Work Text:
"You know NOTHING about the true nature of the world."
It is inevitable.
It is inevitable because it is a reaction that is born before it is even processed.
There is no emotionless facade or speech replete with lies that will allow him to keep his secret for a moment longer.
Even with his dough covered in dark robes and the brim of his hat and tousled hair hiding his expression, Shadow Milk Cookie reads him completely: see how his hand holds his staff tightly, how his eyes narrow and cloud over, and how his lip purses.
The beast smiles happily.
Without looking away from the board, in a playful and curious voice, he asks. "Oh? What's that I see... Emotions?" Truthless Recluse looks at him with recomposed coolness, but that only enraptures the spire's master. "Hahahaha! Really?! I knew you were that stupid guardian's weak spot, but for it to be reciprocal? Do you even consider how ridiculous that looks! HAHAHAHAHA!"
Cookie inhaled sharply, closing his eyes and holding back the fervent emotions in his dough. Trying not to fall for his words, he forced his gaze over the game board. At least they haven't fallen, he thought to himself - praying deep down that there were more than crumbs left.
"Those cookies won't be easily fooled."
Contrary to what he expected, there is no irritation on the jester's face. An unsettling smile peeks through the darkness, he fiddles with his staff. "Ignoring me, huh? It's not fair, you know?"
Suddenly, without warning, Shadow Milk Cookie slammed the tip of his staff against the tile floor and the one in the apple split open, monstrous and groaning in wailing.
From one moment to the next, everything was consumed in darkness: the great rook as well as the game board disappeared, and all that remained in the vast black void was Truthless Recluse.
"If you like those pawns so much..."
The echo echoed in all directions, the cookie shrinking by the second.
"Why not become one?"
Despite how realistic it may seem, he knows that everything he sees is nothing more than an illusion. His robes, once dark, have returned to their bright yellow; his sunflower, once consumed by darkness, has returned to face the sun; his Soul Jam, once hidden from the Beast, illuminates brightly from the center of his chest.
Directly in front of him, the ruins of a great fallen wall accompany a dark, imposing and terrible figure. His heart, which he forced to hide under a cold shell, begins to tremble before he hears her words.
Again.
"Do you know the real reason why we, Cookies, were created?"
Sinister, evil, lost, absolutely hopeless.
The ram's horns enhance the evil smile, the monster behind it roars.
It's all an illusion, all lies.
Why does it seem so real?
It is so accurate that Truthless Recluse is quickly consumed by his past. Cherished memories, painful memories; all the good that he managed to create from scratch and—
"Was it really the right choice?"
In the vision of the distant past, on another continent and in other circumstances, his dough takes on the role of Pure Vanilla Cookie as his own. A puppet of destiny, or perhaps of his own mistakes, the movements of his body are complemented by those of his staff, bits of forbidden magic peeking through every crumb that makes up his frame.
Dark Enchantress Cookie glares angrily at him, summoning a shield in the face of the impending attack.
Although he is about to crack, the former ruler of the Vanilla Kingdom seeks solace, comfort in the fact that everything he sees and hears is nothing more than a representation of what has already happened, something he will not be able to change even if that were his wish.
Perhaps it is because of that, that small glimmer of relief emanating from the Light of Truth, that the beast decides it is not enough.
Everything feels different.
There is more strength in its staff, the magic overflows without yielding to its summoner.
Pure Vanilla Cookie remembers perfectly the academy's teachings regarding magic: the emotion of cookies influences magic more than the witches could ever have imagined.
Whatever he feels inside his dough is different from what he remembers. He will have felt rage, pain, anguish at every single action of such a wicked cookie who was once his best friend.
He fails to feel the Light of Truth when all that is contained in each of his crumbs is hatred.
The explosion is bigger than he remembers.
All around him is white and absolute silence, the contrast with the Beast's domain is such that he takes that white eternity to think about whether Shadow Milk Cookie is giving him a break.
Peace and quiet where he doesn't remember it.
"Do you really think what you did was right?"
The real world flashes back into his eyes. The rubble of a fallen castle falls from the red sky, the huge monster vanishes in shards of dark magic, and Crispia's heroes remain defeated, fainted, but with their doughs and Soul Jam complete.
Pure Vanilla Cookie, however, is awake. Magic oozes from his every crumb, and the eye of his staff squints in spasms, similar to its bearer.
Once again, it is different.
"Would you... do it... again?"
Fragments of an emerald are scattered in front of him. Dull, irreparably broken.
Any remnants of the Light of Freedom have been extinguished from the face of the Four Realms.
And as a final piece of evidence, for the sole purpose of rubbing it in his face, the illusion of the fifth heroine has been replaced by the burnt mass at his feet.
"No,
I wo
uldn't."
"White Lily..."
The petals of a sunflower are covered in dust and accompany the dead lily lying beside him.
He reaches out his hand, but does not touch her. How could he? It is all nothing but an illusion, nothing that happens there is real, even if Shadow Milk Cookie longs with his being that it is.
His body trembles, but hers does not move. The horns are gone, and the long white braid has been ruined by the flames that have scorched its ends.
Red does not glow, and is just as dull, if not duller, than her Soul Jam.
It hurts him, it hurts him so much.
He finally touches it, and it feels real when it shouldn't.
Why isn't it over, why is he still stuck there? This is not what happened.
This didn't happen.
It could never have happened.
He would never—
"This is what she would have wanted." It said... The Light of Truth?
No.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Even with the guilt and all the pain caused, he knows that she... Does she really know?
"But you decided to be selfish..."
The crumbs of her body give way under the weight of the shredded dress and what's left of White Lily Cookie is reduced to almost nothing.
"If you hate harsh reality so much..." A dark shadow looms from his back. Pure Vanilla Cookie can't take his eyes off of her. "Why not better live in the sweet lie?"
He's lying, he's lying to him again. He can't fall for his games - but you refuse to challenge him, don't you - he flat out refuses to be his puppet. He won't allow him to get inside his head, manipulate his experiences, create false memories and make him believe things that are not.
Pure Vanilla Cookie's fists, or Truthless Recluse's, or whoever the bearer of the Light of Truth was, clenched tightly.
The crumbs on his cheeks felt wet.
"This is NOT what happened!"
The world changes shape once again, his body numbed by dark magic is dragged off the board with such violence that it forces him to cling to the black flower.
Truthless Recluse gasps loudly, and absolute contempt dominates his sweaty face.
Shadow Milk Cookie smiles with excitement.
"I knew you wouldn't fall for something so simple, silly vanilly."
Indifference and resignation rise from the look bicolor; emotions flow between yellow and blue, the Soul Jam resonates with her memory.
His voice trembles.
"I will destroy you."
Something within his dough crackles.