ewi_san
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Summary
Shadow Milk was not a man who understood the concept of mercy.
To him, it was a word soaked in bitterness, a concept so foreign and sharp, stinging even in thought. Mercy never came for him when he needed it most. Now, with the collapse of his spire, Shadow Milk is left with nothing – except a hand, soft and steady, extended in the wake of ruin. But trust doesn’t rebuild itself overnight. Not after betrayal. Not after not knowing anything else for centuries.
It falls to Pure Vanilla to tend to wounds long left to rot. But does a mere healer such as himself have the ability to achieve that?
[Updates once every full moon]
Bookmarked by ewi_san
20 Oct 2025
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Summary
What lingers first in Pure Vanilla’s memory are two eyes— cyan and blue.
They were not simply colors, not merely shades to be catalogued among the blossoms that lined the Vanilla hills. They were shadows caught in ice, stars buried in snow. And in the middle of all that frost, a boy who looked too small for the crown that would one day press against his brow, eyes too large for the timid boy who held them.
Pure Vanilla had not known then that love could strike so young.
He had thought it the sort of thing that bloomed late, like the orchids that only flowered when the sun coaxed them after patient months of waiting.
But with Shadow Milk, it was not coaxed— it was immediate.
Pure Vanilla is six, and he knows he's in love.
(It never changes)
Series
- Part 7 of My Cookie Works
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Summary
The God of Deceit was once a god who danced through truth like a flame through old parchment—destructive, beautiful, inevitable. But that was before the fae turned their backs. Before they bound him in this tree, with chains etched in runes that gnawed through flesh and soul alike.
Now he is stillness. Now he is silence. Now he is Shadow Milk—the god no one remembers, watching the world like a man at the bottom of a well watches the light too far above to reach.
And so he waits.
Through the thin membrane of reality, where the veil is weakest, he sees the world. He sees the golden fields stretching in humble simplicity, dotted with the flicker of sheep. He sees the hill, where wildflowers bloom with such audacity they seem to challenge the sky.
And there, in the middle of it all—white as a breath, still as a prayer—is the shepherd. Pure Vanilla.
...
Pure Vanilla thinks of his flock as he dies. He thinks of Dandelion. He thinks of warm bread and honey. Of sun on his face. Of the feeling of grass beneath his feet.
Death is not merciful, it is not quick.
The shepherd bleeds, and The God of Deceit does not intervene.
Series
- Part 4 of My Cookie Works
- Part 1 of Deceit's Sacrificial Lamb Works
Bookmarked by ewi_san
01 Oct 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
10/10, so many amazing metaphors and vivid descriptions.
Have to reread later -
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Summary
"In art, chiaroscuro (...) is the use of strong contrasts between light and dark, usually bold contrasts affecting a whole composition." (Wikipedia).
How long can a lie remain a lie before it becomes a justification to linger? For how long can one lie about motivations before the lie becomes their truth?
Shadow Milk Cookie makes good on his threat that Pure Vanilla Cookie's kindness will be his undoing. He arrives in the Vanilla kingdom asking for help, lying that his followers have turned on him and his magic is gone. This lie wraps him up in itself until he is completely enmeshed, unable to tell where the lie ends, and where his true motivations begin. That lie becomes an excuse to linger.
Series
- Part 1 of Chiaroscuro
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- English
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Bookmarked by ewi_san
08 Jul 2025
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Summary
Shadow Milk Cookie lunges, fury incarnate, but Pure Vanilla is ready. He doesn’t raise his staff. Doesn’t cast. Doesn’t defend.
He simply steps forward. And wraps his arms around him. Not in battle.
In embrace.
Shadow Milk freezes. His forehead presses to Pure Vanilla’s collarbone. Not gently. Not willingly. But needfully.
“Don’t say you forgive me,” he says, voice ruined. “Don’t you dare.”
“I’m not,” Pure Vanilla replies. “Not until you're ready to hear it.”
The candles crackle. The walls hum. But in the center of the room, something quiet unfolds.
Not peace. Not yet.
But the possibility of it.
And Shadow Milk Cookie—terrible and lonely and terribly alive—lets himself be held. Just for a moment. Just until the trembling stops.
How cruel, then, how unthinkably cruel, that this moment must end.
Because in three months’ time, he will be nothing.
In three months’ time, his name will be only used in past tense.
And Pure Vanilla Cookie will stand alone beneath the candied stars, cradling a broken body.
Just to do it all over again.
Series
- Part 1 of My Cookie Works