Chapter Text
Before he knew the world, he knew only one thing.
Before he knew the horrors of the world, before he knew of its cruelty and of its joys. Before he knew his origins, the way the world looked, the way the outside looked. Before he knew the sky, the trees, the flowers. Before he knew animals, the small creatures smaller than his foot or the giants that towered above him. Before he knew of castles in the sky, of towers reaching towards the heavens. Before he knew the world wasn’t endless heat and red and smoke.
Before he even knew himself, before he would even know what he was, he knew exactly one thing.
He knew her.
What could he truly say were his first impressions of her? Only just born—only just made—he had no real concepts of what he knew now. He describes it as terror, as awe, as hatred, and as love. But in the moment, he didn’t have words for these feelings yet, and simply thought this is what you felt when you looked upon another. Just as a baby stops its cries when hearing its parent’s voice, he too uttered no sound as the figure chanted her words, screamed her pleas and grief at her gods. She cried, just as one would when newly born.
The young cookie knew nothing, only that whoever this figure was, she was like him. And in that way, he knew her better than anything else here.
Of course, as the cookie would grow into his own, he would realize this was a foolish thing to think. She and him couldn’t be more different, and he would spend his life trying to fix everything that would come to pass. To prove just how different they were. But he was young, freshly baked, and was scared, just as she was freshly baked and scared. And in that way, they were as similar as they needed to be.
She looked down upon him, tears streaming down her face as they sizzled away from her face from the heat. Her outfit was black and red armor. A symbol was placed in her chest, and a giant black cape came down and expanded outwards like a blooming flower, or like the edges of an exploding firework. Her hair, falling down her back and flowing in the heat waves, was as white as icing, as white as the fur of the tiny creatures that surrounded her like a master. Like a shepherd herding her sheep.
She held a staff in one hand, and placed atop it was a red and black flower. A lily.
The figure reached down a red gloved hand.
“Come, my child. Let us leave.”
And because he was scared, and terrified, and in awe and in love, he took her hand with the only one he could. With ease, the figure picked him up, and allowed him to sit against her shoulder. He wrapped his hand around her neck, never wanting to let go. She gently caressed his hair, calming him, soothing him.
“You will never feel fear again.”
Even after all these years, what he saw as they left stayed with him.
A massive oven, fire raging within the bars, as the red heat and light covered the floor and massive room. It was surrounded by massive shakers, bowls, cups, and scattered flour, salt and sugar. And, amongst all of them, the piles of small, broken cookies, still smiling, still so utterly confused.
“...trust me.”
*********
The next few days were a blur in his memory. There are flashes, pictures of memories that come and go, but there are a few he remembers clearly.
The massive blackened forests they traveled through and made their home for the first few days and nights. He remembered seeing the trees and the sky and the white fluffy clouds shrouded by the trees and greenery and thinking that this was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. He remembered how the trees, grass and flowers would blur as they walked and rode by, and remembered how the trees seemed big and scary like the oven in the night. The fire they sat around made him antsy, uncomfortable, and the lady soldier did not make him sit by the fire if he didn’t want to.
It was during those first few days and nights that he came to know her, as well as himself. He learned her name soon after. Nightrider Lily was what she wanted to be called. But she hesitated to answer, as if she had to come up with a name on the spot or if the words leaving her mouth didn’t feel natural. Not quite yet.
She helped him figure out his own name. She glanced at him, studied him, and came to the conclusion that his name was Red Velvet. Even as he first heard it, he knew it was right. That was who he was.
He remembers that in those first few days, he wouldn’t take his eyes off of Nightrider Lily. Even when she believed he was asleep or wasn’t listening. But he was always aware of her in those days.
She would talk to herself. It would start as whispers, her shaking her head as if a bug had landed on her, or a branch was caught in her robe. She would whisper things he couldn’t hear at first, and then they would get louder, and she would move with a jerk, seemingly pulled in two directions.
“The Witches…” She would mutter, “They…we…who…?”
“...no. I am not you.” Her voice would shift ever so slightly, get ever so quieter, “I am unsure…who we are. Truly. I have never–”
“But you’re me!” A younger voice would say, as if the sentence was ripped from her throat, “I mean I’m…me!” She would cry, clutching her head in pain, “I didn’t want ...I don’t want…I just wanted to know.”
“...knowledge is a curse, dear. I have seen what it does to souls. You have seen it too. What it did to White Lily.”
“But I am—!”
“No, you are not.”
“Then…what…am i…?”
“...her.” The calm voice had said, “...you…I… we are her. Nightrider Lily. She is us. If we are not careful, we’ll tear each other apart. We’ll tear her apart. Tear us apart.”
“...I wished this never happened. I should never have gone looking for things I didn’t understand.”
“...you wished to understand.” The calm voice was full of regret then, “...I cannot blame you for that. The witches are to blame. Not us. Not me.”
“...he will understand. I will make him understand. I will tell him everything. And we… I will make sure this never happens again. Not to anyone.”
“...I like the sound of that.”
Now he looks back on this with a pang of regret. She would act as if a child in the middle of her parent’s arguments, trying to help them out but always being pushed to the side.
He does not know if this association makes him feel sympathy towards her. He doesn’t know if this association makes him a monster—more than he already believes himself to be—or if it makes him what he truly was. A child, trying to make sense of things he shouldn’t be forced to.
*********
It was one of those first few nights he remembers clearly. That night really was like no other, because it was the last night they spent walking. As the girl with the staff began to set up camp, she paused while looking at him.
“...your arm.”
At the time, he tilted his head at her, wondering what she meant. So he waved to her, a tiny and shy movement.
She stepped forward and knelt down, gently tracing his body on the left side. The one without an arm. He was young, freshly baked, and had yet to put together that most creatures had four limbs, and his lack of one was concerning.
He had never lost it. It never brought him pain or discomfort. It was simply how he was baked. He looked up to her, curious and wide eyed.
Her eyes did something. They squinted, her eyebrows furrowing deeper. Her mouth, normally in a thin strong line, curved at the edges downwards. He didn’t know what was wrong with her at the time. Looking back on it, he would tell you this was one of the few times she ever felt pity towards him.
She whistled then, and a small cake hound bounded towards her, a small scroll tucked in its mouth. It presented the piece of paper to her like it was offering a treat, or a fetched stick. She took it from it with such care and a gentle touch, that this is what he remembers most. This…softer side of her. A side rarely shown, a side she rarely ever showed everyone. And yet he saw this. A vulnerability. A sign that she truly cared about those that surrounded her. He spends countless hours in the present trying to wrap his head around this scene. If she was truly faking this, or if Earthbread’s biggest threat cared. Could care. Did care.
She smiled, without joy and without laughter. She smiles in appreciation. She smiles like she is proud. She softly scratches the hound behind its ears, and the dog leans into it, smiling, tail wagging.
“Please keep your eyes open,” She told him, “...I do not wish to do this, but you should see it.”
She placed her staff down, unrolled the scroll, and began chanting, speaking in a language he’s not familiar with, and still isn’t. The wind in the forest picked up, and a small glowing circle appeared underneath her, him and the cake hound. The symbols on the ground are numerous and bright, but he remembers two: a giant eye in the middle, and near his hand a small circle. A cherry.
The circle glows brighter and brighter, as she chants louder and louder, and somewhere near him a cake hound growled, whimpered, and whined in a scared tone. Red Velvet wished to do something, but everything was too loud, too bright. He closes his eyes tight.
Nightrider Lily yelled the last words, the hound made one last painful cry, something slammed into his side and then the world went silent. The lights of the magic slowly fade away. When Red Velvet opened his eyes, he was a few feet away, against a tree on his side, and suddenly his left side felt heavier.
He's scared. He knew very little of what was happening but he knew this. Nightrider Lily walked up to him, her head held high and proud. She leaned down, as Red Velvet’s vision went blurry. He moved his left side, and suddenly he felt something off and yet familiar. He looked over, and sees a giant red and white limb. It's too big, too awkward, and yet he can move the fingers as if they're his own. He felt tears in his eyes, and Nightrider Lily stood over him, blocking the light of the fire. Neither the calm or the younger voice speaks. She speaks in a totally different tone. A tone—a voice—all her own.
“Their sacrifice was for you, my child. Don't ever forget that.”
From that day on, the two rode on horseback, and everyday they rode he would bury his face in her back or stare intently at the passing forests, so that he would not have to see his arm, or the fact that the horses were also red and white, or that there were significantly less cake hounds than before.
*********
The next few days pass him by like a blur. Those days did happen, but he cannot remember them. He remembers the forests, the colors, the sky. There was a day when the forest ended and expanded out into a vast desert, and for the following days and nights he could see the sky without obstruction. He could see the clouds, the bright blue sky filled with white fluffy clouds and a bright yellow sun. At night, he could see the countless stars expanding out over the black. The massive spirals of galaxies that existed far away, the different shades of blue, navy and black that coated the sky above. Sometimes, he'd be able to see the entire sky, or sometimes it'd be partially covered by blacked clouds. But the night was much better to look at than anything else.
But then, almost two weeks after he was made and had left the Oven, and over 5 days since they had gone on horseback, they reached something. Something different.
He knew it was different, because he had seen it on their approach. It started off as just another darkened cloud in an otherwise empty sky. Then it grew more detailed; jagged edges, sharp tops, like a mouth in the middle of the sky. Then he could see buildings shaped in waffle cones, and houses topped with sapphire blue roofs. Waterfalls cascaded off the sides, and spires that stretched so far into the sky it felt as if they would go to space and touch the stars themselves. And as they got closer, the path became clearer and clearer. Waffle cones floating inches off the ground followed the sides of the dirt road. Small dollops of white and yellow flowers dotted the sides, and soon they reached a massive archway, golden and twisting like the roots and vines of the forest. Just past it, a clearing, and a massive circle with symbols, similar and yet totally different from the magic that gave him his new arm, etched into the stone. A massive shape like that of a flower or cross sat in the middle, and a diamond in the middle, making the pattern look like a massive freshly cut gemstone.
Nightrider Lily dismounted from the horse, and held her hand out to him.
“Come, my child.”
He took it with his cookie arm.
“...where are we going?”
She picked him up, and held him so he could cling to her chest. Instead of looking over his shoulder like he did in the Oven, he buried himself in her neck, afraid of what he might see.
She gently patted his hair, running her red and black gloves over his similarly colored hair. A sign of comfort. Another sign of care.
“...Our home.”
She stepped on the platform, and the two were enveloped in light.