. Your “master” granted me all the knowledge I needed and more.” Panic, pure panic encompasses him, unable to get any air, a terrible pressure forms, like a headache through his entire body.

“I know you were unwanted. Abandoned. Given several chances to leave the fool's side. Yet you didn't. When you and the brat showed up in the lab, I couldn't wrap my head around how a cookie could return oh-so-easily to protect.”

Static creeps in the corners of his eyes, the pressure nearly painful, hands going slack at his sides while she just talks.

“I got curious. Then I realized, once he woke, that the bond you two shared was not some simple loyalty. No, it was familial. Familial to something long gone, to someone who would never protect or come to save you.” Slow, she eases up just enough to allow him air, intentional in how little he’s able to get.

If he thought he had a sinking feeling, it opened from a chasm to a gaping wound in the earth, especially as her words begin to drop, harsher, losing their odd sweetness. “There's something wonderful about familial bonds..”

They’re eye-to-eye, her grip instantly tightening back until Black Sapphire's vision slowly begins to blur, fuzz, static.

“They’re exploitable.”

All before fading to black.

 

°•°•°•°

 

“Sugar?”

“Yes, Berry?” Beautiful wings flap, iridescent and catching the light as she sits, dressed like a goddess in a perfect pose across a cloud-couch as The Fount paints her.

They are within The Spire, the tallest tower, The Founts own personal observatory and library, a special place that only the virtues are allowed in. A perfect, almost intimate space they can share.

Milk-pillars stretch up, a domed roof that opens up with magic allowing starlight to be cast into the room while towering bookshelves carry special tomes and studies.

“Have you ever thought of having a family?”

The Herald twitches his ears where he rests, four of the virtues all gathered in one place to spend time together, he lays to envelop The Prophet with his fiery mane and many arms while she weaves something from silk.

He’s shy in his questioning, feathers dipping into the watercolor paints he uses to create a scene of The Bringer, “I suppose the question abides to all of you.” The Saint hums, eyes closed, indicating she’s listening, slowly moving and supporting herself with spidery claws as she sits up.

“… That's… a good question.” She always speaks so softly, head tilting gently and frail limbs resting against The Herald's own, smiling when his antennae gently twitch to pat her face, an affectionate gesture. Angelic, the sugary cookie he had addressed tilts her head in curiosity, tapping her cheek in thought with beautiful, nearly crystalline nails.

Slow, a smile begins to spread across her face, loving, her fluffy halo shimmering while she fawns over the idea, “Oh Berry… I must admit, perhaps I have. A hatchling of my own…OUR own, a little being to bring happiness eternal?” Sugary sweet, her wings start to flap in joy, only quelled when The Fount playfully gestures to the canvas, attempting to continue painting.

A rumble of a pleased sound comes from The Herald, mandibles clicking in interest, “A being of change. Endless opportunities and boundless paths to take in their lives.” He rumbles a purrlike sound when The Saint gently bumps their foreheads together.

“Oh could we even do such a thing?” The Bringer clasps her hands together, head tilted and pouting sweetly, her excitement palpable as she flutters and stands, unable to remain seated any longer, “Oh, Berry! Couldn't you ask them, our godly creators?”

There goes trying to paint her.

Before he gets a chance to say anything, she lifts him like he’s a cat, spinning and holding him up by under his arms, “Oh please oh please oh please?~” Laughter comes from the other virtues at the scene, The Herald barking out a laugh and grinning.

“Sugar! You’re going to shake the starlight outta his hair!… Though I will admit, perhaps… you could commune?” A nod follows from The Saint, although she is silent, there's a quiet pleading.

All eyes are on him, lifted up in the air and dangling by the pink-cookies soft grip, a quiet excitement none dare break as he thinks, before nodding. “Oh but of course…” Instantly, The Bringer giggles, kicking her birdlike legs and cooing, “Oh! Berry! Wait! Let's make it a surprise!"

The Herald tilts his head, chuffing and letting his tail swish curiously, “A surprise?" Unintentionally, he and The Fount speak at the same time, but The Saint instantly seems to pick up what The Bringer is saying.

“A suprise… We could get everything ready. A little nursery…” Her multiple arms pull brilliant silk from the air seemingly, weaving and creating a delicate little blanket, “A garden for them to play in!” The Bringer pipes up, fluttering her wings and spinning The Fount into a hug.

“Endless entertainment… the chance to watch history and its tides…” The Herald grins, the idea more and more lovely by the second as they all pipe in with their ideas, “Oh Salty will love this!” The saccharine virtue finally sets The Fount down, only to tug all four of them into a pile to squeeze them, “I’ll send a dove as soon as I can! Oh I simply can't wait!”

Flowers, delicate moss-roses sprawl up and bloom in shades of pink, purple, and blue around her as she chirps, matching the energy of all of them tenfold.

The Fount has to admit, it's beyond exciting, and they’ve done everything the witches asked for, every duty fulfilled, every cookie they meet fulfilled and happy.

Why on earthbread would the answer ever be no?

 

°•°•°•°

 

Something bumps.

Shadow Milk scowls, curling inwards and growling lightly, shifting and attempting to get comfortable, stretching out his paws and-

He’s not where he thinks he is.

Eyes snap open, and his entire body goes rigid, ruffles spiking up like a spooked cat to mimic the way his hair does the same.

Right. Another bump, and Shadow Milk finally raises his head, ears drooping sluggishly. He’s drained. It feels like someone dropped a cinderblock on him. An attempt to get up is instantly stopped as his hands give out, back paws unable to support themselves either and sliding back.

He feels eons worse than he did when he was last awake. Hunger, cold, aches, the beast lets his head droop downward, resting on the floor, this is about the ONLY time he actually WANTS Pure Vanilla to get his ass in here to do anything.

There's not much he can do on his own.

Pointed ears twitch, tilting slowly while he lays limp and inhales, fine-tuning and mentally mapping out what he can sense. Definitely midair, the airship is oddly fuzzy, incredibly difficult to map out, but he can sense at least one cookie near.

Sniffing the air, ugh. Light magic. Cream-based. Tilting his ears, he can just barely hear they’re talking to someone or something he cant sense.

“—sleeping. No, I k—but—decision.” The stupid airship engines make it incredibly difficult to hear properly, but they do not sound happy. Quite worried actually. “You’ll be t—to the Republic? —help—trade route.” Eugh. A dignitary. Though, not the worst option.

They’re generally easy to scare into getting what he needs.

Footsteps creep closer, and clarity becomes further and further, allowing him to eavesdrop better, “The beast?… Sleeping. A mess though, the amount of magic coming off just from standing NEAR him is amazing.” A click, and a small slot, a peephole in the door, slides open, “But I shouldn't share much more. It's between myself and the king.”

Faint, the voice on his sending-stone crackles out, smooth, calm, masculine and playful, Shadow Milk can't quite put where he’s heard it before. “Now… Do you not trust me, dear?” The eyes in his hair creak open behind their binds, and he watches,

They’re a rather average cookie, blonde, green eyes, scent, faint sight, and sound creating somewhat of a vision of them. A sprawling, blonde peacock tail drags behind them, matching the crest of feathers atop their head and the ring of neck feathers they have.

“What? No, no, no I trust you.” Desperate, the way he backpedals is near-instant, visibly shrinking and drooping like a scolded puppy.

This one is easy.

He can already tell, needy for approval, uncertain, desperate for praise. Shadow Milk knows his type all too well. They’re easy. “Look, I'll tell you later. His majesty is resting and we’re about to hit rough weather.”

“And of the others?” A deep sigh escapes the blonde at the question, slowly unlocking the door inside while murmuring, “His majesty Dark Cacao stayed alongside her majesty Hollyberry, her radiance Golden Cheese was not keen to say goodbye, something about it being difficult.” Play dead.

The beast completely goes limp, putting on a perfect act and looking as dead as possible, but the cookie just passes by him, crouching with his back turned to rummage through a cabinet. “I don't think Dark Cacao much likes me… he seems the kind to hold a grudge.” Dry, humorless laughter comes from the stone, bitter almost but never losing its smooth edge.

“Oh he is. You should have seen how he parente-.”

Now or never.

Shadow Milk digs his claws into the ground, jolting his entire body forwards to lunge and maul, back claws scrabbling-

And slipping.

The blonde cookie panics for a moment, jolting back completely and slamming into the cabinets, slamming them shut as they lock with magic, medical supplies sprawled out.

Dizzy. Confused. Heavy. Pain. A whole myriad of influences sway and cause the beast to topple lopsided, clawing the ground and struggling as his paws kick the air.

He’s barely even made it a foot, snarling and biting while the blonde cookie visibly relaxes. He can barely move. Heaviness coats his limbs like lead weights, senses dulled and weak, he can't even lift his upper body without collapsing to snarl again.

“I-I’ll speak later. He’s up.” Fear. Sensing it brings joy to the pit in the beast's chest, growling loudly as the cookie slowly starts to creep around him back towards the door. “Back. Stay. Down.” Three commands. Three strikes that enrage Shadow Milk, and he hurls himself back up to lunge.

Crashing again with all the elegance of a stumbling fawn.

Pain splits up his side, an agonized yelp escaping him unintentionally as a burst of what can only be described as pure agony hits him. Claws dig in, ripping open the jagged cuts in his jesters suit to expose the pained dough, squinting and curling to look at the cause of his pain.

The stitches have burst, but not only that, the wound itself looks foul, weeping thick, oily, blue-black substance that reeks like rotten blueberries. No. Shadow Milk slams his head back, panting and laying sprawled across the ground.

No need to panic. He’s fine. He’s the beast of deceit. What does he normally do when he gets injured?

Crawl to Mystic Flour and beg, whine, put on his sweetest eyes and most affectionate attitude.

Yea that's not an option.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn't wish it was. He’d be lying if he said he didn't want to curl up
beside her, wrapped in silk and enjoying healing dumplings, handmade and fresh from the steamer.

Even if the Haetae got the best ones first. Right now he wouldn't even mind sharing.

Paws kick out sluggishly in an attempt to find ground, but he’s twisted himself in an odd way, letting his head drop with a soft whine. All he needs is a little magic. Just a small amount. Anything to boost his metabolism or heal himself.

“Yes, I’m certain. He lunged at me like a feral-“ The doors swing back open, and this time, the blonde cookie is not alone. A guard stands beside him, feminine, long blonde hair and sharp eagle features. Her eyes instantly lock onto Shadow Milk, stance prepared to defend rather than fight. “Consul.”

Pausing in his tracks, the blonde freezes, stumbling back a bit while the beast lets out an audible, rattling hiss at both, an attempt to intimidate. “See. Very much awake.” Gesturing, the “consul” looks back at his guard, who stops him when he attempts to get any closer.

“Halt. We have no clue the radius his magic works at, or if he has any. Remain until I’ve surveyed the threat.” Well isn't she the life of the party. Her armored boots clink when she slowly steps closer, sword drawn cautiously.

A loud growl hisses out from him, and another feeble attempt to lunge just lifts his head only to thud back down. Despite his best efforts, Shadow Milk's entire body seems against him. The room is spinning.

Nausea urges bile to creep up his throat, thankfully held at bay by SOME merciful force. “Forgive me, Financier, but, “The threat” Does not look very…” The blonde trails off, speaking to, apparently, Financier.

The hell kinda name is that. What is she even made of? Added to the list of things that are currently irking Shadow Milk, he takes it as a chance to open-mouthed snarl at her.

“Threatening?… I concur. His body must be beginning the purge that comes with withdrawals.” Oh great. Does EVERYONE know that he’s apparently some wild addict. Addict. The word alone makes his jam boil and his mind seethe with a desire to let The Serpent loose on all of them.

Damn lazy snake. Only showing up when IT wants.

“Should we fetch his majesty? He should be rested by now.”

Rested? Considering the nightmarish state he last saw Pure Vanilla in, how damn long was he out? “That would be wise.” Pathetic, that he’s reached a point where the idea of Pure Vanilla coming to fix whatever is wrong with his side is somewhat welcome.

Somewhat. He’d still like to bite ahold and rip those stolen wings off with his teeth if he could. He could make him regret ever daring to entrap HIM. Blinking sluggishly reveals both somehow slipped away, the fog and fuzz in his brain feels wrong. There's a sense as well, some kind of connection he has that's repeatedly firing off alarms, but he can't focus enough to understand it.

Sniffing the air garners few results, but they’re worth it, head tilting slightly where he’s allowed it to rest on the floor as he listens in tandem.

Only to damn near get jumpscared by a gentle hand resting on his side. Shadow Milk snaps, growling and biting the air feebly, only to once again drop limp, barely even spooking Pure Vanilla. “Goodness. You’re going to hurt yourself…”

Disgusting concern is thick in the healer's tone, boundlessly sweet and patient, “S-Shut. U-Up.” He’s pained, snapping out the best he can and intentionally pinning his ears back to seem more intimidating.

Pure Vanilla frowns in concern, “Are you…”

“I s-swear to the w-witches if you ask if I-I’m alright I will rip y-your heart out and eat it while it's STILL BEATING. Fix. Me.”

That actually does spook Pure Vanilla, hand drawing away to guard his chest. Rapid breathing wracks the beast, sharp, while his body shakes, all small details the healer picks up bit-by-bit.

Pain is a clear feeling he can see, the beast visibly shaking and panting, but he’s completely ceased attempting to bite or attack. “Ok. Just. Don't bite me.” Pure Vanilla pleads softly, nudging and lifting the torn fabric that covers the beast's side.

Jam has formed a large, dark blue spot in the fabric around it, instantly drawing enough concern to cause him to use his wings to grab fresh supplies. “I wont… i-if you d-dont fuck up.” Even despite his situation, the beast still threatens and puffs up his ruffles defensively.

Gentle, wounds are tended to, and light magic he nudges forward simply glides over dough, before sliding off like water off a duck's back, refusing to sink into the wound. The spell or curse imbued into dough is stubborn, definitely from a cursed blade, but it's growing weaker without any magic to feed on.

Unfortunately, Shadow Milk is suffering the same consequences. Quiet, near-inaudible whines come from the beast, panting sharp and only stilling when Pure Vanilla presses a numbing spell into the area so he can work.

The wound does not look good, but when the blonde pauses, an actual snarl escapes Shadow Milk, “Work faster.” Snappy.

“You’re not exactly in a place to say things like that.” Pure Vanilla puts on an even, calm tone and expression, gently cleaning the strange, thick, almost black-blue ichor that weeps from the wound. That draws a scoff from the beast, followed by an indignant snort.

“Oh and whose fault may that be? Hm? Gnat.” The “T” is emphasized on the last word, guilt rearing its head in Pure Vanilla's mind. There's rage in the beast, clear and direct, but there's also fear, upset, something eating away at him.

If only he knew.

“How damn long was I out.” It's a demand of a question, Shadow Milk growling and attempting a weak snap at Pure Vanilla's hand, though it barely even counts as a snap. It's a tad bit of an awkward question, clearly making the blonde wince a bit and sheepishly murmur.

“We. We were out, and… two days?”

“TWO DAYS!? YOU SLEPT TWO DAYS!?” Dramatic, the raw amount of drama and shock from Shadow Milk is thespian in nature. Pure Vanilla instantly flusters, wrapping the last of the bandages and shooting back at the pure indignant reaction he’s gotten.

“You also slept!” That only makes Shadow Milk sprawl all the way out, paws stretching to where he can see the cyan pads they have, squirmy and growling. “Oh yea I wonder WHY I slept hm yes couldn't have been the HOLE IN MY SIDE!” He completely flops over.

“Well, we'll be in Crispia soon enough. You’ll have your own room and everything at the castle.”

Despite his smiles, the beast just shoots him the nastiest glare Pure Vanilla has ever seen, pointed ears completely pinning back like a cat as he hisses.

All before drooping back down, sluggish and seeming to nearly melt into the ground.

He looks certainly miserable, a lump on the floor of blue and black, completely drooping, before finally coming to settle as Pure Vanilla finishes up his work. “Everything will be ok…” He hesitates, reaching out to slowly attempt to brush through Shadow Milk's hair.

A soft growl comes at the touch, but he ensures to keep it brief, only fixing the jester's bangs to be out of his face.

Everything will be ok.

 

°•°•°•°

 

Drip.

Little beads, like glass or diamond. Every single one heavy on the leaves the rest on, slowly curling up together into one ball before gliding down.

They create a beautiful melody of pattering, soft and sweet.

The only thing sharing those traits, at the moment.

The Fount rests in a patch of dewy grass, inspecting and sketching the leaves and fruits of the bountiful harvest, but his hands feel heavy. Turmoil twists like a dagger in his heart, an unusual emptiness coiling around his every action.

How could he not have known.

How could they create him like this.

How could they not tell him.

His robes are wet with water droplets, and he hugs himself with a shuddering inhale, lifting a full leaf into the moonlight and examining the veining throughout the leaf. It doesn't matter how much he studies, how much he fills books with knowledge, how many questions he asks.

It feels like there's a hole in his chest.

The Bringer has shut herself in her garden. The Prophet mourns in her pagoda. The Herald has not been out of his temple for days. The Salt had treated the news as if it were casual, like the weather.

Distract himself, that's all he can do, keep his mind off the aching pit in his stomach, torn open by his meeting with the witches. Everything had been perfect, he had fixed so many issues, made them proud, brought them joy.

Faced them with unwavering certainty.

All to have his hopes ripped away.

Months spent decorating, researching, learning, sewing clothes and gathering materials, he and his fellow Virtues had been so excited. So ready. A nursery filled with the wonders of the world he’d help build.

He’d stood before them, beaming with pride and clasping his hands in prayer with a beaming smile. So excited, especially to tell Her, his main creator, a Witch of pure kindness, love, compassion. Beloved, she’s always the first to be there for him, to guide and help.

But she hadn't been there. The voices who had visited in the meeting nearly cold and clinical.

“You cannot bear a child.”

Words should not hurt like knives. The truth should not hurt that bad. Is that what he has been sharing? Is that what he has been “blessing” his followers with? A dagger to the stomach of painful knowledge?

He hasn't been back to the Spire since, instead spending his days these past weeks simply cataloging plants, claiming the entire mission as a simple foraging guide authoring experience.

The advisors and attendants that normally swarm him hadn't batted an eye. Much too busy attempting to get him to answer meaningless questions from cookies he’s supposed to unconditionally love and tend to.

Supposed to, being the key point.

Pointed ears twitch, the sound of shoes on cobblestone breaking the Virtue from his mourning. Nobody should be awake at this hour, especially not any of the grape cookies, skittish things, they tend to rumormonger at the scarcest sign of danger.

He’s had to be extra careful just in his crying, batlike ears pick up just about anything he says, and as torn as he may be, he does not wish to scare mortals from their normal lives.

What he hears, however, is not normal. Someone is walking through the square, towards the altars.

Altars set up for the Virtues, where the devout folk leave offerings, crafts, flowers, and harvests, all in hopes for blessings he’s normally all-too keen on granting.

The Fount stands, slow and careful, he takes the shape of a serpent, golden and blue scales glittering in the moonlight as he slithers onto the streets. Anything is better than staying in one place, trapped by his emotions.

The village is rustic, yet engrained in the growth and cultivation of grapes. Lazy stringlights glimmer like fireflies under his scales, grapevines sprawl up the posts and strings themselves, soft and healthy.

Definitely a grape cookie, his tongue flickers, he can smell them. Serpentine body gliding, he slithers up a lampost, past the lazily flickering lights to slink across a clothesline towards the building, a chapel.

The window is open, stained glass drinking up the light and spitting it out as a rainbow, depictions of the virtues sprawling out across the floors, only stopped by the dim candlelight around the altars.

No cookies. Odd.

There's a strange smell.

The Fount blinks, slowly slithering forward towards the altar, adorned in blue and gold, baskets, trinkets, flowers aplenty, he looks up at the holy image of a slumbering blueberry beholder, adorned with milkcrown flowers, his sigil.

They revere him, worship him like he does the witches, eyes gazing upon everything they’ve given up, just for him.

Guilt sinks into his chest. He’s not supposed to have emotions like that, he’s supposed to be perfect and do everything asked of him with a smile. All for nothing. Just looking at the offerings makes him feel sick. Like a fool.

He inhales.

The smell is sweet, odd, warm, like fresh bread, mingled with the smell of grapes that normally encapsulates the village. Serpentine, slender body shifting, he’s careful to not knock over any of the offerings while flicking his tongue to sense and seek.

He bumps a basket, pushing it and causing a few marbles to clatter down and spook him, instantly freezing and debating rushing down to stop their rolling when-

A sound.

Something soft, it cuts through the silence, coming from the woven basket he’d bumped upon the altar, made from dried grapevine and wrapped in a lovely dusty purple ribbon, embroidered grapevines twist along the silken fabric, shimmering like a fine mist in the candlelight.

The scent of grapes and dough is like a beacon, and his snout nudges, peeking, curiosity guiding him
closer to the basket.

Something grabs his nose.

The serpent freezes. Tiny hands cling to his snout, and as he pulls back, a small creature is tugged forward with him, letting out a coo as its head pokes out of the basket, still grabbing hold gently and just staring into his eyes.

It's a baby dough.

Ebony-purple hair, bangs that cover its little eyes, the biggest wings and bat ears he's EVER seen on a baby.

Normally, children scream or cry upon seeing his serpent form, skitter off to their parents and sob. It just stares.

And giggles.

Bubbly, curious and playful, it coos, grabbing his snout and tugging him close to cuddle like he’s a stuffed snake, like in this form, his head isn't big enough to easily eat the poor thing, hugging him and babbling.

The Fount blinks, stunned, a thousand emotions rush through his head all at once. Where are its parents? Who left it here? Who leaves a baby dough at an altar in the middle of the night!?!

Little fingers pat his snout, and the baby babbles away, cooing and trying to chew on one of the milkcrown shaped ridges atop his glittering scales, poor thing must be starved.

Ragged clothes, dirt and slight grime cover its dough, its hair is a messy mop of ebony and purple, covering eyes and almost its entire upper face.

Instincts completely guide him.

He transforms, body morphing until he’s at his full, towering height, two fingers still clasped ahold of in shaky little hands. Utter delight erupts from his new, tiny friend.

Its babbling only becomes more excited, and the Virtue has to stop it from actively falling out of the basket when it attempts to crawl towards him. Much like a bat, they have tiny claws on their wings, pattering and scrabbling towards him to hook like velcro into his robes.

“My stars! Careful… oh you poor thing.” They chirp and click like a baby bat as he scoops them up, claws latching when it attempts to crawl INTO one of his sleeves while lifting.

He keeps his tone soft to not scare them, squishing slightly chubby cheeks between two fingers and unable to stop the smile he lets out when they burst into giggles, soft, innocent sounds, the kind that makes his heart ache. “Where on earthbread did you come from?” Glancing around, The Fount can't find any evidence of another cookie having even been there beside the basket.

Ears flick, attempting to listen, copied by the bay dough as it flops the massive bat ears atop its head. There's nothing, not even the flap of wings or the patter of feet on cobblestone.

Completely abandoned.

Does he leave them? He’s not supposed to meddle in these types of mortal affairs, as such would be a distraction from his “duties”.

Two hands, warm, small, reach up, placing themselves on his forehead and reaching towards the marking on his forehead with a coo, patting the crown, before squishing his cheeks.

It looks at him, face to face.

Eye to eye.

It's so tiny. Leaving it would likely result in the small creature growing up in an orphanage, he shuts his eyes for a moment, doing a quick magic inspection to try and see if anything is wrong.

Only to find the likely source of the poor things abandonment.

Dark magic, or so it's called, a primitive way of thinking in his mind, their dough is saturated with it, and his heart breaks. There's little to no doubt they were left due to their attunement to such a dangerously regarded magic.

But how. How could anyone be so quick to judge? It's a known fact, dark magic is dangerous, but all magic is! To leave a baby just because of the contents of their dough?

Soft coos, the little thing is chewing on his starry hair, speaking some strange language he’s never heard that mainly consists of babbling, it must be the “baby talk” he’s read so much about.

He has duties. Things he must attend to. And the witches already said…

Well.

They only said he could not BEAR a child, and his eyes widen at the thought.

“Perhaps fortune has shown me her hand. What do you think… should I bring you with me?” Instant giggling and happy grabbing at his face when he asks, such a joyful little thing. “I suppose if you say so, you’re quite convincing.” He lifts the basket, tucking it under one arm while cradling the small cookie against his chest and standing, slowly walking out of the dim chapel and into the glittering moonlight, bathing both in beams of lunar rays.

It hangs in the sky, full, and the small cookie looks utterly bewildered, pointing up and saying some incoherent thing, earning a chuckle from the Virtue.

“Thats the moon… do you like it? I personally think it's rather lovely.” He brushes the hair out of the little things face, the ice that's been freezing his chest slowly melting at the glitter in deep violet eyes, completely fascinated by the world around him as they walk.

To see the world through such eyes would be a blessing, this little thing knows nothing, has seen nothing, yet…

Already, he can tell they have more wonder and curiosity than he’s ever felt.

For the first time in many centuries, he’s no longer truly alone when without his fellow virtues.

 

°•°•°•°

 

There are cookies in the atrium. Angry cookies.

Not just a small group, no. The entire town.

“You lied to us!”

Black Sapphire peeks out from behind The Fount as he stands tall, attempting to calm and listen, “Please, let us be calm. This is a place of learni-“ Shouts cover up any reasoning he may have attempted to have, and the virtues ears droop back as a cookie yells.

“You’re supposed to be all-knowing! All you do is give us stupid answers that barely make any sense! What are you even good for!?!”

Ears pin, sharp, and Black Sapphire cowers as The Fount fully spreads his wings, “Enough! I granted answers to the best of my ability!” That only fuels the fire. Like predators finding a weakness, they rip in.

“To the best of your ability!?! So you are just some old fool! You aren't some emissary!” Torches burn bright with flames, waved around and threatening to catch upon tapestries, “You’re nothing but a liar! A fool! We won't stand for it any longer!”

The shift is physical, and Black Sapphire yelps as he’s lifted in a sharp movement by the virtue, barely able to recognize that a few of the cookies had lunged, golden wings having to curl like a shield to block arrows as they fly.

They’re ravenous.

A shield is the only thing that saves them, The Fount turning and rapidly flying to escape deeper into the Spire, clinging and rushing as yells and riots fill the halls. Everywhere they turn, flames, arrows, swords, the smaller cookie nearly cries when a blade catches blue feathers, clipping them.

It's a miracle The Fount is able to dip into the grand ballroom, using a flurry of magic to seal off the door and windows before rushing. “Shh, dear. You need to be quiet. I’m sorry.” Rushed, his voice is full of panic, only really sinking in when he pushes over a painting.

It's no secret the Spire has hidden, tucked away hiding spots, and the one Black Sapphire is set into is one of the most hidden. Cold fear shoots through the grape-cookie, grabbing and attempting to cling as the doors visibly shake, the yelling is getting louder. “N-No! D-don't leave me! Plea-” Gentle, the virtue just shushes him.

“I know… I know.” Tears. They bead up from both cookies eyes, Black Sapphires gently wiped away as The Fount brushes his bangs back in place, “I’ll be right back… I just… I just need to talk to them.” Forcing a smile, the virtue looks physically pained, flinching as some of the barricade breaks.

In his distraction, Black Sapphire is gently set within the hiding spot, tucked away and cobwebs brushed to not touch him, "Don't make a sound. You’ll be… you’ll b-be just f-fine.” He doesn't get a chance to argue as the painting is gently shut, just enough to close, but not lock.

Crashing.

The yelling becomes too much as the sound of splintering wood and enraged cries pound through the painting, loud enough Black Sapphire has to cover his ears and curl into as tight a ball as he can.

He’ll be right back.

It will only take a second.

Windows smash, and a spine-chilling scream rings out, tears beading down the smaller cookie's face as he tries to shut it all out. Ignore it. Pretend he’s anywhere else, safe and sound.

The sounds travel, quieting, but for no good reason, moving like hounds on a fox hunt. It's not happening. Even as the smell of fire and blueberries mix, toxic and burnt, he has to pretend it's not happening. Pretend, for what feels like hours. Until they pass. Until they finish taking what they want.

Embers crackle.

Soft, they float through the air, singing away years, centuries of dedication. Books burn, discarded into piles, sorted between the “truth” and “lies” from angry, screaming crowds as they had stormed.

Once grand halls, filled with books, knowledge, lay reduced to rubble and trash, windows broken, milk-pillars cracked, deep blue jam seeps from within them as if the Spire itself is a gaping wound.

Fires still crackle away, only ceasing when rubble crushes them.

He’s unsure, hesitant, slowly taking his hands off his ears to attempt to listen. Silence, save for the crackle of rubble and fire. No more yells, no hunt.

Black Sapphire finally pushes away the painting, slashed open and torn, it had still kept him safe, sturdy backing barely ripped. It breaks the instant it hits the floor, causing him to flinch back and yelp softly.

Empty.

He’s never seen the Spire so empty. Stained glass, once beautiful, lays in shards as if something had crashed through it, crunching under his feet and hands while he crawls out.

“Master?” His calls ring, unanswered, milkcrowns litter the ground in a trail, one he desperately attempts to follow. Blue and gold feathers lay in smattering piles, stained with jam, the trail going deeper and deeper into the Spire.

Nothing survived. Apple trees are singed. Blueberry bushes uprooted and used as kindling, tapestries ripped and scavenged clean. They took everything they wanted, even useless things like the beautiful paintings his master had spent years perfecting.

Burned it all.

His footsteps are soft, finally peeking out behind a pillar as he reaches the riverfront, a special area with an apple tree that perches at the edge of the river, forbidden to be touched even by The Fount. The trail leads towards it, to a crumpled heap of mangled wings and torn robes, curled over and lifeless, once-flowing, ethereal hair lays cut in chunks around the scene.

Little footsteps patter, batlike ears drooping as Black Sapphire rushes over, pulling and tugging one of the wings that folds to guard The Fount.

Only for feathers to rip away in his hands.“M-Master?…” As hard as he tries to fight it, tears bead up, thick and watery, especially as one wing slowly unfurls, the sight one that could draw even a warrior to sickness.

The Fount lays, robes shredded, they’d tore even his decency away, barely anything left to cover him. spikes and arrows stick to his wings, even razor-wire wrapped around one of the golden ones.

He looks tired. Empty. That same, horrible, vacant look on his eyes that has haunted him. Cracks spread across his limbs, like porcelain, still clinging to his staff. “…S-Sapphire…” It's all he can manage, but the smaller cookie instantly latches onto him.

No longer are there endless, soft bounds of hair to snuggle into, the wings that curl around him in a protective stance are shaking, barely even held together and plucked of most of their glory. Tears instantly fall, and despite the soot that covers his face when he buries himself against the virtue, he persists.

“W-Why. Why d-did…” Every word is on the brink of a sob, a gentle wing coming around to curl like a hand across his head as The Fount soothes, “The W-Witches will come.” Tears fall down his face, running tracks through the soot, catching in his eye bags. “Come h-help. C-Come save… s-save us.”

Repeated, it becomes a mantra beneath The Founts breath, a hitch, like for a moment he’s disconnected. “They… l-love us. L-Love us.” Black Sapphire can't help but squeeze his eyes shut, trying to ignore how desperately repeated words begin to sound less certain, more like a plea or hope.

“I did everything t-they asked for. T-They’ll save us. S-She’ll save us…” The grape-cookie digs his hands in to cling desperately as the mantra grows softer, trailing off into tears.

All he can do is bury his face and hide.