Chapter Text
When White Lily Cookie opens her eyes, the wind that rigorously sweeps by informs her that she is falling.
She focuses her vision on the object above her, an emanator of silence, and her two companions– a nun and a tombkeeper, fading into nothing but ashes. She screams and wails for them, but not a single sound escapes from her lips.
As she continues to descend at a rapid pace, her surroundings fade into nothing but a numb void. Eternally in motion, it feels as though she’ll never reach her destination – her end.
Until she does.
And her senses are immediately devoured by a yellowish liquid. She cannot smell anything; she can’t even make up what the liquid is meant to be. Yet she is dreadfully aware of one fact – the mixture is boiling. And she is scared, oh so scared, that this very mixture will shape her dough into something she swore she’d never become.
And yet, she lets it happen.
She closes her eyes in defeat, letting herself float to the depths of the cauldron, until she is enveloped in a different kind of warmth, and recognizes the sound of a glimmering voice resembling her own. She cannot hear it, but she knows it is there.
Are you certain? Certain that you will not regret this decision?
She is not. But she feels so very weak. She just wants it all to be over; she just wants to rest. If only for a moment, even if it means doing so at the bottom of the pot. Her dough had been crumbling, and ever since she’d woken from her slumber in the faerie kingdom, the sounds of a thousand deceased voices had never left the back of her head. She wants to rid herself of the pain. Of all the ache that tugs at her chest and the uneasy essence of every crumb in her fragmented dough that was denied its freedom, that night of witches.
That is, until she hears a cracking sound. And even if she can’t see it, she can sense the warmth from the familiar light fading away, and being replaced by an eerie, empty cold, as if her spirit had been demoralized.
What it was that had cracked was instantly apparent to her, her souljam. And before she could rectify her decision, the object had already shattered into thousands of fragments, and she could only gape as the pieces scattered amidst the liquid.
Her heart beats out of her chest, and the ignited cauldron decides that burning her alive isn’t a suitable enough punishment; thus, the girl is forced to watch as the fire forms shapes of her old companions, glaring at her with disappointed and condemning eyes. Now her ears were ringing, and she was set ablaze. She screams and screams and screams until she feels tears steaming down her cheeks and the suffocating temperature of the room and the fact that her shriek makes a piercing sound.
White Lily Cookie has woken from a dream, she realizes. No, a nightmare, reciting the recent events she had experienced moments before her other half had recruited her. Curling up and clutching her drumming heart, gasping for air in an attempt to calm herself, she sees now that not even when faced with the softest of bedsheets can she let her guard down. Gazing outside, she observes that the sky is gray, signaling that daytime is upon her.
Is she meant to just lie in bed all day? In truth, that’s not something she’s particularly opposed to, especially considering the smooth bedsheets that could put her to sleep with ease. Although whilst recalling the words of her other half, something sparks deep within her.
Join me, her reflection had spoken.
But the spark possesses much too little light to lift White Lily Cookies' weight from her comfortable settlement. That is, until she hears the sound of a door creaking open, and her eyes dart to the woman standing by the entrance to the room, hand on her hip, gracefully.
“Rise and shine! Did you sleep well?”
Her brain dims the memories of her nightmare, and she can only blink indifferently in response.
When the Enchantress realizes she won't be graced with an answer, she continues, “Did you plan to drowse in this room for the entire day– no, perhaps your entire life?”
White Lily Cookie decides to ignore her reflection’s act of telepathy and instead challenges, “...How about you?.. Did you have a good night’s rest?”, and Dark Enchantress Cookie stiffens – and grimaces in response.
She scoffs and tilts her head tauntingly before continuing, “Wouldn’t you like to know, fragment?” White Lily Cookie’s eyes follow the Enchantress’ figure as she steps closer until she neatly sits down on the blanket next to her other half.
“You’re lucky, you know. Being able to get even a single full night of rest. I don’t have that luxury, for after I was cast in the ultimate dough by those wretched witches, the sounds of the thousand trapped souls within that cauldron have not once left me alone with my thoughts.”
White Lily Cookie knows that already, but it seems as though her other half is not aware that they share the same troubles. Even before she was drowning in the catacombs of silence, the echoes of those poor lost souls within the ultimate dough always lingered at the back of her head. It's apparent Dark Enchantress Cookie thought that because only she was rebaked, so too was she the sole one to be affected by all the distress that had sought them after that night.
But the girl with the lily did not want to argue with her other half, or even intrude on her state of vulnerability – even if Dark Enchantress Cookie would never admit to calling the encounter at hand such a moment. Thus, she keeps her lips sealed.
Dark Enchantress Cookie could feel her reflection's glare lingering on her through the thickness of the silence. Knowing that she is presumably lost in thought, she clears her throat to end their ‘confrontation’, and just as she so eagerly sat down next to her other half, she hastily got up, straightening her tight attire as she spoke, “Well! I wouldn’t expect you to understand! Now, if you were planning to dawdle here for all of eternity, I might as well have just left you to rot in those shivering halls. Go freshen up, won't you?”
Had White Lily Cookie not felt so hefty in her dough right now, she would have argued that the Enchantress was actually the one who forced her to follow her and dragged her into this palace with the grip of her sharp fingers.
Instead, she lets an apology of sympathy slip from her lips. Her reflection turns her head back to look her in the eye, face painted in disbelief as she opens her mouth to say something, but fails to find the words and frustratedly closes it.
She then mumbles something about her being predictable and tells her to perish the thought, then gives her directions to the nearest bathroom.
“Go wash yourself. Your suffocating lily aroma is mixed with the scent of smoke and ash, and it is unpleasant to put it lightly. If you are to meet my followers, I would like for you to not embarrass me with your current, sorry state.”
Followingly, she continues to the exit and steps out into the halls, leaving the door open in the surmise that the snow-haired girl should follow.
And she attempts to. She slowly drags the blanket off her and lets her fragile feet meet the floor, slightly caught off balance at first due to her lightheadedness. Then, taking quiet steps in the direction that her other half had informed her leads to the bathroom.
As with all else in the building, the halls are vast and never-ending. The path is lined with yet another long, red carpet. The parallel walls of the corridor are continuously followed by doors that presumably lead to bedrooms, much like the one White Lily Cookie possesses. She notes that the entrances are less like doors and much more like wooden gates. Double-sided with circular, silver handles and thick outlines traced by silver, as well as thinner ones by crimson. That is, until she stumbles upon a door that is lined by navy blue instead of crimson – the bathroom, she realizes.
Stepping inside, White Lily Cookie notices that it is in pristine condition, the floor and walls practically glimmering at her. It is also the only room so far in a lighter shade rather than a darker one.
Slipping off her bandage-like gloves, exposing her trembling cookie-crumb hands laced in poison, as well as the newly formed and jumbled red-green dress that Silent Salt Cookie had cursed her with. She turns the handle and lets warm water run from her messy hair all the way down to her crumbly feet.
With hopes and prayers, she begs silently for the liquid to wash away the ashen dough that had crept forth in the catacombs and heal the bruised wounds alongside her crushed spirit. But she knows no amount of begging could make idealistic delusions a reality. Her current state serves as a reminder of the fatal mistake she had made – slothfully submitting to the fate of embarking on the path to be reborn as the dark harbinger, and thus plunging the world she harboured so much love for into chaos once more.
Being dreadfully aware of this fact, she avoids the gaze of the large mirror outside the shower as she dries her unchanging dough, followingly sweeping the towel against the hair to suck the moisture out of it, making her snowy hair all the more fluffy.
Still not daring to eye the mirror, White Lily Cookie clenches her slightly wet hair to feel how messy it is. Truth be told, the girl can't muster the strength to comb it, but recalling the orders of her grumpy other half, she reconsiders. After all, she really wouldn’t want herself to appear unfavorably when faced with her minions.
Perhaps she should comb it, even if only a little.
She opens the silvery cabinets beneath the sink to scavenge for a hairbrush, and her findings reveal a crimson one lined with majestic patterns on the back and a handle gracefully bent in the shape of a swirl.
Carefully, she guides the brush through her thick, white hair, giving it all the more volume. When encountered with problems such as knots, she leaves them be. Even without gazing at her own reflection in the mirror, she can tell the hair isn’t perfectly straight, which could bring forth problems of dishonoring her other half's public appearance should she be faced with one of her subjects.
But alas, she puts down the hairbrush and reaches for her clothes. Even if she can’t stand the sight of them in their current form, really. Because asking her other half to lend her new attire instead is like allowing herself to be domesticated by her.
After returning the brush to its original place within the cabinet, she notices a shiny bottle of perfume. She reads the contaminants and understands that the light pink liquid is of a pomegranate aroma, much like the scent of her other half. The perfume appears to be so strong that it can dull out the scent of lilies, White Lily Cookie notes.
She considers applying it to herself, but hesitates as to not use the Enchantress’ belongings without her permission. Therefore, she lets the bottle be, shuts the cabinet, and exits the bathroom without another glance in the mirror.
———————————————————————
The width of the halls immediately intrudes on White Lily Cookie’s privacy. She feels more alert now than she did before entering the bathroom; perhaps “freshening up” really did do wonders for her awareness. She is thus made self-aware of the exposure that comes with being within the hefty corridors of her other half’s palace, filled with troops that could catch her in such a vulnerable state at any moment. Just what would they think if they caught her, a practical mirror of their master, fidgeting nervously and posing as though her legs were to give in at any moment now?
White Lily Cookie wasn’t given any more time to ponder over the consequences of such an encounter before they were about to become a reality. A questioning voice spoke behind her, and she felt her stomach drop.
“Master?”
She hesitates for a second. Not solely out of timidness, but also because she really, really does not want to have to explain herself to anyone. It’s already bad enough that she has to force a sound out of her larynx, even when speaking to someone as simple as herself– but now she has to force her brain to think of clever responses so as not to mess with her other half’s reputation.
..And then she faces the servant– the priestess, she realizes.
She blinks and tries to gather every last ounce of social skills she’s gathered over the hundreds of years of her lifetime in an attempt to save herself from this awfully awkward encounter.
“.. I am not your master”, is what the brilliant White Lily Cookie utters with what is likely the raspiest and quietest her voice has ever been.
Silence befalls them for a split second before Pomegranate Cookie softly chuckles, awkwardly.
“I see! Yes, I should’ve realized… My master informed me of her conquest before she departed”, the priestess explains as she clutches her mirror before her chest. She looks at the snow-haired girl with nothing but kindness and respect, so much so that White Lily Cookie wonders if the priestess realizes the woman standing before her isn’t actually Dark Enchantress Cookie. Even if their respective features are complementary now…
The priestess attempts to save the two from their mutually awkward situation by breaking the silence, “I mean no offense when I say this, but truthfully, I can’t say I comprehend why master decided to escort you here.. But I fully trust her judgement.”
White Lily Cookie doesn’t bother to strain herself by mustering strength in her larynx to vocalize; therefore, she merely nods neutrally. Which she justifies by arguing that it’s in the Enchantress’s favor. The less communication with her minions, the lower the risk of ruining her powerful essence. Before the girl with the lily can allow said risk to increase, she hears the clicking heels of her saviour, coming to her rescue once more.
“Pomegranate Cookie, what’s this about my judgment?” Dark Enchantress Cookie declares proudly as she stops before them, hand resting on her hip. The servant's eyes dart from one half of a soul to the other, avoiding the obvious gap in ambience between the two, and instead focusing on answering her query.
“Ah, Master! Forgive me, I was simply conversing with our newest member, er, or should I say guest, about what a merciful leader you are!”
“Praising as always, I see. Not to worry, Pomegranate Cookie. Our newest member will be taken care of with hospitality”, the dark harbinger states, and Pomegranate Cookie is swoon. Although that is something White Lily Cookie chooses to ignore, and instead eyes Dark Enchantress Cookie at the confirmation of her being their newest ‘member’. She thinks of arguing back, but can neither muster the strength nor the nerve to protest against the Enchantress in front of her most loyal servant.
After back and forth flattery and reception, Dark Enchantress Cookie places an arm around her other half, an action White Lily Cookie comprehends as forced affection, and declares that the girl will be joining them in the meeting during the evening. Pomegranate Cookie bows, and departs when she realizes her presence is no longer wanted.
After the priestess is out of sight, Dark Enchantress Cookie shoves her reflection back into the bathroom.
“There’s a tiny yet vastly noticeable detail you forgot to take care of.” The Enchantress points out with a hint of annoyance in her tone as she scavenges through her cabinet for the perfume bottle. “The lily aroma.” She states as she playfully waves the bottle in the air before handing it to her other half.
“I could smell it all the way down the hall.”
“I didn’t want to take anything without permission is all. I know just how much you need it.” White Lily Cookie responds, her tone neutral, and Dark Enchantress Cookie can only raise a brow.
“Yeah, well, you clearly need it more. Spray a bunch.” The horned lady spits, akin to an insult. Though White Lily Cookie simply takes it as an order and does as she’s told, while the Enchantress eyes her up and down with a frown. She steps forward, and the echo of her heels is loud amidst the silence.
“Your hair is a mess. Did you even try to brush it?”, she complains as she grabs a chunk of her reflection's snowy hair. It’s soft– she notes, but doesn’t say out loud. Much softer than her own hair. She brushes the mass of hair a little awkwardly with her claws. Dark Enchantress Cookie only faintly remembers just how smooth the texture of her hair was back when the two halves were whole, because of that, she recognizes its current texture as unfamiliar, as if changed. Although not as rigorously as her own hair. In truth, she misses the silky sensation of her hair back when she was whole.
Though that is not something she communicates either.
“I did.. try.”
Dark Enchantress Cookie sighs as she gathers the lumps of thick hair as she positions herself behind her reflection, and offers–no, insists- to fix her other half's hair-do. Remarking that she can’t present herself as pitifully as she did in front of Pomegranate Cookie to her other servants.
“You’re lucky that even the scent of lilies or the messiest of hair couldn’t disrupt Pomegranate Cookie’s loyalty towards me.” Dark Enchantress Cookie explains as she starts combing, shortly after picking up the hair brush. She rolls her eyes and scoffs here and there whenever White Lily Cookie lets out grunts of pain.
As the Enchantress continues with her dogmatic chattering, White Lily Cookie faces the mirror she had previously been so eager to avoid. Yet instead of eyeing herself, she focuses on Dark Enchantress Cookie and her irritated expression as she focuses on brushing the others’ hair neatly. Insisting again and again that she must look perfect.
White Lily Cookie admires how Dark Enchantress Cookie puts so much thought and concentration into fixing her hair, combing it much more tidily than she herself did earlier, even if she does so quite roughly, without any regard for the pain it might inflict on White Lily Cookie. Such a matter is something she herself could never attend to. After all, the girl never put enough effort into her hairdo to make sure it no longer had any knots, or to make sure that no hair strands fell loose from her braid. Instead, it was only slightly brushed, and the braid-do was messy and informal, fit for that of an adventurer. She presumes that her other half started attending more to her own hair after she split from their whole soul. After all, she has a sophisticated appearance to keep up.
“There. Now to change you out of those cluttered rags.”
Dark Enchantress Cookie hands her reflection a pair of clothes, which, upon unfolding, White Lily Cookie realizes is a mulberry purple dress. The velvet fabric reaches all the way down to her feet. It’s a perfect tight fit, aside from its poofy sleeves. Dark Enchantress Cookie is eager to show her other half her full appearance as she pushes her to face the mirror.
“Look at yourself. Your new self.” She states proudly as they lock eyes in the mirror. Yet after the Enchantress realizes her subject won’t stop glaring, she frowns.
“Look at yourself, not at me!” she complains, but the girls' gaze remains unchanging, as if she refuses to face what she’s becoming, or rather what she is. Though the same could be said for the dark harbinger, who stubbornly keeps her sight on her past, an entity she can eternally look down upon— for she has surpassed it. Or so she believes, at least, the only way forward is the future; there is no point in stopping to contemplate your choices. Even the present is merely a tool for the utopia that’s to come. May it be ugly, savage, and blunt.
“..I could say the same for you.”, her past challenges, brittle eyes locking onto her determined future.
Like a fragile flower enduring the sweeping storm, she can only look up to she who became resilient enough to hold her ground, even if that means having been molded into a rock of lava, turning its surroundings into ash.
After all, the rock managed to endure, to survive— even if all the flowers that kept it company over the years turned ashen and faded away along with the wind.
“Don’t think you can tell me what to do!”, the horned lady shouts as she jumps in front of White Lily Cookies' field of view, clutching the others' shoulders harder in an act of frustration. Then she takes a deep breath and chuckles lightly.
“You know, if you never accept what the world has shaped you into, you’ll never be able to achieve freedom. Not for yourself, and neither for the cookies you hold dear”, she lets go of her reflection’s shoulders and rests them on her hip, as if to regain her composure.
“Have you accepted what the world has made you become?”
White Lily Cookie catches the harbinger freeze for a second, her eyes wide, until she blinks and her lips curve into a smirk.
“Hah, of course I have!”, she backs away.
The silence suffocates the two halves before Dark Enchantress Cookie clicks her tongue as she turns away from the fragile girl, finally breaking their eternally long eye contact and heading toward the exit as a means to escape their confrontation.
“..Or are you simply enduring it?”
The horned lady freezes again. She takes a shaky breath and responds without bothering to turn around to face her questionnaire, “Do you think I could manage to endure with resilience for this long without accepting what I’ve become?”
White Lily Cookie considers the question for a moment and puts herself in her position, then responds: “Yes.”
Dark Enchantress Cookie merely shrugs, “Then perhaps you haven’t considered that this is the role I chose to play. After all, didn’t you also choose to take my hand in the catacombs, my beloved other half?”
The statement twists itself like a knife in White Lily Cookie’s chest–the notion stung. Was this really what she wanted to become? The role she aspired to play? A harbinger of destruction, a genocider that plunges kingdoms into ruins and tramples cookies to crumbs?
No.. perhaps what she couldn’t resist was simply a place to belong. A place with someone who understood her, someone who was like herself.
But before she can retort right back at her other half, she realizes the door has already flung open – a signal that their dispute has met its end.
“Rest in your room until the evening. I’ll come get you.”
White Lily Cookie doesn’t pull her gaze away from her enduring other half—her glare immutably split between admiration and empathy, until the door closes behind her, and White Lily Cookie is left all alone with her thoughts once more.