yukiiiiiii13

[yukiiiiiii13]

At the Peak of Truth, Despair Not

story analysis of the Diverged Paths costume set story with pure vanilla's truthless recluse and shadow milk's sage of truth, chunk by fucking chunk because i am INSANE and the parallels keep stacking up. they are the same in every universe. even this one.

this is an essay post and it is long. i am rambling a lot. i dissect certain lines in the story and talk about word choice. i also talk about how many parallels there are in this story to beast-yeast ep 7-8. i swear to god it makes sense. i am a writer by the way. fuck. anyways enjoy my insanity.

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"Quiet, quiet! Our lecture will resume shortly! Please take your seats in a timely fashion!" A sonorous voice filled the old, quaint square. The voice belonged to a peculiar Cookie dressed in white and gold. Surrounded by a crowd of spectators, this mysterious Cookie now stood in the center of the square. He had just finished reciting an epic poem and was now explaining a convoluted philosophical concept to a freshly-baked flock, wide-eyed with wonder. "The Sage of Truth," they called him.

Setting the scene here, this is an "old, quaint square". The Sage is described here as "peculiar" and "mysterious", indicating that the cookies around him think he's odd. I'll return to the word "mysterious" later.

The word "flock" used here is also an interesting choice; a "flock of sheep". It's a backhanded way to call these cookies "sheep", which is used often in a derogatory way to indicate someone is unable to think for themself or unable to think critically at all, and just plays follow the leader instead of forging their own beliefs.

What's also an interesting thing to note is that the cookies call him "the Sage of Truth". The way this is phrased implies he didn't come up with that name, that he let the cookies name him. That, or he was waiting to be asked his name and was never asked, which I believe is also likely.

It almost seemed as if the Sage of Truth had always stood in that spot, sharing truths and teachings with anyone interested. With time, more and more Cookies came to listen to the Sage. Some said he was a professor of magic, others claimed he was an archivist, until an eager disciple decided to put an end to this dispute with a question. As always, the Sage welcomed the query with a graceful gesture. Pointing upwards, he uttered, "I hail from a peak so tall and narrow, it pierced the firmament itself!" His confounding reply caught everyone by surprise. Only then did the disciples realize that never once had the Sage spoken about himself. Yet, they wished for the lectures to continue and chose never to pry again.

The phrase here, "always stood in that spot", makes him seem more like an object, and less like a person with his own thoughts and feelings. The fact that the cookies begin to come up with things to say about him, that being that he's "a professor of magic", or that he's "an archivist", instead of asking him directly further lends to this line of thinking of him as an object.

This next part, where he is finally asked a question about himself, he exhibits two pieces of body language that show up later in the story at crucial moments. First, when he "welcomes" the query, he is being truthful about it; he wants more of these types of questions about himself. Second, when he "points upwards", he is lying; he claims to "hail from a peak so tall and narrow, it pierced the firmament itself!"

It is an exaggerated fib about the truth. This statement is immediately described as "confounding", meaning surprising or confusing especially in the context of not aligning with the inquirer's expected answer. The disciples then immediately realize that the Sage had never spoken about himself. Paired with such a confusing statement, one might think that such a realization would prompt more questions about the Sage himself, but instead, the disciples decide to focus on the knowledge he gives instead of wanting to learn about him, and so, never ask him another question about himself again.

This is why the Sage is described as "mysterious". They have never asked, and he has never told. The one time he was asked about himself, he said something exaggerated and outlandish; one can only assume he was trying to bait more questions of that nature, only for them to never come.

Another day, another fascinating lecture came to a close. The sky above began to tinge with red and Cookies headed back to their homes when a stranger entered the square. The visitor was draped in a dark cloak and donned an enormous hat that cast a shadow over his face. The Cookie stood there without saying a word and watched the Sage. The silence was broken by the Sage’s courteous greeting, his eyes having already discerned the shadow of despair hanging over the guest. "I don't believe I've seen you here before, my friend…! Alas, today's lecture is over. Care to come back on the morrow?" Yet, the dark visitor paid no heed to his words. "Stop teaching about the Truth." "Why must I?" inquired the Sage.

Setting the scene again for the debut of the Truthless Recluse. He approaches the square when the sun is setting and the sky is turning red, which is a nice bit of contrasting symbolism to Pure Vanilla representing the sun itself.

The Sage takes initiative to greet the Recluse, and immediately defaults to letting the Recluse know that he's done lecturing for the day instead of asking the Recluse about himself (not even a "How are you doing?"). One could speculate that this is a learned behavior; he is used to being used by the cookies who want knowledge from him, is never asked about himself, and as such, never asks personal questions of anybody else either.

But next, the Recluse addresses him directly, talks to him directly about the nature of what he does instead of asking for knowledge or treating him like something to wring answers from. This is probably the first time he's been talked to like this. It's a command, and he answers with a question of his own; the holder of the virtue of knowledge... answers with a question. "Why must I?"

The guest only grinned in reply and stepped closer. For the first time, a ray of light illuminated his face, and the Sage of Truth exclaimed delightedly. "Aaahh, if it isn't the Truthless Recluse himself. To what do I owe such a pleasure?" His monocle glistened with genuine curiosity. "It is said that the Truthless Recluse never descends from the Peak of Truth… How may this humble scholar be of service to you?"

It's interesting that the Sage recognizes the Recluse as soon as his face is revealed. It might indicate that they've met before, especially considering the Sage previously claimed to hail from what we can assume is the same peak the Truthless Recluse has stationed himself at.

The Sage is delighted to see the Recluse, and finally asks the Recluse a personal question, but phrases the question in an interesting way. "How may this humble scholar be of service to you?".

Calling himself humble could mean two things; that he is really a prideful person and is lying by calling himself humble to hide this fact, or, that, in choosing a passive adjective to describe himself with, he is attempting to deflect any aggression he might receive by asking a personal question. It could be both.

He also takes care to point out that he is "being of service".

The Recluse's eyes brimmed with sorrow. "Stop pretending. You know all too well that there is nothing at the Peak of Truth." The Sage clapped his hands. "Eureka! At last, the answer to the age-old question is found! Why the Recluse never leaves his beloved peak vacant! Why every Cookie who neared true enlightenment was inevitably pushed back from the ascension they so craved!"

The Recluse directly calls him a liar. "Stop pretending". The Sage of Truth is a liar! He tells lies and the Recluse can see right through them! But at least he has one thing going for him; he didn't name himself the Sage of Truth. The cookies did. They assumed he would never lie, and because nobody questions him, he has never been caught lying.

Cross referencing to canon Shadow Milk, we know that he holds resentment towards other cookies for just believing every word he said was truthful; being called out on a lie is probably something that's never happened before, especially not to the Sage of Truth.

On top of that, the Recluse is previously described as "a stranger", and the Sage mentions never having "seen him before" in the square where this takes place. All of that tied together means that the Recluse never heard the Sage's exaggerated fib about being from the Peak of Truth, and yet, somehow knows that the Sage is from the Peak of Truth. This is further evidence that the Sage and the Recluse have met before.

Upon being called a liar, the Sage of Truth reacts with delight, only to immediately deflect and deceive again. He turns the subject away from himself.

He tilted his head, expecting a confirmation. "All this time, my best hypothesis was that the Peak of Truth had been seized for good by some petty curmudgeon. Do you mean to say you sought only to protect seekers from disappointment?" The Recluse did not bother to deny the Sage's words for he loathed the Sage for guiding Cookies right into the maw of the cruel Truth. "I, too, once made the same mistake, and for that, faced despair upon the Peak… There was no Truth expecting me. No Truth to save us all. And I cursed myself hundreds, thousands of times over for my folly." And all his sorrow and despair surged forth in a single question. "Why do you persist?!"

"... seized for good by some petty curmudgeon". There's so much going on in this sentence.

If the Sage really does hail from the Peak of Truth, saying it was "seized" puts himself into a "helpless" position. If he cared about the Peak of Truth, what's stopping him from going to take it back? He is, after all, the holder of the virtue of knowledge, a godly power in his own right. Saying it was "seized" puts him in a helpless position and absolves him of any blame for anything that happens to it. Holding the power that he does at his fingertips also implies he doesn't care about the Peak of Truth at all, and is content to let it fall.

He says he'd thought the Truthless Recluse was a "petty curmudgeon"; I'll admit I had to look this word up, but it means a stubborn, ill-tempered person, typically an old man. Really funny actually, but he's negating this insult.

The Sage asks if the Recluse is turning cookies away from the truth to protect them from disappointment. The Recluse doesn't deny it; he "loaths" the Sage for guiding cookies towards the truth. Inverting that sentiment would imply that the Recluse turns cookies away from the truth to avoid disappointment, and uses deceit out of compassion for them. This is to prevent them from getting hurt, because "he too made the same mistake" of ascending to the truth, finding only despair instead.

The truth being described as a "cruel" "maw" is also such interesting imagery. It reminds me of Shadow Milk's snake that devours the sheep on the loading screen of the Awakened Pure Vanilla update. I'll also point out the fact again that the Sage's listeners were explicitly referred to as a "flock".

And finally, the question the Truthless Recluse asks the Sage of Truth. "Why do you persist?"

Because as far as the Recluse is concerned, he just got done explaining why the truth isn't worth it, so why should the Sage continue to preach it? Why do you persist?

It's a question asked out of a genuine, haunting, need to know why the Sage continues to send cookies into the hungry, crushing maw of Truth. It's asked out of desperate compassion for those cookies.

To that, the Sage only pointed upwards and said, "Alas, the Truth is imperfect by design… and yet, one must not turn away from the light of one's own Truth." And with a welcoming gesture, he added, "Not unlike yourself whose Truth is to protect others from anguish." The Recluse never answered. The Sage knew the answer anyway.

Here, the Sage points upwards; a previous indication that he's being deceptive. The statement he gives, "One must not turn away from the light of one's own Truth", seems to imply that he wants anyone listening to him to think that he thinks the truth is a good for cookies, of course, why wouldn't it be? However, throughout the entire story, the truth is regarded by the Sage as something negative, something that's been used to hurt, used to treat him like an object. So to truly answer the Recluse's question, what he's really implying here is that he guides cookies towards the truth because he's hurting, and he wants them to hurt too.

Next, he welcomes; a previous indication that he's being truthful. A welcoming gesture; spreading his arms wide, inviting the Recluse in. He truthfully wants the Recluse to call him out on this lie. He truthfully wants the Recluse to continue to speak with him. He sees an equal, a companion in the Recluse. Someone who understands.

This is such a blatant parallel to Compassionate Pure Vanilla offering friendship to Shadow Milk in episode 8, I would just like to point that out.

The Recluse never answers, but the Sage knows the answer anyway. Whether or not that "answer" is an agreement of companionship or a rejection of it is unclear, and is probably meant to be left ambiguous.

A long night passed and a new day dawned. Yesterday's guest was long gone, and the square was as peaceful as it could be… But the Sage could hear them. The footsteps of many seekers, stepping forth towards the Truth.

"The square was peaceful... But... the Sage could hear them."

This ending is very painful. The cycle of hurt continues. It would imply the Recluse rejected the Sage's offer of companionship, which is probably more likely here. However, the nature of the ambiguity means the Recluse could have accepted, and the seekers of truth may be what links the Sage and the Recluse now that they are apart. It's less likely.

Either way, they are the same in every universe. Even this one.

As I put it in a previous post, the difference between Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk, no matter which path either of them are on, is their compassion.

The Truthless Recluse pushes cookies away from the cruel truth, while the Sage of Truth encourages them to seek out what he knows will hurt them.

Because even on diverged paths, Pure Vanilla will always care, and Shadow Milk can't ever find a reason to.

[yukiiiiiii13]

my accounts rn...

warning: long rant

My first acc was created back when they first released crème brûlée cookie and linzer cookie which btw, I haven't opened that acc since 3 years ago lol. I only played it for a day then forgot about it.

Anyways, I opened another one this year back in January and it was in Hollyberry server. Its thriving. I got almost every cookie, castle's already at level 11, got all the available landmarks, all the ancients and their awakened form and the beast except for burning spice. Got in good guild. Good ranking in arena, and everything nice. Literally the best I could ask for.

But then, my sis got on crk and her friend recommended Pure Vanilla server to her so ofc I had to make an acc there just for her lol. I even made a new guild for us. Anyways, I wasn't planning anything with this one.

Y'know how much I love PV? In all form and shape? Well, I manage to get him in my Pure Vanilla server acc. Both his legendary costumes and awakened in one sitting like???

So yes, this acc is currently getting all the attention. All because of PV.

[yukiiiiiii13]

truthless recluse

[yukiiiiiii13]

Since I don't have anyone to vent to in rl...

ARGHHHHHH... THIS IS SO CRAZY!!!

I literally jokingly pulled in the beast banner for shadow milk so I can put him in arena but got awakened pure vanilla instead😭😭(not that I don't want him, he's literally mt favorite, I love PV so much—)

And then, you know what's more crazy? I pulled on the costume not hoping for anything since I didn't get them once in my main acc and I literally had at least 45+ pulls there but THEN, here come TRUTHLESS RECLUSE, COMING HOME IN ONE FUCKING PULL!!!

THEY LITERALLY CAME IN ONE MINUTE OMG LIKE???

Also, fucking burning spice too. I wanted him in my main acc but he literally came home HERE!!

In my PURE VANILLA SERVER ACC??

Who the heck said PURE VANILLA SERVER DOES NOT HAVE GOOD LUCK?!? THEY LIED!!!

BECAUSE TELL ME!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN I GET TO HAVE THEM IN MY PURE VANILLA SERVER ALT ACC BUT NOT IN HOLLYBERRY SERVER MAIN ACC??!!😭😭😭😭

(Still, I'm so thankful, holy crap. I think I manifested too hard but they came home in the wrong acc tho😭😭)

[yukiiiiiii13]

Question...

How do you all describe Shadow Milk's soul jam??? Like the shape? What shape is that???😭😭

[yukiiiiiii13]

cries, sobs, breaks down

inspired by that kingdom scene in tangled :

I'm- I'm ok I'm alright I'm sane

[yukiiiiiii13]

Have you guys ever liked characters they literally became your phone theme? I mean look at this...

I'm totally normal about them.🙂

[yukiiiiiii13]

If it's possible, part two of Silent Affection?

Silent Affection P.2 (P.1) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚

Truthless Recluse x GN!Reader

.⊹˖ᯓ★. ݁₊

The room is still, and you wish for nothing more than a distraction to pull away the watchful eye on your figure. Not to mention, the grip that holds tight around your hand, refusing to let you step away from your seat.

Within the timeframe, something has obviously snapped inside of Truthless Recluse's mind; something you played a part in, which you come to regret. Now, a stern glare is received whenever you even entertain the thought of leaving his side.

"It isn't safe out there," he goes to claim each time you question when you may leave, like a robot with a single voiceline. In all truth, you begin to wonder if being in here is any better than taking place outside.

With even your smallest movements, Truthless Recluse follows along. Tick by tick, your sanity sinks further and further. You hoped to find a way out by now, yet Truthless Recluse proves to be a hindrance every time you make an effort.

You find it hard to believe one could really desire a life so dreary, sitting on the edge of a bed for hours on end.

Well, the time that has elapsed by now is a few 10 minutes if one were to seek out accuracy, but you believe your hyperbole cannot be so far from the reality in the future.

"Pure Vanilla Cookie," you huff out, shifting your head to peer at him. "If you love me so much, then you must let me go." That sounds silly, but you have nothing left, so you hold no blame against yourself for your weak efforts.

"If you love me so much, then why try to abandon me?" Truthless Recluse counters. He has always possessed a sharp tongue, a quality that doesn't seem all that enjoyable in situations like this.

You’re unaware of how to answer him, so you do not. Rather, you allow another topic a chance to arise.

"I’m hungry," you mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. Part of you spoke the truth, as the trip here gained you an appetite. The other half of you is just desperate to find a way to distract him.

Now you wait to determine if he's cruel enough to deny you food. Though with the current fixation he displays, you feel you can take a guess.

Startled, you watch as Truthless Recluse stands to his feet. This time, he opposes taking you along, it appears.

Without words, Truthless Recluse strides through the room and towards the exit. Just like that, he disappears behind the door.

Well, he looked to be getting you a meal? A question of higher importance, where would one find refreshments here? You send him your luck, which is faint as it is.

In your solitude, you realize there's a shot your dearest husband will be gone for a bit of time. With the overbearing cookie on short leave, this provides you an opportunity to strategize an escape!

Though with the appearance the Spire takes, you have to be sure to tread lightly. One mistake and you can find yourself stumbling on a staircase lacking any railing.

Hopping off of the bed you were glued to, you edge your way over to the single window in the room. Peering out of the shiny glass, you eliminate the window as a route out. The considerable drop down tells you all you need to know of how that trip will conclude.

That leaves one alternative to choose: the very door that Truthless Recluse walked out of. You doubt he'd take a lengthy time to retrieve anything for you. As sweet as that statement is, you spare little time to dwell on it.

You hurry yourself out of the doorway, but you ensure to close the opening with silence, as to not interrupt the stillness of the tower. It would merely disclose your current actions, which is the last thing necessary.

So, out of your cell and free, you run. Where? You're unknowing of the answer yourself, as attempting to fight for your captured friends would be a losing battle on your end. But you do believe it has to be anywhere distances away from that cream colored expanse. In addition to staying out of sight from a specific cookie with cream colored hair.

You underestimated just how disoriented one could get when inside of a tower like this. At this point, lost would not be the word you would title yourself at the moment, as you are far beyond it.

The start of your adventure, you recall spotting a winding staircase that you assumed led to a lower destination. Yet after that, you somehow wandered your way onto a higher floor.

You would prefer staying in the room you were once in, rather than walking up and down multiple flights of stairs leading you in circles. It failed to help that you were running on an empty stomach.

Calling out for Pure Vanilla Cookie doesn't seem like the worst idea. He can come to forgive you, can he not? Truthless Recluse has to believe you when you claim you were "simply on a search for him, due to how you missed him so."

Amidst your journey, you finally reach a place to offer relaxation. The furniture in this particular space is not so abnormal. Although a bit large, a chair takes place behind a desk.

With desperation, you head to perch yourself onto the padding. However, it appears another being took ownership over the comfort you long for.

You shriek, almost settling atop a snake, a blue and black pattern adorning its skin. Well, now you have alerted anyone around of your location, as the snake shows to have been disturbed by your fright.

Tumbling backwards, you knock over a floating waffle cone. You curse the disruption that decided to follow you now of all times.

You prepared to land on the hard, cold floor, but then bump into another object. This time, the item is reluctant to fall over.

But then the whiff of sweet vanilla hits you. Huh, wonder what that could be.

You don’t need to be a genius to figure out what—or who you collided with. The singular surprising matter is how hasty he was to get here. You almost feel flattered.

Whirling your head around, you come to meet the cold glare given by Truthless Recluse. Once again, you seem to have angered him. You wonder how many times such will repeat.

"Funny seeing you here..." Not the best choice of words, as his irked stare shows he believes nothing to be humorous.

"What are you doing out of our room," he questions, his lips held tight in a frown.

"Well, I was, um, so lonely. I mean, I couldn't stay away from you for such a long time," you spoke in a lie, as if you also labeled yourself a deceiver.

Oh, but Truthless Recluse has shed his gullibility, ahis facial expression gives no indication that you managed to convince him. All you can wish for is a shred of leniency.

"Why do you attempt to leave me? You said you loved me," Truthless Recluse spoke, voice filled with bitterness. His grief comes off as truthful, his brows knitted together as a hint. It is surprising to witness him so fragile, making your face still in regret.

Truthless Recluse rathers you remain quiet. Regardless of whatever your reasoning may be, you will reside in the wrong from his perspective. Does he have to teach you how to listen?

Rising his hand towards yours, Truthless Recluse holds a gentle yet firm grip on your wrist.

"Come. Your food will get cold." The slight shame you feel when met with his vulnerability, along with the addition of food, inclines you to do as told.

Truthless Recluse somehow knows his way around the Spire, which you’re thankful for. The sight of the room, the setting you stall the most in, looks more comforting the second time around.

Near a flower vase, you spot a Jellybean meal. How nice of him to provide a lunch so luxurious. You are too starved to care where he attained it.

While sitting in a chair is your first choice, Truthless Recluse disagrees, guiding you back to his bed. A likely motive is he wishes to sit to your left, and that's that.

It feels strange to eat alone, Truthless Recluse watching with no plate of his own. Prone to sharing, you offer a portion.

"Do you want any?" He refuses a response. A probable answer as to why is there might be some lingering agitation from your pursue away from him.

If Truthless Recluse only puts up a front, manipulating you from behind the scenes, then he has you fooled. Now you feel the need to apologize.

"I’m sorry," you mumble out, even though you are not entirely sure if you should be the one asking for forgiveness.

Food is always a good apology gift, that much is true, but that is not the case right now.

Pure Vanilla Cookie always had a trouble of keeping up with his daily meals. That part of him has not been altered. Someone has to remind him here and there, so you will take up that role, just as you have before.

Holding up the fork with your free hand, you push the piece of jelly near his mouth.

"Eat, Pure Vanilla Cookie. Are you still upset?" With a mere glance, you can tell he is.

"I'll kiss you again if you do," you offer, voice tinted with curiosity. You hope that one more side of him remained the same, so that your approach seems somewhat tempting.

Truthless Recluse hates that he loves those certain proposals you tend to hand out. He will accept them when they do not relate to your exiting, of course, yet he is still allowed to be frustrated about it. Nonetheless, the warmth you give out is too valuable to give up. There is not a thing in the Spire that can replicate.

With reluctance, Truthless Recluse opens his mouth and bites your given food. He saw no reason to chew, so he swallowed without doing so. His singular bite gone and finished, Truthless Recluse awaits his promised reward.

Well, much to your expectations, kissing can be his weak spot in a few occasions. That sits fine with you, since now there resides nourishment in his stomach.

Raising your head, you connect your lips with his own, giving him a sweet kiss. Short enough to be considered chaste, but just right to live up to the reward he desired.

You cannot say it was an act you were against. The factor of his smooth lips, paired with the flavor that you welcome all too well, deems the moment a win for you both. You pray the endearment can soothe the ire you built in his heart.

Truthless Recluse allowed his face to fall slack, but otherwise, his expression was kept aloof. No matter his fronts, you look behind them, meaning you're conscious of his hidden delight.

On the other hand, you fail to feel as satisfied as he does. With prior information, his laxed character conveys more hours(minutes) of sitting on this jinxed bed.

While you love him, you would prefer anything else than this deafening serenity.

Your wishes were gifted, albeit a few minutes later. A sudden knock is heard against the door. It could be Shadow Milk Cookie on the other side, and you would still be happy. Anything to drag Truthless Recluse's stare elsewhere.

But, a more familiar, and pleasant, voice is audible enough to reach your ears.

With ease, you can tell Gingerbrave owns said voice. He has managed to traverse his way towards a higher level inside of the tower, now in front of the entrance to your dungeon.

Pure Vanilla Cookie seems to be focused on the unexpected guests as well, now making their way inside of his humble room.

The three children are no longer tarot cards, another benefit to the current situation. They own the same mindset as yours, coming in with a strong argument against Pure Vanilla Cookie's in an attempt to escape by his side.

You would hope that with more cookies telling him, Truthless Recluse would see reason. Yet, as strong as Gingerbrave's grounds are, the apathetic cookie gives retorts to each opinion opposite to his own.

As much as you would love to justify your friends, it seems like your words fail to reach Truthless Recluse, even with your distance being the shortest compared to others around.

Is he seriously ignoring you? The most he cares to spare you is a glance, one that shows he believes you to be delusional, more so than the others. Nevertheless, his stupidly mighty hand is kept close to yours, keeping your shoulders in contact.

The bickering between the cookies is cut short, as their captor, Black Sapphire Cookie, has come to reclaim his cards, much to everyone's dismay.

Excluding Truthless Recluse, as you would anticipate. If one were to seek out his outlook? Perhaps it was deserved. After all, who barges into a room without permission? Now the peaceful moment he indulged with you is lost.

All you can do is watch as Black Sapphire shoves the fearful cards into a bag, since Pure Vanilla Cookie held no care to rescue them. He went as far as handing them over without a second thought, making your heartache grow stronger. Where has the man engraved with kindness into his dough ran off to? Granted, yearning for that any longer feels useless.

Your mouth is left ajar, yet no words are able to leave your tongue. Truthless Recluse, while also unspeaking, looks over at your incredulous expression. Though you envisioned a dead stare, you're able to see an emotion behind the one he fronts.

Love, your initial assumption, or obsession? Answering questions related to the cookie before yow now seem challenging. Whether it is either one, knowing such would fold to placate your unease. No matter how hard you aim to seek out remorse held in his heart, there founders to be any.

Black Sapphire Cookie's subsequent words, a passed on request for Truthless Recluse to follow along, do not saddened you as much. This way, you can keep the ability to hold an eye over the younger cookies.

Mismatched eyes looking forward, Truthless Recluse is immediate to lift you up with him. It should go without saying that you would be accompanying him. He goes as far as adjusting his pace to align with yours, proceeding towards the designated location. Talk about clingy...

As of now, the surroundings appear more normal than usual, even though the cookies here are a bit manic.

Two chairs occupied by you and your lover on one side of a table, with another seat opposed to you also taken. A game, which you don't know the rules to, takes place on the surface in front.

Although you dreaded your next meeting with Shadow Milk Cookie, it was known to be arriving. Even with that known, you yield to pause the feeling of jitters belonging to you and your crumbs.

Focusing on the board game, you jolt with each attack the three lively pieces receive.

While your concentration tries to fixate on the miniature battle near, you cannot ignore the pair of eyes fixed at your form. Multiple, at that. Not an exact estimate, since counting each eye in Shadow Milk Cookie's unruly hair is an unwanted activity.

"Soooo, is this your little assistant, Vanilly?" You saw no reason in being the topic of conversation, yet it looks like the scuffle on the tabletop lacks enough entertainment, that being said for both Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk.

It wouldn't be bad to say they fit into the saying, "different sides of the same coin."

Pure Vanilla Cookie is unwilling to reply, shown by his thin lined lips. Even so, there looks to be a wrinkle of annoyance on his face.

The deceitful cookie chuckles nonetheless, uncaring of the one-sided conversation and continuing on with his words.

"Well, aren't they a looker..." Shadow Milk Cookie admitted, skimming over your face. You almost desire a crumbling from his utterance alone. He might be the former holder of one of the five Soul Jams, yet that fails to make much better.

"Would ya mind if I borrow them for a show or two of mine?" Shadow Milk Cookie quizzes with his head cocked.

"No, you may not." Thankfully, you can come to agree with a statement spoken by the impassive cookie.

Albeit your seat was separate from Truthless Recluse's, he tugs you more proximal, signaling a sign of protection. That, you are grateful for.

"Psh, whatevs." Shadow milk rolls his eyes. You believe that should conclude any more talk concerning you.

"Buuuut!" he goes on, refusing to drop the topic.

"Would it be such a big bother to ask if you pair are mooore than frrriends?" Shadow Milk Cookie inquiries on what he's long known.

This is his last resort on vexing Pure Vanilla Cookie, since the beginner deceiver wants to play uninterested to every word said to him. You show to be a flaw, which Shadow Milk appreciates quite much.

Towards another question, your betrothed is silent, though you can sense his disgruntlement from the measly query.

Truthless Recluse might have acknowledged his profound love held exclusively for you, however, he spoke such to himself.

He would prefer to withhold that information in private. In fact, he feels inclined to lock you away in his room, hidden from any prying eyes. That way, he could keep you to himself, forever guarded by him. Truthless Recluse is rather fond of making his daydreams fall into reality.

"Am I right, or am I right?" Shadow Milk Cookie taunts, mockery not so hidden in his attitude.

"Shut up," Truthless Recluse demanded, harsh enough to catch you off guard.

"Oh, c'mon! I’m only—"

Without notice, a happening cuts the talkative beast off. The friend group of three cookies, once demoted into measly game pieces, burst out of the board after successfully defeating each foe sent their way. Mentally, you thank them for dragging the spotlight off of your cookie.

Shadow Milk Cookie congratulations them, his two-faced personality slipping through his praise. Clearly, this will not be the end of his tricks.

The atmosphere grows tense. A conversation between the beast and ancient arises, relating to the Soul Jam, which is also the beginning of every issue among them.

A choice is given to Pure Vanilla: to silence his friends forever, or to hand over the holder of his power. If you were to know the benevolent cookie, you can guess the his decision with ease.

Additionally, if you were aware of his counterpart, you can predict neither of his options granted a good ending. Conscious of both cookies' personalities, the outcome will be nothing more than woe.

Abruptly, you, along with your friends, get shoved off the kooky Spire by an unknown force. Falling amidst the darkened sky, you see the glimmering golden stars passing by.

Pure Vanilla Cookie, deceived by Shadow Milk Cookie, shrieks at the sight of his friends, and his most beloved, nearing a fatal crumbling. Locking eyes with you, Truthless Recluse reveals such an emotion you have never laid eyes upon.

Even with the drastic circumstances, you muster up a smile to gift him, before he goes out of sight.

You focus on the long drop ahead of you, getting a good look of every terror encountered in this bizarre region. From the large snakes, to the disturbing eyes near the clouds. Anywhere else would be a preferable burial.

Standing on the ground, a cookie is seen in your sights. A hooded cookie, to be exact. One you can recall meeting earlier on. Though your vision from afar is not the best, you can see well enough to believe there might be a certain Fortune Teller coming to play hero.

You descend from the air, the figure of Fortune Teller Cookie growing more and more near. Would it be wrong to think he iis going to save the four of you? You doubt that such is out of his power, despite knowing little of his background. It may be the fear in you speaking, attempting to make death seem farther than it was.

Then, you do not feel as if you are plummeting any longer. Instead, it is as if you experience flight, a simple hovering over the ground, like a faerie cookie, until your feet touch the pavement.

As thankful as you are for whatever magic was used, you cannot express it when your dough feels so weary. The events from today hit you like a Bear Jelly Train, your legs unable to support you for much longer. Switching from air to land in a matter of seconds does not sit well with you.

Not to worry, as Fortune Teller Cookie was quick to hold you, retaining you into his arms. You appreciate the stability he offers, though his hold is a tinge tighter than it should be for a mere acquaintance.

For a split second, his small hug reminds you of another's potent affection. Identical, if you were to pay more attention to it, but you choose to worry over Pure Vanilla Cookie.

You fail to see much of the pair of truth and deceit. There is everlasting conflict taking place, and you pray Pure Vanilla Cookie can halt the tension until you find your way above, to be able to fight alongside him.

Although you harbor strong adoration for him, the last thing you wish to see is the sass belonging to the face of Truthless Recluse because Pure Vanilla could not handle the strength of Shadow Milk.

.⊹˖ᯓ★. ݁₊

A/N: if there were to be a part three of this, it wouldnt exactly be Truthless Recluse, but rather awakened Pure Vanilla Cookie. that might be good news to some, but not so much to others ( ･ั﹏･ั)

[yukiiiiiii13]

A Queen and her Knight

[yukiiiiiii13]

[prev]

Life rolls on, not quite easily but peaceful in all its hardships. As the months unfold, Healer falls into a sense of general contentedness with both Plain Yogurt and the village at large, enough to assume that this routine will continue for the foreseeable future.

It ends suddenly, in the middle of the night.

One of Healer's most inconvenient traits is his tendency to sleep rather deeply, so to be awoken in the middle of the night is already jarring enough for him. Worse than that is the thing that had woken him: an unholy, piercing screech that twists and reverbarates around the Raisin Cliffs and shudders the very earth beneath him. The villagers are clamouring outside the tent, and though he can't make out what they are saying, the sound is pitchy with panic and alarm.

Concern spikes cold in Healer's chest, and still slightly disoriented from waking up, he fumbles for his staff and immediately tries to rush outside. In his haste, he doesn't properly anchor his staff as he begins to move, tripping over his own feet and tipping forward. He doesn't even think to brace for impact before he finds a sudden hand catching his arm, startling him a little.

"Woah, woah, careful, don't crack yourself!" Plain Yogurt's voice meets him as he helps Healer right himself. Wrapped up in his alarm, he hadn't heard him moving around before. Plain Yogurt leads Healer's free hand to his upper arm and he takes the silent offer, latching onto him for support. "Here, let's go see what all the commotion is about, hm?"

Plain Yogurt sounds weirdly nonchalant about everything, but Healer just appreciates that he seems to have a level head in the midst of all this. He nods, readjusting his grip on his staff, making sure it is properly anchored this time. "Yes, quickly."

Outside, the sound is deafening, shaking the very air. It's even worse to poor Healer's ears, attuned as they are to pick up the nuances of sound. The chill of the night wind seizes their robes immediately, tugging them left and right, and Healer shivers. To his side, Plain Yogurt huffs out an incredulous laugh, almost covered by the din.

Healer turns to ask him what prompted that, but is distracted by the voices of the other villagers, still alarmed but less panicked. "No, no, that definitely wasn't there yesterday evening. We would have noticed something that big!"

"But where did it come from?"

"I don't know! I've never seen anything like that before, you know that!"

His concern only growing, Healer finally turns to Plain Yogurt, bumping shoulders to make sure he has his attention. "What are they talking about? What's there?"

"A crimson moon." Plain Yogurt says simply.

Healer pauses, shaking his head slightly as if he heard him wrong, through the slow waning of that horrible screeching. "A crimson moon? That is a rather odd occurence, isn't it?"

"Mhm. And," an audible grin slips into Plain Yogurt's voice, alongside something Healer could almost mistake as eagerness, "a castle in the sky."

"In the sky?" Healer repeats in disbelief, turning his face skyward even though that does nothing to prove this castle's existence to him. "What is it doing above our village?"

"Who knows?" Plain Yogurt sighs, with a shrug Healer feels through his hold on his arm. "It's impressive, though. A grand castle, with turrets topped with wafflecone peaks. Its shadow will swallow this tiny village whole when daylight comes."

A new sound suddenly floods the air, coming down in a wave of buzzing as a stray spark of magic energy snags on the dough of Healer's cheek. Flinching slightly, Healer frowns in confusion as shouts break out of the villagers, kicking Healer's concern back up to the surface with a healthy dose of fear.

"WHAT ARE THOSE?!"

"They- they look like, uh, robots?"

"They're heading towards the village!"

"Definitely robots, made of wafflecone too." Plain Yogurt supplements before Healer has to ask, still impressively calm, if not vaguely excited. "They're a pretty piece of tech, but I think we should probably go back inside. They look like they're gearing up for an attack."

Healer straightens up, his grip on his staff tightening as his heart lurches worriedly. "An attack? But why–"

"EVERYONE, HIDE!" Black Raisin's voice rises stubbornly over the muddled noise. "I'll try and hold them off!"

Healer trusts Black Raisin's abilities with his whole heart, but dread still pools inside him as he lets go of Plain Yogurt, turning in the direction he heard her voice. "Black Raisin, wait, let me-!"

A hand catches his arm before he can take more than a few steps as Plain Yogurt cuts in. "You heard her, my dear. Like I said, we need to hide."

Healer turns his head back towards Plain Yogurt with a stern frown. "But it's dangerous for her to go completely alone–"

Plain Yogurt's voice takes on a firmer, almost demanding edge. "She'll be fine, and if she isn't, she'll need you safe and in one piece to be able to heal her. Come on, in."

Plain Yogurt tugs on Healer's arm, but Healer hesitates, resisting against the pull for a moment. The buzz only gets louder, the wind bringing down an acrid, sweet smell as he hears the other villagers rushing around them, hurrying into the tents.

There's another, more insistent tug on his arm, and this time, Healer sighs and follows it. He understands what Plain Yogurt means, and Black Raisin would likely say the same anyway. For now, he will trust her to stay safe, at least enough for him to be able to patch her up afterwards.

So life rolls on, now far more stressful. The Wafflebots continue to attack, and they only seem to multiply as the weeks wear on. Healer is needed near constantly when they attack, and in the brief periods of respite, he is busy with making sure everyone's health is maintained under these continually deteriorating conditions.

Plain Yogurt was often by his side before, but now Healer insists he stay by him at almost all times. Black Raisin hasn't asked for his dispatch in a while, and they have both been acting civil enough in front of him, but Healer knows better. He might not see, but he can still feel the aggravated tension that builds between those two whenever they are around each other, and in a time of crisis, he doesn't want to risk anyone getting distracted.

Besides, Plain Yogurt helps Healer with the patients. He does basic first aid for the less urgent injuries as they wait for Healer to work his magic, and he helps to regulate Healer's condition too, getting him food and drink even when he doesn't want it.

Healer can hear him humming somewhere behind him now, as Healer gently feels around a patient's cracks. His fingers find the stickiness of jam, and he carefully traces the edge of the crack to judge the severity.

The patient, Choco Raisin, hisses quietly in pain, and Healer aches with sympathy. "Just a moment longer," he assures softly, "I just wanted to get a better idea of your injury."

He lays a light hand over the area, and channels his magic into the wound. It spills, warm and soothing, into Choco Raisin's dough, clearing the jam on the surface as it passes. Then, Healer weaves it tenderly through her cracks, deftly sealing them closed.

"There." He smiles, pulling away from her. "How does it feel?"

Choco Raisin takes a moment, presumably testing her body based on the sound of shifting clothes, before replying, "As good as new, like always! Thanks, Healer."

"I'm happy to help. Remember, though, take it easy for the rest of the day. Miracle healing or not, your body needs rest to recover from the stress of the injury." Healer reminds her with a hint of warning to his tone, knowing that Choco Raisin never likes sitting still for long. Sure enough, she groans an agreement, and Healer chuckles as he reaches for where he set his staff down.

His hand wraps securely around it, and a gasp escapes him as a familiarly foreign energy, cool like the feeling of early morning light, dances frantically down his arm. It curls around his heart, before settling in the dip of the hollow of his throat, all in the span of a second or less.

There is a moment of silence, and Healer realises that Plain Yogurt has stopped humming. He isn't sure when that happened.

"Are you alright, Healer?" Choco Raisin asks, concerned. "You're not hurt too, are you?"

Healer takes in a deep breath as the new energy fades into the depths of his dough, grounding himself. He can feel his staff reacting to something, pulsing as if it is trying to reach out and catch more tendrils of whatever it just found.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Healer says, managing a little smile as he pulls himself up to his feet, using his staff as leverage. He hears Choco Raisin follow his lead. "It's been a long day. I might be more tired than I thought."

"If you say so. Take care of yourself too, okay?" Choco Raisin's voice lifts with lingering worry, and Healer, touched by the care as always, nods with a hum.

He hears Choco Raisin say goodbye to Plain Yogurt over his shoulder and leave the tent, the closing flap masking the sound of her retreating footsteps. Healer sighs, turning to face where he last heard Plain Yogurt, probably sat by one of the tent walls. "That was the last patient for now, right?"

"Looks like it." Plain Yogurt replies, curt and dismissive, sounding like he always does when he doesn't care about a conversation. "Hey, what happened just now? When you grabbed your staff?"

Abruptly, there is an unyielding urgency in his voice, contrasting sharply with his previous curtness. Healer assumes, much like Choco Raisin, it stems from concern, and decides it probably wouldn't hurt to tell his closest friend the truth.

"Ah, I'm not too sure myself." He admits lightheartedly, tapping towards Plain Yogurt's voice and settling down somewhere near him, setting his staff down over his lap. He runs his hand along its stalk gently, as if petting it. The pulsing seems to have stopped, for now. "I felt a strange foreign energy coming from my staff. It seems to be resonating with something, though I don't know what that could possibly be. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was a surprise."

"Really?" Plain Yogurt's voice lifts like a song, as if intruiged, before dipping to tease, "That must mean you're something really special, huh?"

For some reason, those words embarrass Healer a little. He laughs, shaking his head. "No, not at all. I'm sure anyone with a strong affinity for magic would be able to resonate with whatever source is catching my staff's attention."

Plain Yogurt lets out a long, drawn hum, and then there is a shuffle of sudden movement. Healer feels their knees bump together, hears the scuffle of what must be Plain Yogurt's hands landing on either side of him, narrowly missing the length of his staff.

"You know," Plain Yogurt drawls, syllables curled with a smile, "I have a feeling something big is going to happen soon. Very soon."

Much like his random strange questions, this comment seemingly comes out of nowhere. Healer smiles back, playing along. "A good something or a bad something?"

"A good something. A very, very good something." Plain Yogurt pauses, then amends cheerfully, "For us, at least."

"Well, that's a relief." Healer turns his head towards the entrance of the tent, voice growing gentle. "After the hardship of the last few weeks, the village deserves something good happening for them."

Plain Yogurt clicks his tongue, a sharpened sound. He leans closer, close enough for his breath to ghost Healer's dough. That isn't really surprising, because he has quite the habit of leaning into Healer's space like this, but the angle of it is. His breath hits Healer's neck and collar rather than his cheeks, which suggests that his head is tilted down to look at something below Healer's chin rather than his face. Healer has no idea what he could be looking at, especially since he doubts his robes are a particularly interesting sight.

"No, no, not them." Plain Yogurt corrects, and there's that strange lilting tone of his again, the one Healer has never really managed to puzzle out. "Us. Just us."

Healer hesitates, confused by the apparent weight behind this distinction. "What do you mean?"

Plain Yogurt leans back, his breath receding as he shifts slightly, their knees no longer pressed together. "I don't know." He says, his grin loud. "It's just a feeling."

Once again, Healer gets the impression that Plain Yogurt knows much more than he is letting on. He genuinely considers pressing Plain Yogurt for information this time, but ultimately decides against it. Plain Yogurt said that whatever it is would happen soon, right? Healer will find out then. Besides, he also said it was meant to be a good thing, so maybe it would be nice to have a pleasant surprise waiting for him.

That night, PureVanilla Healer Cookie dreams that he is floating in a cold embrace.

"Pure Vanilla Cookie," a voice calls to him from nowhere and everywhere, a voice so similar to his own, "Pure Vanilla Cookie!"

That isn't Healer's name, but for some reason, he feels the urge to answer anyway. "Who's there?"

"There you are!" The voice coos, rippling through the nothingness. "You've kept me waiting for far too long, you know. Are you finally ready to face the Truth?"

"What?" Healer mutters, though alongside his confusion wells a traitorous dread, as if his body understands the implication of what is being said better than his mind.

"Open your eyes," the voice coaxes, "and confront the Truth you are so determined to hide from."

Healer realises, suddenly and anxiously, that the reassuring pressure of his bandages have vanished, leaving his bare face exposed. Fear bursts painful through his body, and his hands fly up to cover his closed eyes, pressing his palms into his eyelids in a mimicry of his bandages.

"No, you must confront the Truth." The voice insists, its tone relaxed and otherworldly but no less stubborn. "Open your eyes, Pure Vanilla Cookie."

"I- I can't!" Healer argues weakly, even though that really isn't his name, burying his face into his hands in an act of unspoken defiance. Nervousness prickles along his dough, making him queasy. "I'm sorry, I don't know why but I can't. It will be too much for me."

"Just once." The voice promises softly. "Just one proper look at its whole, ugly entirety and then you will never have to look at the Truth again."

Healer is quiet for a moment. The words affect him in two contrasting ways, both a comfort and a disturbance. The press of his hands against his eyes lifts slightly, less harsh in its rejection of the outside.

"Open your eyes, Pure Vanilla Cookie." The voice repeats and this time, past his fear and dread and uncertainty, Healer feels compelled to listen.

His hands slip from his face, and he cautiously squints his eyes open.

The world is a dark blur for a moment, not any different than the back of his own eyelids, before his eyes finally focus to the best of their ability. It is enough for Healer to realise that he is floating in a black void, with deep blue eyes surrounding him on all sides. They seem to glitter and glow like stardust as they stare at him, pinning him in place like a butterfly to a board.

Healer can only stare back, transfixed, as he sinks into velvety darkness.

When Healer wakes up, it is a slow, sluggish affair. Somewhere outside, he can hear the cawing of the raisin crows announce the daybreak, and it takes him just a moment too long of being conscious to realise the feeling of a hand in his hair.

Still weighted with dregs of sleep, he appreciates the feeling of fingers threading through his hair and the scratch of something against his scalp for a minute or two, before he finally has the presence of mind to wonder who the hand belongs to.

"Plain Yogurt?" He asks with a little yawn, because that's the only logical explanation. "What are you doing?"

The hand stills and pulls away. With his newfound space, Healer pushes himself up into a sitting position, rubbing at his own face in the hopes that will wake him up faster.

"Nothing. You were just tossing and turning so I wanted to help you relax. You need all the rest you can get, since you're so busy all the time." Plain Yogurt explains easily, voice slightly hushed in the early morning. His tone becomes sweeter, softened with honey. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Somehow, it sounds like it is worded as a trick question. Healer doesn't know what the trick could possibly be though, and answers honestly, "I don't know. I don't remember dreaming of anything."

"Mm." The sound is flat, but Plain Yogurt's voice is lighthearted, close to teasing as he says, "That's okay. I'm sure you'll remember one of these days."

"What about you, then? Did you dream of anything?" Healer asks to carry on the conversation, though he reaches for his staff as he does. He needs to get up for the day; the Wafflebots attacks could happen at any moment, and there will inevitably be Cookies in need of his help.

When his fingers wrap around the stalk of his staff, there is no familiarly foreign shot of energy. For a single, bizarre moment, he thinks he almost misses it.

"Nothing much." Plain Yogurt replies languidly, his voice rising and spreading through the air as he gets to his feet. "Just a little doll in the palm of my hand."

[yukiiiiiii13]

[prev]

Life rolls on, not quite easily but peaceful in all its hardships. As the months unfold, Healer falls into a sense of general contentedness with both Plain Yogurt and the village at large, enough to assume that this routine will continue for the foreseeable future.

It ends suddenly, in the middle of the night.

One of Healer's most inconvenient traits is his tendency to sleep rather deeply, so to be awoken in the middle of the night is already jarring enough for him. Worse than that is the thing that had woken him: an unholy, piercing screech that twists and reverbarates around the Raisin Cliffs and shudders the very earth beneath him. The villagers are clamouring outside the tent, and though he can't make out what they are saying, the sound is pitchy with panic and alarm.

Concern spikes cold in Healer's chest, and still slightly disoriented from waking up, he fumbles for his staff and immediately tries to rush outside. In his haste, he doesn't properly anchor his staff as he begins to move, tripping over his own feet and tipping forward. He doesn't even think to brace for impact before he finds a sudden hand catching his arm, startling him a little.

"Woah, woah, careful, don't crack yourself!" Plain Yogurt's voice meets him as he helps Healer right himself. Wrapped up in his alarm, he hadn't heard him moving around before. Plain Yogurt leads Healer's free hand to his upper arm and he takes the silent offer, latching onto him for support. "Here, let's go see what all the commotion is about, hm?"

Plain Yogurt sounds weirdly nonchalant about everything, but Healer just appreciates that he seems to have a level head in the midst of all this. He nods, readjusting his grip on his staff, making sure it is properly anchored this time. "Yes, quickly."

Outside, the sound is deafening, shaking the very air. It's even worse to poor Healer's ears, attuned as they are to pick up the nuances of sound. The chill of the night wind seizes their robes immediately, tugging them left and right, and Healer shivers. To his side, Plain Yogurt huffs out an incredulous laugh, almost covered by the din.

Healer turns to ask him what prompted that, but is distracted by the voices of the other villagers, still alarmed but less panicked. "No, no, that definitely wasn't there yesterday evening. We would have noticed something that big!"

"But where did it come from?"

"I don't know! I've never seen anything like that before, you know that!"

His concern only growing, Healer finally turns to Plain Yogurt, bumping shoulders to make sure he has his attention. "What are they talking about? What's there?"

"A crimson moon." Plain Yogurt says simply.

Healer pauses, shaking his head slightly as if he heard him wrong, through the slow waning of that horrible screeching. "A crimson moon? That is a rather odd occurence, isn't it?"

"Mhm. And," an audible grin slips into Plain Yogurt's voice, alongside something Healer could almost mistake as eagerness, "a castle in the sky."

"In the sky?" Healer repeats in disbelief, turning his face skyward even though that does nothing to prove this castle's existence to him. "What is it doing above our village?"

"Who knows?" Plain Yogurt sighs, with a shrug Healer feels through his hold on his arm. "It's impressive, though. A grand castle, with turrets topped with wafflecone peaks. Its shadow will swallow this tiny village whole when daylight comes."

A new sound suddenly floods the air, coming down in a wave of buzzing as a stray spark of magic energy snags on the dough of Healer's cheek. Flinching slightly, Healer frowns in confusion as shouts break out of the villagers, kicking Healer's concern back up to the surface with a healthy dose of fear.

"WHAT ARE THOSE?!"

"They- they look like, uh, robots?"

"They're heading towards the village!"

"Definitely robots, made of wafflecone too." Plain Yogurt supplements before Healer has to ask, still impressively calm, if not vaguely excited. "They're a pretty piece of tech, but I think we should probably go back inside. They look like they're gearing up for an attack."

Healer straightens up, his grip on his staff tightening as his heart lurches worriedly. "An attack? But why–"

"EVERYONE, HIDE!" Black Raisin's voice rises stubbornly over the muddled noise. "I'll try and hold them off!"

Healer trusts Black Raisin's abilities with his whole heart, but dread still pools inside him as he lets go of Plain Yogurt, turning in the direction he heard her voice. "Black Raisin, wait, let me-!"

A hand catches his arm before he can take more than a few steps as Plain Yogurt cuts in. "You heard her, my dear. Like I said, we need to hide."

Healer turns his head back towards Plain Yogurt with a stern frown. "But it's dangerous for her to go completely alone–"

Plain Yogurt's voice takes on a firmer, almost demanding edge. "She'll be fine, and if she isn't, she'll need you safe and in one piece to be able to heal her. Come on, in."

Plain Yogurt tugs on Healer's arm, but Healer hesitates, resisting against the pull for a moment. The buzz only gets louder, the wind bringing down an acrid, sweet smell as he hears the other villagers rushing around them, hurrying into the tents.

There's another, more insistent tug on his arm, and this time, Healer sighs and follows it. He understands what Plain Yogurt means, and Black Raisin would likely say the same anyway. For now, he will trust her to stay safe, at least enough for him to be able to patch her up afterwards.

So life rolls on, now far more stressful. The Wafflebots continue to attack, and they only seem to multiply as the weeks wear on. Healer is needed near constantly when they attack, and in the brief periods of respite, he is busy with making sure everyone's health is maintained under these continually deteriorating conditions.

Plain Yogurt was often by his side before, but now Healer insists he stay by him at almost all times. Black Raisin hasn't asked for his dispatch in a while, and they have both been acting civil enough in front of him, but Healer knows better. He might not see, but he can still feel the aggravated tension that builds between those two whenever they are around each other, and in a time of crisis, he doesn't want to risk anyone getting distracted.

Besides, Plain Yogurt helps Healer with the patients. He does basic first aid for the less urgent injuries as they wait for Healer to work his magic, and he helps to regulate Healer's condition too, getting him food and drink even when he doesn't want it.

Healer can hear him humming somewhere behind him now, as Healer gently feels around a patient's cracks. His fingers find the stickiness of jam, and he carefully traces the edge of the crack to judge the severity.

The patient, Choco Raisin, hisses quietly in pain, and Healer aches with sympathy. "Just a moment longer," he assures softly, "I just wanted to get a better idea of your injury."

He lays a light hand over the area, and channels his magic into the wound. It spills, warm and soothing, into Choco Raisin's dough, clearing the jam on the surface as it passes. Then, Healer weaves it tenderly through her cracks, deftly sealing them closed.

"There." He smiles, pulling away from her. "How does it feel?"

Choco Raisin takes a moment, presumably testing her body based on the sound of shifting clothes, before replying, "As good as new, like always! Thanks, Healer."

"I'm happy to help. Remember, though, take it easy for the rest of the day. Miracle healing or not, your body needs rest to recover from the stress of the injury." Healer reminds her with a hint of warning to his tone, knowing that Choco Raisin never likes sitting still for long. Sure enough, she groans an agreement, and Healer chuckles as he reaches for where he set his staff down.

His hand wraps securely around it, and a gasp escapes him as a familiarly foreign energy, cool like the feeling of early morning light, dances frantically down his arm. It curls around his heart, before settling in the dip of the hollow of his throat, all in the span of a second or less.

There is a moment of silence, and Healer realises that Plain Yogurt has stopped humming. He isn't sure when that happened.

"Are you alright, Healer?" Choco Raisin asks, concerned. "You're not hurt too, are you?"

Healer takes in a deep breath as the new energy fades into the depths of his dough, grounding himself. He can feel his staff reacting to something, pulsing as if it is trying to reach out and catch more tendrils of whatever it just found.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Healer says, managing a little smile as he pulls himself up to his feet, using his staff as leverage. He hears Choco Raisin follow his lead. "It's been a long day. I might be more tired than I thought."

"If you say so. Take care of yourself too, okay?" Choco Raisin's voice lifts with lingering worry, and Healer, touched by the care as always, nods with a hum.

He hears Choco Raisin say goodbye to Plain Yogurt over his shoulder and leave the tent, the closing flap masking the sound of her retreating footsteps. Healer sighs, turning to face where he last heard Plain Yogurt, probably sat by one of the tent walls. "That was the last patient for now, right?"

"Looks like it." Plain Yogurt replies, curt and dismissive, sounding like he always does when he doesn't care about a conversation. "Hey, what happened just now? When you grabbed your staff?"

Abruptly, there is an unyielding urgency in his voice, contrasting sharply with his previous curtness. Healer assumes, much like Choco Raisin, it stems from concern, and decides it probably wouldn't hurt to tell his closest friend the truth.

"Ah, I'm not too sure myself." He admits lightheartedly, tapping towards Plain Yogurt's voice and settling down somewhere near him, setting his staff down over his lap. He runs his hand along its stalk gently, as if petting it. The pulsing seems to have stopped, for now. "I felt a strange foreign energy coming from my staff. It seems to be resonating with something, though I don't know what that could possibly be. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was a surprise."

"Really?" Plain Yogurt's voice lifts like a song, as if intruiged, before dipping to tease, "That must mean you're something really special, huh?"

For some reason, those words embarrass Healer a little. He laughs, shaking his head. "No, not at all. I'm sure anyone with a strong affinity for magic would be able to resonate with whatever source is catching my staff's attention."

Plain Yogurt lets out a long, drawn hum, and then there is a shuffle of sudden movement. Healer feels their knees bump together, hears the scuffle of what must be Plain Yogurt's hands landing on either side of him, narrowly missing the length of his staff.

"You know," Plain Yogurt drawls, syllables curled with a smile, "I have a feeling something big is going to happen soon. Very soon."

Much like his random strange questions, this comment seemingly comes out of nowhere. Healer smiles back, playing along. "A good something or a bad something?"

"A good something. A very, very good something." Plain Yogurt pauses, then amends cheerfully, "For us, at least."

"Well, that's a relief." Healer turns his head towards the entrance of the tent, voice growing gentle. "After the hardship of the last few weeks, the village deserves something good happening for them."

Plain Yogurt clicks his tongue, a sharpened sound. He leans closer, close enough for his breath to ghost Healer's dough. That isn't really surprising, because he has quite the habit of leaning into Healer's space like this, but the angle of it is. His breath hits Healer's neck and collar rather than his cheeks, which suggests that his head is tilted down to look at something below Healer's chin rather than his face. Healer has no idea what he could be looking at, especially since he doubts his robes are a particularly interesting sight.

"No, no, not them." Plain Yogurt corrects, and there's that strange lilting tone of his again, the one Healer has never really managed to puzzle out. "Us. Just us."

Healer hesitates, confused by the apparent weight behind this distinction. "What do you mean?"

Plain Yogurt leans back, his breath receding as he shifts slightly, their knees no longer pressed together. "I don't know." He says, his grin loud. "It's just a feeling."

Once again, Healer gets the impression that Plain Yogurt knows much more than he is letting on. He genuinely considers pressing Plain Yogurt for information this time, but ultimately decides against it. Plain Yogurt said that whatever it is would happen soon, right? Healer will find out then. Besides, he also said it was meant to be a good thing, so maybe it would be nice to have a pleasant surprise waiting for him.

That night, PureVanilla Healer Cookie dreams that he is floating in a cold embrace.

"Pure Vanilla Cookie," a voice calls to him from nowhere and everywhere, a voice so similar to his own, "Pure Vanilla Cookie!"

That isn't Healer's name, but for some reason, he feels the urge to answer anyway. "Who's there?"

"There you are!" The voice coos, rippling through the nothingness. "You've kept me waiting for far too long, you know. Are you finally ready to face the Truth?"

"What?" Healer mutters, though alongside his confusion wells a traitorous dread, as if his body understands the implication of what is being said better than his mind.

"Open your eyes," the voice coaxes, "and confront the Truth you are so determined to hide from."

Healer realises, suddenly and anxiously, that the reassuring pressure of his bandages have vanished, leaving his bare face exposed. Fear bursts painful through his body, and his hands fly up to cover his closed eyes, pressing his palms into his eyelids in a mimicry of his bandages.

"No, you must confront the Truth." The voice insists, its tone relaxed and otherworldly but no less stubborn. "Open your eyes, Pure Vanilla Cookie."

"I- I can't!" Healer argues weakly, even though that really isn't his name, burying his face into his hands in an act of unspoken defiance. Nervousness prickles along his dough, making him queasy. "I'm sorry, I don't know why but I can't. It will be too much for me."

"Just once." The voice promises softly. "Just one proper look at its whole, ugly entirety and then you will never have to look at the Truth again."

Healer is quiet for a moment. The words affect him in two contrasting ways, both a comfort and a disturbance. The press of his hands against his eyes lifts slightly, less harsh in its rejection of the outside.

"Open your eyes, Pure Vanilla Cookie." The voice repeats and this time, past his fear and dread and uncertainty, Healer feels compelled to listen.

His hands slip from his face, and he cautiously squints his eyes open.

The world is a dark blur for a moment, not any different than the back of his own eyelids, before his eyes finally focus to the best of their ability. It is enough for Healer to realise that he is floating in a black void, with deep blue eyes surrounding him on all sides. They seem to glitter and glow like stardust as they stare at him, pinning him in place like a butterfly to a board.

Healer can only stare back, transfixed, as he sinks into velvety darkness.

When Healer wakes up, it is a slow, sluggish affair. Somewhere outside, he can hear the cawing of the raisin crows announce the daybreak, and it takes him just a moment too long of being conscious to realise the feeling of a hand in his hair.

Still weighted with dregs of sleep, he appreciates the feeling of fingers threading through his hair and the scratch of something against his scalp for a minute or two, before he finally has the presence of mind to wonder who the hand belongs to.

"Plain Yogurt?" He asks with a little yawn, because that's the only logical explanation. "What are you doing?"

The hand stills and pulls away. With his newfound space, Healer pushes himself up into a sitting position, rubbing at his own face in the hopes that will wake him up faster.

"Nothing. You were just tossing and turning so I wanted to help you relax. You need all the rest you can get, since you're so busy all the time." Plain Yogurt explains easily, voice slightly hushed in the early morning. His tone becomes sweeter, softened with honey. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Somehow, it sounds like it is worded as a trick question. Healer doesn't know what the trick could possibly be though, and answers honestly, "I don't know. I don't remember dreaming of anything."

"Mm." The sound is flat, but Plain Yogurt's voice is lighthearted, close to teasing as he says, "That's okay. I'm sure you'll remember one of these days."

"What about you, then? Did you dream of anything?" Healer asks to carry on the conversation, though he reaches for his staff as he does. He needs to get up for the day; the Wafflebots attacks could happen at any moment, and there will inevitably be Cookies in need of his help.

When his fingers wrap around the stalk of his staff, there is no familiarly foreign shot of energy. For a single, bizarre moment, he thinks he almost misses it.

"Nothing much." Plain Yogurt replies languidly, his voice rising and spreading through the air as he gets to his feet. "Just a little doll in the palm of my hand."

[yukiiiiiii13]

[prev]

"...I really don't think this is necessary, Plain Yogurt. My hair is neat enough." Healer Cookie tries to protest to Shadow Milk, who sits behind him with his legs stretched out beside each hip, trying to comb his hair icing with his fingers.

Healer Cookie. Bleugh.

It's such a generic name, it's hardly a name at all. Shadow Milk knows Pure Vanilla doesn't remember his actual name, but that doesn't make him hate that stupid placeholder any less. As a matter of fact, Shadow Milk actively refuses to call him something so bland, so he doesn't.

"But it could be so much neater! Just let me do this for you, my dear." He insists, gritting his teeth as he fights with a stubborn clump in his hair. This would be way easier if he had his claws out, but 'Plain Yogurt' isn't meant to have claws and Pure Vanilla would probably notice the scratch of them against his scalp. "You don't have any patients to worry after right now, anyway. You can relax a little."

Pure Vanilla winces slightly at the tug of the clump coming undone, but he doesn't complain, finally giving up his protests as his body goes lax. He sighs, a faint smile flickering over his face. "Alright, alright. Just this once."

They lapse into a comfortable silence as Shadow Milk continues to painstakingly smooth Pure Vanilla's neglected hair out. Pure Vanilla sits docile as he does, like a doll being dressed up, and Shadow Milk grins to himself, enjoying the thought. That's what he is, after all.

There's a delicious irony in this situation, and Shadow Milk never fails to savour it. He had known about this amnesiac spell before he had escaped the Silver Tree, but he had kind of been assuming it would have resolved itself by the time he got his opportunity for freedom. It was an inevitability that one would arise, with the two halves of that torn White Lily Cookie both locked in stasis. It encouraged her Seal to weaken faster, and Shadow Milk jumped out at the first chance he got.

Only his spirit could slip through the crack, but that was fine, that was fine, since his original body was stale and practically useless after several millennia without use. All he had to do was steal the body of a Cookie on the edge of crumbling entirely – a traveller fallen victim to a monster attack with their soul already fleeing their body in fright – and maintain its endangered state with his own magic so he could throw himself at Pure Vanilla's doorstep, the picture perfect image of a miserable Cookie in need. It just so happened that the doorstep was a dusty, ignorant one.

Well, whatever. Pure Vanilla's current state is both convenient and inconvenient for Shadow Milk. The Soul Jam is currently dormant, but it still seems to be stubbornly connected to Pure Vanilla, because it didn't react to Shadow Milk's presence or his remaining half of the Soul Jam. With it in hiding like that, it makes it legitimately impossible for him to quickly steal it back, because there is nothing to steal.

That means Shadow Milk has to use more convoluted methods. That's fine; those are his favourite kinds of methods, anyway. Slipping into the village like a wolf in sheep's clothing, carving an undeniable space for himself at Pure Vanilla's side and waiting, waiting, waiting.

When Pure Vanilla finally resonates with the Soul Jam again, he will certainly regain his memories and buckle under that unaddressed storm of grief, regret and self-loathing. Taking the Soul Jam back then will be the easiest thing in the world. Who knows, maybe Pure Vanilla will hand it over himself in a fit of grief-stricken anguish! Wouldn't that be fun?

It doesn't seem like that will happen anytime soon, though. Funnily enough, Pure Vanilla seems to be avoiding the Light of Truth to the absolute best of his ability, wrapped tight in those bandages of his and unwilling to shed them. It makes Shadow Milk laugh if he thinks about it for too long.

Denial is the first step towards Deceit, after all. First, you refuse to look Truth, harsh and bitter, in the face. Then, when you inevitably have to confront it, you turn to the veil of Deceit to make the world less unbearable to look at. And Pure Vanilla has already managed to get himself one foot on the staircase, without Shadow Milk interfering in the slightest.

It gives Shadow Milk an inkling of an idea. He could get Pure Vanilla there, surely. All he has to do is swoop in as he suffers through his returned memories and... twist the knife a little. Or a lot.

Whatever the case, he has to be there for that. The wait is sluggish, but Shadow Milk doesn't bother speeding things along himself. He could, and he definitely will if he starts getting too bored, but for now, the novelty of playing pretend with a physical body for the first time in far too long hasn't quite worn off yet.

"You're being awfully quiet." Pure Vanilla teases quietly, breaching the silence that has nestled around them. "You're usually much more talkative than this. Perhaps I overlooked a patient in need?"

He's not being serious, and his curled lips make that glaringly obvious. Shadow Milk scoffs out a laugh. "Oh, please, I've never been crispier! I just have my work cut out for me with your hair, so I have to focus."

Pure Vanilla's smile falters into a small frown. "...Is it really that bad?"

Yes, Shadow Milk wants to hiss. He's used to Pure Vanilla's visage being delicately graceful, holding the air of a king, his pale blonde hair framing his face in immaculate curves. Now it is ruffled and unkempt, the ends dirtied with the grime that floats around the village, and though some of it is removed with each pass of Shadow Milk's fingers, it is far too saturated to get rid of it entirely like that.

It annoys Shadow Milk, teetering on the edge of anger, and so does Pure Vanilla's outfit. The rags he wears as robes, haphazardly and poorly stitched together. They don't suit him at all, and Shadow Milk's director's eye, attuned to aesthetics, chafes at the sight of his doll like that.

He could dress him in much, much better things than that. Sweeping robes of black and gold, because gold has always been flattering with his complexion, made of the finest sugar coat fabric. Or blue and gold, like a night star. And if - when - Pure Vanilla lays his eyes on the Truth once more and chooses to continue hiding from it, then Shadow Milk will provide. He can give him a blindfold of silk, embroided with honey floss, far softer on the eyelids than some old bandages.

Pure Vanilla just needs to properly reconnect with his Soul Jam first. Draw it out into the open.

So, yes, Shadow Milk really does think his hair is that bad, but he won't tell him that. He's not above upsetting Pure Vanilla, but there is nothing to gain from it in this tiny instance. It wouldn't even be that funny, really.

"I'm exaggerating, I'm exaggerating." Shadow Milk reassures lightheartedly, at least satisfied with the silkiness returning to Pure Vanilla's hair under his meticulous ministrations. "I'm fixing it up now, anyway. Why, do we have to talk all the time?"

"No, of course not." Pure Vanilla's hands idly twist together in his lap. "But you usually hum when we don't talk, so..."

Shadow Milk usually hums on purpose, to make sure Pure Vanilla is always aware of his presence. It has to be a conscious decision, because Shadow Milk is naturally silent otherwise, in the same way his footsteps tend to drift along the ground if he isn't trying to make them heard. It is the instincts of a predator stalking its prey.

But Pure Vanilla doesn't need to know that, because that doesn't apply to Plain Yogurt. So, instead, Shadow Milk says, "You don't like the silence?"

"No, the silence is fine, but I like hearing your voice." Pure Vanilla admits, with that small, content smile of his creeping onto his face, at odds with his bedraggled appearance. "It's lovely."

Shadow Milk's fingers stall in his hair. His incorporeal eyes blink and squint in the shadows around the village, exactly where he has left them. Then, he slowly lowers his hands down to Pure Vanilla's shoulders, leaning forward to speak gently into his ear, a taunt and a fact, "Of course it is. It's mine."

Shadow Milk watches as the barest hint of colour rises to Pure Vanilla's cheeks. He wonders if he knows that he does that, whenever Shadow Milk gets close enough for his breath to brush his dough– no, he doubts it. Pure Vanilla knows very little, the way he is now.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something."

Black Raisin's voice is sharp and intrusive from the tent flaps, respect for Pure Vanilla muddied by a marked unhappiness. Pure Vanilla obviously can't see the withering warning glare she shoots Shadow Milk then, but Shadow Milk does, and he relishes in it. He leans the slightest bit closer to Pure Vanilla and gives Black Raisin a mocking grin past his shoulder, showing the slightest flash of his fangs before dulling them back down to Plain Yogurt's average Cookie teeth. Just a little trick of the light.

Black Raisin's expression darkens, her fist tightening at her side. Shadow Milk knows very well that she has not liked him from the beginning, and he has been gleefully pushing her headfirst towards hatred ever since. Things like this are always more fun with a little antagonism, and he gets a thrill whenever Pure Vanilla kindly sides with him instead.

"Oh, no, Plain Yogurt was just combing my hair. He insisted." Pure Vanilla chuckles, a little sheepishly and a little fondly, mostly unaware of the lethal staring competition happening over his head. He runs a hand over his own hair, as if to check what Shadow Milk has done, and Shadow Milk finally leans back out of his space. Black Raisin calms, and looks towards Pure Vanilla, who turns to her with a more serious expression. "Did you need me for something? Did someone get hurt?"

Black Raisin softens entirely like chocolate in the sun. "No, Healer, nothing like that, thankfully. I just wanted to let you know a group of us are heading out to patrol."

Pure Vanilla's face loosens into a relieved smile. "Ah, alright then. Stay safe, all of you."

"We will." Black Raisin turns to leave, hesitates, before turning back. "Oh, and the others just finished a batch of raisin buns. Feel free to help yourself."

Pure Vanilla hums in acknowledgement, but very pointedly does not answer. Shadow Milk knows why he doesn't. His eating habits were already abysmal to begin with, but living in poverty in a village with limited supplies made it even worse. He never seeks food out himself, and when it is given to him, he has a tendency to try and squirrel it away to give to some patient later, as a pick-me-up. Unfortunately for him, Shadow Milk tends to notice these things.

Once Black Raisin has left, Shadow Milk scoots back from Pure Vanilla, pulling his legs back from where they were stretched out to finally stand up. "So, should we go and help ourselves?" He challenges Pure Vanilla, daring him to refuse.

Pure Vanilla tilts his head this way and that, clearly reluctant, before tackling the dare head-on. "You can go ahead without me. I'm not hungry at the moment."

It's not a lie, but it dances on the edge of one. Shadow Milk sighs, ignoring his own budding amusement in favour of the scene. "But I don't want to eat on my own. You don't have to be hungry to eat, do you?"

Pure Vanilla hesitates for a few seconds, before reaching for where he had laid his staff, picking it up and steadying it against the ground. "...No, I suppose I don't. And I certainly wouldn't want you to be lonely."

He says it playfully, but Shadow Milk's eyes narrow at the words, his face falling blank. He doesn't respond immediately, circling Pure Vanilla with silent footsteps, not bothering to make himself heard.

The tense moment lengthens, and Pure Vanilla's expression falters with uncertainty, his head turning left and right. He had spoken playfully, so he must have expected a similar quip back, and found the silence he got instead unnerving.

"...Plain Yogurt?" He calls, with the slightest shiver of nervousness in the name. Shadow Milk comes to a stop in front of him, silently tapping his heels together with a sense of satisfaction.

"I'm here, my dear. Let's go, shall we?" He smiles, holding a hand out towards Pure Vanilla with a little snap of his fingers so he knows where his hand is. Pure Vanilla eases.

Yes, it'll take some time to get the Soul Jam if he continues to let things run its natural course, but Shadow Milk has time to spare. Even this little play in a rundown village is far better than the thousands of years he has spent stagnant, doing nothing, practically non-existent in the eyes of the world. Here, his presence makes an impact. Here, he can pick Pure Vanilla apart thread by thread and Pure Vanilla will let him, with a smile on his face.

That's all there is to it, really.

Shadow Milk hums as Pure Vanilla slips his hand easily into his palm, like he trusts him with his whole life.

"Just follow me!"

(Sweet fool.)

[yukiiiiiii13]

Healer Cookie has made a wonderful new friend recently.

He had been in an awful state when they first found him, already half crumbled, and even the miracle worker Healer worried he wouldn't be able to save him. But save him he had, and in exchange, his friend had insisted on staying with them for the foreseeable future. He trails after Healer and assits him in any way he can, very rarely peeling himself away from his side.

Healer thinks it's sweet, growing fond of his new near-constant companion. Black Raisin is not so convinced. She keeps telling him that she has a bad feeling about this newcomer, and she doesn't like the way he's stubbornly cozying up to Healer. Healer does his best to soothe her concerns, reasoning that the attachment stems from his friend's gratitude for his saved life, but he knows how fiercely protective of their village she can be, so it's difficult to dissuade her entirely.

At the very least, his new friend seems to not mind Black Raisin's wariness. In fact, he pays very little mind towards the village at large, busying himself with long conversations with Healer whenever possible.

Healer must admit, he finds his friend fascinating, his conversations engaging and illuminating. When Healer is busy tending to patients, his friend will tell swooping, glorious tales that bewitch the whole healing tent, and often Healer's patients will leave with a fresh appreciation for their new neighbour.

It's the conversations they have alone, however, that Healer finds most interesting. His friend has a tendency to ask the strangest questions out of nowhere, and give the most captivating explanations, with a certain weight to his words that seems to be otherwise absent when they are around anyone else. Questions such as:

"Do you know what a Soul Jam is?" His friend, Plain Yogurt Cookie, asks casually, somewhere across the tent. Healer can hear the lazy flipping of paper.

Healer pauses, caught off guard by the immediate question after just stepping into the tent. He considers it for a moment; the name rings a very faint bell, but he can't actually pin it down to anything in his memory, so he shakes his head. "No, I don't think so. Why do you ask?"

He walks towards the sound of Plain Yogurt's voice with the aid of his staff, reaching out his free hand and making a small grabbing motion. There's the sound of shuffling before a tepid hand meets him halfway, cold fingers curling around his as Plain Yogurt pulls him to sit beside him on the thin bedroll. Healer can do this by himself, really, but Plain Yogurt always insists on helping, so it has become routine by now, to offer his hand and let him lead.

"A Soul Jam is a manifestation of incredible, unimaginable power and eternal life." Plain Yogurt explains as Healer settles at his side, gingerly laying his staff down on the floor. "There are five, and they originally belonged to five great heroes, who were given them by the Witches themselves. But the Witches are fickle beings. They cruelly snatched the Soul Jams back from the five great heroes on a whim and declared them unworthy, even though the Soul Jams had only ever been theirs."

Healer gasps, fully engaged with his friend's unspooling story even though it was sprung on him so suddenly. "Why? What did those five heroes do?"

"Nothing that warranted what they got. Their Soul Jams, the very core of their being, stripped away and them, cast into a suffocating Silver Tree in a faraway continent, sentenced to an eternal imprisonment!" There's grit in Plain Yogurt's voice that widens into a growl, oozing with a bitter anger. He must have some very passionate opinions on this story, because Healer hasn't heard him quite that rough before. "The betrayal! The injustice!"

"How awful." Healer comments sympathetically, nodding his head in agreement. "It sounds like a terribly unfair fate."

"It does, doesn't it?" Plain Yogurt clears his throat, and his voice smooths back out to its usual silky-sweet quality. "But that's not the important part. You see, the Soul Jams were broken apart by the Witches, and their purest parts were scattered across the realm, waiting to be found by the thieves that would become their new holders."

"Ah, so the Soul Jams are still out there somewhere?" Healer guesses, assuming this tale is something of a legendary mystery.

Plain Yogurt lets out a little hum. "Well, yes, but not quite. Actually, the Soul Jams have already found their new holders, but disaster struck and they disappeared in the aftermath." He shifts, leaning closer to whisper to Healer, a smile sneaking into his low tone. "One in particular, the holder of the Light of Truth, fell into a deep slumber, spending his days in a dreamlike haze of ignorance." He leans even closer, and Healer shudders as his breath gently caresses his dough, turning to face him. "Have you really never heard this story before?"

Healer sucks in a shallow breath and, on impulse, clumsily reaches a hand up, searching for Plain Yogurt's face. He gets stopped halfway, his wrist snared in a frigid grip, tight enough to startle him.

"...What are you doing?" Plain Yogurt's voice has lost its playfulness, as cold as his hands. Healer's stomach twists with shame. Plain Yogurt freely and frequently touches him, but Healer has already realised that he does not appreciate the same being done to him. He prefers to initiate, or otherwise lead the contact.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." Healer offers, ducking his head with an awkward little chuckle. "I wasn't thinking very deeply. You were just so close, and I suddenly wanted to take a look at you."

Take a look, of course, is meant metaphorically here. Healer just wants to feel Plain Yogurt's face, to remember its shape, they both understand that. But Plain Yogurt responds like it was meant literally anyway, his grip on Healer's wrist loosening to something more gentle as he sighs, "You're not completely blind, are you? If you took those bandages off, it would be way easier to get an idea of my face."

Healer has never mentioned the degree of his visual impairment to his friend, so he isn't sure where he got this idea from, but he doesn't focus on that. He can't, because the idea of taking his bandages off and opening his eyes strikes him with a dark dread, anxiety wriggling to life in his chest.

"No, I can't." He says firmly, shaking his head. He doesn't know why, but he knows that he really can't bear to do it, a possible danger that he doesn't want to risk.

Plain Yogurt is quiet for a moment that stretches and snaps, the only evidence that he is still there being the chill of his hand loosely around Healer's wrist. Then, he snorts, tumbling into a poorly stifled laugh. "Awfully eager to hide from the Truth, aren't you?"

Healer doesn't get a chance to fully process his mutter, layered beneath his laugh, before Plain Yogurt distracts him by grabbing both of his hands. Tucked underneath Plain Yogurt's palms, Healer's hands are guided to his face. Healer exhales, carefully spidering his fingers out to feel the contours, the short curling ends of his icing hair. Plain Yogurt's cheeks are lukewarm, just like the rest of him.

"Do you think you deserve the Soul Jam?" Plain Yogurt asks quietly, as abruptly as all his other questions. Healer can feel his lips move against the edge of his hand with each syllable.

Healer thinks about it, slightly confused by this hypothetical question but willing to entertain it. His hands go slack, satisfied with its acquaintance with Plain Yogurt's face and ready to return to his lap, but Plain Yogurt keeps them pressed to his cheeks. Healer doesn't complain, instead letting out a little chuckle.

"...No, I don't think so. If that power really is as incredible as you say, I doubt I would be suitable to wield it. Though," Healer's voice trails off for a second, turning wistful, "with it, I'm sure I would be able to help much more Cookies."

Plain Yogurt makes a noise of acknowledgement, before tilting his head – Healer knows, can feel it through his hands. "And what about me?" He asks, with an odd intensity. "Do you think I deserve the Soul Jam?"

This answer comes easier. Healer smiles, "More than me, at the very least."

Plain Yogurt doesn't reply immediately, but somehow, Healer can feel his gaze drilling into him, along with a dozen others, and he sits a little straighter under the scrutiny.

The tension bursts like a bubble as Plain Yogurt starts laughing, loud enough to fill the entire little tent, shaking its secure foundations. Healer's hands are finally released, and he folds them neatly in his lap. He enjoys the sound of Plain Yogurt's laughter, though he doesn't know what exactly is so funny.

Eventually, the laughter winds down, ending with a huff as Plain Yogurt slumps over against him, resting their heads against each other. Healer startles in surprise, but quickly relaxes into it, sitting still to avoid jostling his friend too much.

They sit there in comfortable silence, the sounds of the rest of the villagers tapering out as the night begins to creep in.

"...Have I ever told you about the Spire?" With their heads together like this, it feels like Plain Yogurt whispers directly into Healer's mind. His tone makes it clear that he knows he never has, the question rhetorical.

Healer answers anyway. "No, I don't think so. What spire are you talking about?"

"My Spire." Plain Yogurt replies simply, a smirk carrying his words. He begins to gesture dramatically with the arm not pressed against Healer's side - he can tell by the sudden jostling. "It's an absolute marvel, I tell you! Its' peaks are as tall as the sky itself, stuck in a perpetual night. There's the Yogurt River, and the blueberry bushes, and the apple trees in the courtyard. There are rooms by the dozen, and staircases that lead nowhere and everywhere, and cards that come alive. A place of splendorous chaos, holding the secrets of the universe!"

Whimsical pride plumps Plain Yogurt's voice, and that alone is enough to make Healer smile as he continues to describe the majesty of his Spire in excited, hushed tones against the end of Healer's brow.

Awe warms Healer like a hearth along with a spark of shame as he finally gets the chance to murmur back, "That sounds like an impressive place. Confusing, but impressive."

"Right?" Plain Yogurt grins. "Much better than this old dump, anyway."

Healer's smile stutters slightly. "Well, we all do our best with what we have here." He defends, voice steady, pulling away just a little. "If you have a place like that to return to, why haven't you? You sound very fond of it, and you've recovered enough to travel at length again."

"What, do you not want me here anymore?" Plain Yogurt teases, with an audible pout.

Healer sighs, shoulders relaxing again. "No, of course not. I like your company, but I really am curious."

"Mmm, I wonder. Maybe there's something keeping me here." Plain Yogurt suggests with a mockingly singsong lilt to his voice, one that isn't quite familiar to Healer. Healer jolts as Plain Yogurt's arm sneaks up around him, pulling him back into his side, but his head falls comfortably into the crook of his shoulder anyway. Plain Yogurt's short, soft curls brush against the side of his face, cushioning him.

"One day, I'll take you to my Spire, my dear." Plain Yogurt says in a low, strange tone, burbling like a pot about to boil over, and it is both a gentle promise and a threat of some kind.

"That sounds nice." Healer means it, even though he knows he doesn't plan to leave the village any time soon. Not when there are Cookies here who need his miracle healing.

Healer is not stupid. Though he sometimes find it a little unncessary, the villagers call him the Wise One for a reason. He understands Black Raisin's wariness of his new friend in particular.

Plain Yogurt is hiding something, and probably something big. Healer doesn't need to see him to know that when it is clear enough in his crafted voice. Besides, the state of their little village is not an enviable one. No traveller would want to stay past their strained welcome, especially not one who has somewhere as magnificent as that spire supposedly waiting for them.

But, regardless of whatever secrets Plain Yogurt may have, Healer doesn't believe he's malicious. He treats him too gently for that, his cold fingers cradling his hand every time he insists on helping. And his stories, told in such a lively tone, are always able to lift his patients' spirits. Why would he bother with all that, if he truly had ill intent?

No, Plain Yogurt can't be malicious, so Healer sees no reason to force his secrets out of him. If they continue bonding, they will surely surface eventually.

And if Healer is somehow wrong about this, if he really is malicious, then... well, it's better this way. Better for his attention and potential wrath to be focused entirely on him. Healer can take the brunt of it to protect the rest of the village, and it would be perfectly fair, since he had been the one to advocate for Plain Yogurt to be allowed to stay in the first place.

Ah, Black Raisin would be upset with him if she heard him say that, but it's true enough, isn't it?

That won't happen, anyway. Plain Yogurt is suspicious, definitely, and knows something Healer doesn't, but that is not an inherently dangerous thing.

For now, they can sit cuddled together on this thin bedroll and enjoy each other's company. Healer has no need for the past he doesn't remember, nor the future he can't see.

All he needs is this present, cozy in the fledgling night with his friend's lazily hummed melody coiling around him like a musical snake.

[next]

[yukiiiiiii13]

(ep8 spoilers ahead)

Black Sapphire is at a bit of a loss.

Really, who wouldn't be? What was supposed to be a simple, fun little programme of torment spiralled so far out of control that anyone would have lost their bearings. Even Master Shadow Milk had lost his by the end of it, so the rest of them surely stood no chance!

It ended up as a complete disaster on their part, an absolutely ghastly stain on their record. Black Sapphire is fairly sure he hasn't witnessed a worse showing since– well, he can't think it too loud, because it's a sore point for the Master, but it has been an incredibly, incredibly long time.

And they had to abandon the Spire too! The Spire, which he and Candy Apple have patiently waited in for what seems like eons. Candy Apple has been pretending not to sulk over it, or to sulk for different Master-related reasons, but she's rather upset over the loss of her glamorous collection of syrups. Black Sapphire can see right through her though. He had been the one who got her half of those syrups in the first place, because he knows she likes to entertain herself with dressing up.

He may have also replaced a good number of them too, as a meagre apology for ruining them in his occasional pranks, but that is neither here or there.

What is here and there is the fact that Black Sapphire is facing a near unprecedented level of befuddlement in the face of all this falling apart. And the worst culprit, naturally, is Pure Vanilla Cookie.

Black Sapphire really isn't sure how to feel about him. Candy Apple, of course, hates him on all grounds, both logical and illogical, but Black Sapphire's opinion on the matter is frustratingly more nuanced. He holds a certain disdain for him on principle, but just to himself, he can admit that his act of deception was impressive. If it were directed towards anyone else, Black Sapphire would have reveled in it, even.

But it had been directed at Master Shadow Milk, and the sheer audacity, the sheer unadultered nerve of that strips a good deal of the amusement Black Sapphire might have gotten from the situation away. He's still experiencing the lingering shock of such a thing succeeding.

And then there's the problem of Pure Vanilla's apparent...effect on the Master. Something about him prompted a disgusting sort of authenticity from Master Shadow Milk, made his smiles and snarls and laughter break the mould they were usually contained by. Black Sapphire prides himself in his ability to, generally and with minimal effort, guess the true emotion of his Master at any given time, regardless of what mask he chooses to wear. He hadn't needed to do that when he and Candy Apple came to fetch him after that battle; Shadow Milk's ugly, eeriely complicated rage was plain on his face, his masks thrown to the side.

It was both terrifying and agonising to imagine that anyone could affect Shadow Milk to that extent.

Black Sapphire is not burdened with the same lovesick blindness as Candy Apple, so he can recognise that, in hindsight, Pure Vanilla's strange influence on Shadow Milk is probably due to his possession of the Soul Jam. It puts Pure Vanilla in a unique position and, considering Shadow Milk's proud declaration of their new shared title before it all went downhill, it must make him a worthy partner in Shadow Milk's eyes, circumstances permitting.

The idea is almost laughably absurd. It makes Black Sapphire feel like there is something barbed and bitter lodged in his throat.

Following their forced retreat, Master Shadow Milk had insisted that he has no more interest in Pure Vanilla, that he will get his revenge by destroying him and that will be that, before sequestering himself away to scheme, apparently uninterested in his faithful minions' inputs. This, at least, is a fairly common occurence. Black Sapphire understands why he wouldn't want Candy Apple's erratic suggestions, driven moreso by a bid for his attention than any meaningful attempt at contribution, but he humbly believes he could be of good help, if given the chance.

Personal grievances aside, Black Sapphire is a little disappointed by the Master's clumsily designed lie, such a far cry from his masterful tapestries of deceit, intricately woven with a slither of truth to easily ensnare all who encounter it. Candy Apple accepted his excuses wholeheartedly because they soothed her, even though Black Sapphire is sure she noticed the discrepancies too.

Ironically, disciples of Deceit tend to have a better grasp on the Truth then most Cookies, recognising it far quicker. To be able to most efficiently reject it, you see.

For all their Master claimed to reject Pure Vanilla, he kept fiddling with that little doll in Pure Vanilla's image, squeezing it and mauling it and fixing it at random intervals as he mulled over his new plans. Black Sapphire had seen it, every time he cautiously tried to check in on their Master, hastily bowing back out whenever he recieved a nasty glare. If the doll was ever broken, it was never broken for long, always returning to a serviceable state so Shadow Milk could continue fidgeting with it.

It is ominous, this attachment his Master seems to have. Black Sapphire quite dislikes it, so he guesses by extension, he quite dislikes Pure Vanilla too.

Speaking of attachment, he blinks out of his pondering as Candy Apple bobs into view in front of him, trying to slink past him to undoubtedly go and disturb the Master in his seclusion.

Black Sapphire pointedly clears his throat. "And what do you think you're doing?"

Candy Apple tiptoes to a stop, glancing at him with squinty, suspicious eyes. "Obviously, I'm going to check on Master Shadow Milk! Hasn't he been holed up for a while? A really long while?"

"Master Shadow Milk ordered not to be disturbed." Black Sapphire replies silkily, hiding the fact that he, too, has been getting antsy about the duration of their Master's isolation. Still, every one of his polite entrances has been met with poor reception, so Candy Apple's boistrous one would definitely go even worse, and he would much rather avoid that. She's an annoying brat, but Black Sapphire would find her permanent absence... uncomfortable.

Candy Apple pouts, puffing out her cheeks. "Yeah, well, he ordered that a while ago and he still isn't out. Maybe he needs some cheering up!" She lights up, her eyes gleaming with an uncanny, delighted shine. "I need to be there for him in his time of need. I can help him think of ways to destroy that- that awful, pathetic Vanilla Cookie!"

"Pure Vanilla Cookie." Black Sapphire corrects quietly, reluctantly, only because he has a sinking feeling that he will continue to haunt their conversations, and he isn't sure, much to his chagrin, how Shadow Milk will react if he overhears and thinks Candy Apple genuinely didn't bother to remember his name.

Black Sapphire really doesn't understand Candy Apple's infatuation with their Master. Of course, he can understand the admiration and the exhaltation, because their Master is a brilliant, powerful Cookie who was baked with the world as his inheritance, but Candy Apple's obsession is so extreme it causes her to act outside the guidelines of their Master's orders if she foolishly believes it would benefit her chances.

Then again, she has always been like this. From the moment Candy Apple has opened her eyes, she has had an odd fixation on Master Shadow Milk, even though it was Black Sapphire who sat in front of her and watched her morph into her Cookie form for the first time, out of the sickeningly sweet apple the Master had tossed carelessly into his hands like a second thought. Her fixation has only intensified and warped as she's grown, seemingly only spurred on by the overall lack of acknowledgement from Master Shadow Milk.

It is almost as if the impossibility of it, the way it always lies just out of reach, has only made Candy Apple's attachment deeper, obsessed with the thrill of that distant and flickering sliver of chance.

Come to think of it, that might be the same for Shadow Milk's obsession with Pure Vanilla. It would explain why he seems to be marinating in such a staggeringly complex mix of emotions now, even after his desired ending seems to have slipped from his hands.

Ugh, love. What a beautifully awful thing, so easy to twist. It's the best kindling for rumours, drawing out the worst reactions, and it's the ultimate curse.

"Whatever!" Candy Apple huffs, turning away from him with a flourish of her skirt. "Shadow Milk needs me. I'm going to help him, and there's nothing you can do to stop me!"

And, well. That's just a blatant lie.

Black Sapphire sweeps his microphone out in front of her feet, tripping her so badly that she lands directly on her face with a shrill squeak. He snickers a little. He can't help it.

Candy Apple pushes herself up from the floor with a sharp scowl, eyes boiling with anger, her shriek practically vibrating in her dough. "You- you MEANIE!"

Black Sapphire shrugs theatrically, not bothering to hide the curl of a smile. "Consider this payback for your hinderance back at the Spire." He chuckles slightly, narrowing his eyes. "After all, if you hadn't released those Cookies from those cards, we probably wouldn't be here now, would we?"

It's petty, especially since Candy Apple has apparently already been punished for that transgression, but any punishment handed down by Shadow Milk might as well not be a punishment at all to her. Keeping her from running in and bothering Shadow Milk, on the other hand? Now that's a punishment.

Candy Apple's face contorts, her dough flushed with humiliation and anger both, sputtering out frustrated grumbles that sound exactly the same as when she was first baked. "Shut up and get out of my WAY!"

She jumps at Black Sapphire, who dodges and alights into the air with a flap of his wings, making her stumble again with a cheeky flick of his microphone. He laughs at her responding screech, so much like the harsh feedback of his audio equipment.

Besides, pettiness aside, Black Sapphire is only dutifully following his orders. If Master Shadow Milk wants to gather strength by wallowing in his unstable emotions, then who are they to stop him?

He is the Master of All Knowledge, after all. He must know best.

[yukiiiiiii13]

(ep8 spoilers ahead!)

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a king who honoured Truth.

He was as gentle as a lamb, as pure as driven snow, as warm as sunlight, and his citizens revered him for these qualities. His Truth was his kindness and his hope, and he was said to be able to heal a Cookie of all their woes and pain with a single touch, so blessed by the heavens he was.

Unfortunately, his Truth was no armour, and eventually it became a blade that turned against him. His soft heart failed to protect his kingdom when disaster fell like a fog over it, thick with malice, and those citizens who once revered him came to despise those very same traits they once praised.

The king of Truth, as gentle as a coward, as pure as a martyr, as warm as the remnants of his burning kingdom. The king, dismayed by his Truth failing him, had little idea of what to do as his citizens abandoned him, one by one until only he remained.

One day, a wise scholar happened upon the shell of that kingdom and, curious to know its story, he went to visit the king. The king, still at a loss for what to do and hoping the scholar may impart some of his knowledge, freely shared the tale of the kingdom's downfall with a deep sorrow in his voice.

The wise scholar, taking pity on the king, stepped up to the weary silhouette curled in that old throne and said, "Is it not obvious? You should let go of your Truth."

"My Truth?" The king murmured, disbelieving. "I certainly must have misheard you. I have dedicated my life to Truth. I cannot possibly part with it."

"Whyever not? Look at where Truth has lead your life – to complete ruins, hasn't it?" The wise scholar explained, oh so patiently. "It has paid your dedication back with anguish and despair. Why should you live like that? Deceit would be far more merciful to you, and it would surely soothe your poor heart, if you'd let it."

The wise scholar had offered this morsel of Knowledge out of the goodness of his heart, and for a blissful moment, the king considered it. Sadly, the king could not see it as the act of goodwill that it was, too blinded by his own petty pride, restrained by his years of stubborn devotion to the false idol of 'Truth'.

"No, what you have said is a lie meant to mislead me. I can tell, because Deceit drips from your tongue like poison." The king foolishly declares, his face hardening with misplaced determination. "This must be a test sent to me from the Witches, to test my strength, and I will not fail so easi––"

—No, that's not quite right. Let's try again.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a great hero.

This great hero was benevolent, noble and self-righteous, known as a friend and ally to all, but he harboured a dark secret. His Soul Jam, the source of all of his awe-inspiring power, was not wholly his.

Indeed, it had once belonged to an illustrious sorceror, a manifestation of his very soul. But this sorceror had suffered a great injustice under the hands of the fickleminded Witches, and his Soul Jam had been torn asunder. While he had clung fiercely to one half, the other had slipped out of his grasp and fell into the hands of our great hero, the unwitting thief.

Of course, the sorceror came to confront the hero, to claim back what was rightfully his and reunite with the full extent of his power. But the hero was unwilling to give it up, and after much consideration, the sorceror decided to be gracious. He allowed the hero to keep his half of the Soul Jam, granted that he never stray from the sorceror's side.

For a blissful moment, it seemed like this compromise would work well for the both of them. One day, however, the hero approached the sorceror, fidgeting with his long sleeves.

"My Soul Jam calls for yours," The hero admits, soft and careful, "and so too does my soul. Even though I am by your side, it is not enough."

The sorceror smiled, flashing teeth, pleased by the admittance because it proved his emerging hypothesis correct. That the other half of the Soul Jam could not have landed in anyone else's hands but the hero's, for they were meant for each other.

"Then come closer." The sorceror goads, reaching for the hero. "Unite our two halves and become one with me, as it should be."

The hero does, pressing into the sorceror's arms, pushing the softened middles of their Soul Jams together until they begin to merge, light melting into the dark of the sorceror's tight embrace. Truth into the comfort of Deceit.

For a blissful moment, they are together and whole and one.

Then pain bursts through the sorceror's back and he screeches as the hero pushes and stumbles out of his twitching arms. The sorceror's wide, blurry eyes catch on the icy glint of a dagger in the hero's hand, sticky with jam.

The sorceror heaves as his hand scrambles to his own back, finding an open wound weeping thick jam that seeps through his clothes. He starts to taste it, sour on the back of his tongue. Sure enough, the hero had stabbed him in the back with a blade he had hidden in his long sleeves.

The hero stares down at him passively, unremorseful. The sorceror's back burns with gouging pain, and his chest burns with boiling rage, coming up through his teeth in a mighty growl. Jam leaks through his clenched fingers as he curls into himself, his Soul Jam crying in the hollow of his throat, calling for its traitorous other half, ringing, ringing, ringing, RINGING. "YOU--"

—NO! No, no, no, that's not right either, absolutely not. Let's take it from the top, one more time.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a humble shepard.

The shepard was sweet and languid as honey, content in spending his days tending to his vulnerable flock. He had no interest in the world at large, though he welcomed any travellers that passed through with friendliness, making peace in his little meadow.

One day, another shepard, hooded and pale, arrived at the meadow with a single sheep trailing sadly at his heels. He asked for a place to stay for the night, as he had recently lost the rest of the flock to a wolf and, in his grief, took to wandering the lands as a nomad.

The shepard, sweet as he was, agreed. He led the hooded shepard to his flock, where the hooded shepard settled his sheep in for the night. Then, he led the hooded shepard to his little cottage, where the hooded shepard settled himself in for the night, right beside the shepard in his small wooden bed.

Little did the shepard know, the hooded shepard laying beside him was, in reality, a wolfherd. Little did the shepard know, the sheep he had allowed to rest in the comfort of his poor flock was, in reality, a wolf bundled in sheep's wool, trained to behave mildly in the presence of Cookies.

When morning came, the shepard was horrified to find that his flock, which he had dutifully nutured since young, had been eaten whole. The wolfherd's wolf, smeared in red with its woolen disguise hanging off it in sticky clumps, trotted up to its master lazily as the shepard helplessly fell to his knees.

For a blissful moment, there was just the shepard's sobs as his world crumbled around him, ready to be remade.

Then, the wolfherd came up to the miserable shepard and lunged.

He pinned the teary shepard to the damp grass, bathing him in lamb blood as the wolfherd bared his fangs and dug his claws into dough, shedding a disguise of his own.

A thin throat gave way under the wolfherd's teeth, and he discoverd that the shepard really was as sweet as honey, all the way through, as jam spilled into his mouth. He made cracks as the shepard weakly tried to struggle, tearing into his dough in reprimand, in retribution. The shepard deserved it.

He dug into his chest with his wet teeth, pulling out his jammy heart, his pulsing Soul Jam, his writhing soul. He savoured it as he swallowed it whole, as the shepard went obediently still beneath him, because he deserves it, this is his, he is his, and the shepard deserves it too. He deserves it, he DESERVES it, HE DESERVES IT--

—HE DOES, he does, but not quite like that. No, no, something's still off. Maybe a change of angle is needed. A change of perspective.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a liar.

He was beautiful, magnificent in his dark robes and rough around the edges in a captivating way. He watched the world from the top of a spire, looking down on Cookiekind from above with dozens of golden eyes, turning his back on Truth.

The liar was not alone. At his side, and he at his, was the beast that strung the world in shimmering strings, playing the universe like a grand orchestra to seranade his companion. Their power did not just blend harmoniously; it was a singular one, feeding into an endless cycle between the two of them, driven by the thrum of their Soul Jam.

For a blissful forever, they stood together, casting the veil of Deceit over the world, dampening the blistering light of Truth until it coalesced into the shadow of Deceit, becoming what it always should have been. The two of them were unstoppable, bowing to nothing and nobody, rising above it all. They were unstoppable, they could have been, they would have been unstoppable-- IF--

—IF THOSE GNATS HADN'T– IF HE HADN'T–

(Stupid, traitorous, weak fool!)

—No, no, enough, enough, enough. This still isn't getting anywhere. How about this?

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a saint of Truth.

He was blindingly bright, too bright, and he could drive the shadow monsters away with a single swipe of his staff, so radiant was he. And yet, for all his shining power, he was also a complete idiot, driven by his soft, squishy heart.

For instead he cleaved the monster out of the shadow, held out a hand and said, "Let me be your...friend."

Friend. Friend. How ridiculous! Laughable, really, in its absolute stupidity. The saint's eyes were so soft, gentle in contrast to the harsh edge of the light, gooey like melted chocolate, like the saint was doing the monster a favour even though it was the other way around, it was SUPPOSED to be the OTHER WAY AROUND--

—NOPE, no, that's no good either. Come on, what else, what else, what else– aha!

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived an angel.

This angel was once a shepard, once a king, once a hero, once a saint before he ascended to the light of the heavens. He was beautiful and benevolent, warm as sunlight, sweet as honey, blindingly bright and infuriatingly beloved. Until he wasn't.

You see, when the angel had ascended, he had thought that he had risen from the rock bottom of the river. He had foolishly believed that he now knew everything, that he had captured the essence of Knowledge through a brief meeting of two halves of a single Soul Jam.

He hadn't realised that a new rock bottom can always be created – all you need to do is dig.

And so, the demon did, dragging the angel down from the picturesque heavens and back to him, backed by a symphony of screams.

The angel tried to reason with him, with his faulty logic. The angel tried to fight but wouldn't risk crumbling him for good. The angel tried to reach out to him, like he really, truly believed it would work.

In the end, the angel lays crumpled at the demon's feet in a heap, cheeks wet with tears but eyes tired and wild. His painful light dims into something bearable, close to snuffing out entirely, flickering weakly like a candle in the wind.

"You were right." The angel whispers, about his hope, about his kindness, about anything, about everything. "You were right. It was always going to end like this."

And when the angel looks up, it is as if he is giving all of himself to the demon. Properly, this time, no clever tricks even passing his mind. His life and soul forfeit.

There. Perfect.

Shadow Milk sighs, a heavy sound that thickens the air. He is not quite satisfied, because he cannot be, not with his dough crawling with restless viciousness, but he is satisfied enough. With the story, of course. Not with anything else.

Just thinking of that, Shadow Milk scowls, finally looking back down at his hands. He had forgotten about the little plush doll he was holding. It's a cute little replica of Pure Vanilla, small enough to fit neatly into the palms of his hands. He had been fiddling with it for no reason in particular, mostly agitated boredom.

In the midst of his storycrafting, he must have tightened his grip too hard. His claws have ripped its chest in half, stuffing bubbling out of the wound like sea foam.

He stares at it blankly for a moment, claws idly toying with the fluff. Then he narrows his eyes, growls, and twists his claws deeper into the tear.

Lonely, Pure Vanilla had said, with the absolute gall to act like he could read him perfectly. Like he could understand him.

As if! There was no way he understood him, and his new little light show only proved that. Whatever understanding Pure Vanilla thought he had was conjured by his own mind, his poor little heart's attempt to find a peaceful solution. It's like Shadow Milk had told them – in the face of the unknown, Cookies tend to fill in the gaps with whatever fits best with their existing belief system, and what they want to believe is true.

Shadow Milk huffs, finally pulling his claws out of the Pure Vanilla doll. It's a sad looking thing, droopy with the lost stuffing. He considers it for a moment, before gingerly beginning to push the stuffing back in, tuft by tuft.

There is one thing Pure Vanilla got right, though. He really is the only one with the potential to truly understand Shadow Milk. He was close to it, even, tantalisingly close before he pulled himself back out again, but he hadn't gotten there yet.

Shadow Milk knows that he hasn't. Because Shadow Milk knows what it will take to get him there, and it involves tearing him to shreds–

Shadow Milk summons old marionette strings, now mostly unused, and begins to sew up the open chest of the doll with lazy flicks of his finger. Despite the casual movement, the stitches are precise and perfect. Once he's done, the doll looks almost as good as new, but inarguably altered.

—before fixing him back up in Shadow Milk's design.

Only then would Pure Vanilla really be able to understand Shadow Milk. Only then would Shadow Milk believe it.

Shadow Milk rubs his thumb over the doll's cheek, something ugly twisting in his chest. His claws twitch, eager to tear the doll apart again, to have an outlet, but he refrains because he does have self-control and he just fixed it.

Instead, he lifts the doll up and presses a kiss to the little stitched star on its forehead. No, not a kiss. It's more like a curse, a harsh press of lips with the slightest snarl of teeth, with enough pressure to create a dent in its soft head.

Yes, this isn't the end. They have eternity, after all. The wait may be agonising, but eventually, he'll understand him. Shadow Milk will make sure of it.

The something in his chest loosens just slightly, as if relieved.

[yukiiiiiii13]

[yukiiiiiii13]

Shadow Milk Cookie from Cookie Run Kingdom moodboard with blue darkcore inspo

requested by: @m31k0f3mc3l, ty for the rq!!

[divider creds: @omi-resources]

(all images were found on Google images including bg, image of character provided w rq)

song to go with it [part of rq]: 'On My Own' by Three Days Grace

Reblogs are appreciated, requests are open!!