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Chapter Text

The first time I saw Pure Vanilla Cookie, I hated him.

I hated the way the light clung to him, as if he were its beloved master. I hated the reverence in the way others spoke his name, as though he was something more than the rest of us. But most of all, I hated the way his mere presence made something in my chest ache—an ache I could not name, nor would I dare to.

I had lived in darkness for so long that the sight of such purity burned.

Yet, fate is cruel, and no matter how much I tried to stay away, it wove our paths together like threads in an inescapable tapestry.

⸻

The first time he reached out to me, it was with a hand far too gentle for someone like me. We stood amidst the ruins of a battlefield, where shadows clashed against the light, and he looked at me not with fear or hatred—but with something that unsettled me more than anything else: kindness.

“You don’t have to keep fighting,” he had said, his voice soft. “The darkness does not have to define you.”

I slapped his hand away. “Save your pity, Lightbearer. I don’t need redemption.”

He should have given up on me then. It would have been better that way. But Pure Vanilla Cookie is nothing if not persistent. He appeared in the quiet moments, his voice soft as he spoke words I refused to hear. He made my chest tighten, made my resolve waver.

And I hated him for it.

⸻

It started with fleeting glances. Stolen moments in battle, where I would catch his eyes through the haze of war and find myself unable to look away. I would linger in places he had been, feeling the warmth his presence left behind like a ghostly echo.

Disgusted at my own weakness, I told myself it was nothing. I convinced myself that the heat rising in my chest was nothing more than loathing.

But Pure Vanilla… he was different. He saw past the walls I built, chipping away at them with every gentle word, every small act of understanding. And no matter how many times I disappeared into the shadows, he always came searching for me, as if he refused to let me be lost.

Then, one night, everything changed.

⸻

I stood at the edge of a broken tower, staring into the abyss below. The night was silent, save for the sound of his approaching footsteps.

I didn’t need to turn to know it was him. His light was always unmistakable, an unwanted warmth pressing against the cold I wrapped around myself.

“You always find me,” I murmured, my voice betraying the exhaustion I had fought so hard to suppress.

“Because I don’t want you to be alone.”

His answer was simple. Too simple. It made something inside me twist in agony.

I scoffed. “And what do you expect? That I’ll suddenly choose the light? That I’ll abandon everything I am?”

He hesitated, just for a moment, before stepping closer. “I don’t expect anything. I just… want you to know that no matter how deep the darkness, you are not beyond saving.”

I turned then, meeting his gaze, and I could see it. The sincerity. The unwavering belief that I could be more than this.

It hurt.

It hurt more than any wound I had ever suffered.

I wanted to tell him he was wrong. That I didn’t need saving. That I didn’t need him.

But when he reached forward, cupping my face with hands that were far too gentle for someone like me, I did not pull away.

I did not lean in, either.

It was torture, this war within me.

To love and to hate, to crave and to resist.

And for the first time, I realized that perhaps the greatest pain of all was knowing that even if I wanted to, I could never truly be with him.

Because the light would always shine, and I would always remain in shadow.

⸻

That night, as he slept under the stars, I stayed in the darkness, watching over him.

Memorizing every detail.

Committing him to memory, because I knew it would be the last time.

When dawn broke, I was gone.

But as I disappeared into the abyss, I could hear the whisper of his voice in my mind, a promise neither of us dared to speak aloud.

One day, our paths would cross again.

And perhaps, in another time, another life, the darkness and the light could finally meet without breaking..

——————

The night was quiet, too quiet. I knew something was coming. My stronghold, hidden deep within the ruins of an ancient fortress, had always been a place untouched by the light. But tonight, the air carried a charge, a foreboding energy that sent a shiver through my bones.

Then, the attack came.

Brilliant golden beams tore through the darkened sky, striking down my sentries before they could even sound an alarm. I rushed to the highest tower, my heart pounding as I looked out over the battlefield.

They were here.

Pure Vanilla Cookie and his army had come for me.

The walls shook as explosions erupted along the perimeter. My warriors fought valiantly, their shadows twisting and surging against the radiant forces, but the light was relentless. It burned through our defenses with terrifying efficiency.

In the chaos, I saw him.

Pure Vanilla stood at the heart of the charge, his staff glowing with a brilliance that outshone the fires of war. His presence alone sent waves of power surging through his allies, strengthening them, pushing them forward.

For a moment, I hesitated. Not out of fear, but out of something far worse—uncertainty.

Could I truly raise my blade against him?

No. I couldn’t afford such weakness.

Gritting my teeth, I descended into the fray, my weapons drawn. If Pure Vanilla thought he could drag me into his world of light, he would soon learn that darkness does not surrender so easily.

We clashed in the heart of the battlefield, light against shadow, neither willing to yield.

“Why do you fight this, Shadow Milk?” Pure Vanilla’s voice cut through the chaos, his eyes pleading even as he deflected my strikes. “You don’t belong in this war!”

“This war is all I have!” I roared, my blade slashing through the air, barely missing his shoulder. “I told you—I don’t need saving!”

Our battle raged until, at last, I faltered. A single moment of hesitation, a fraction of a second where my resolve wavered, and it was over. Light erupted from Pure Vanilla’s staff, engulfing me in a blinding radiance. My vision blurred, my strength drained, and before I could fight back, darkness took me.

When I awoke, the battle was over.

And I was no longer in my fortress.

I was in Pure Vanilla’s kingdom.

Chapter Text

I awoke in a room unlike any I had ever seen before. The scent of fresh flowers and warm vanilla filled the air, a stark contrast to the damp stone walls of my fortress. Groggily, I sat up, my head pounding. Silk sheets tangled around me, their softness foreign against my skin.

I was not in my base.

I stumbled toward the window, gripping the frame as I peered outside. Below me stretched the pristine courtyards of the Vanilla Kingdom, bathed in the golden light of morning. Towering spires of white marble glistened in the distance, their golden accents gleaming like the very sun itself. In the gardens, Cookie citizens walked freely, their laughter drifting up to where I stood, their lives untouched by war, unburdened by shadows.

Disgust curled in my stomach.

I had been brought into the heart of my enemy’s home.

The door behind me creaked open, and I whirled around, my muscles tensing despite the weakness still clinging to my limbs. Pure Vanilla Cookie stood in the doorway, his staff absent, his expression unreadable.

“You’re awake,” he said softly.

“Where am I?” I demanded, my voice rougher than I had intended.

“In the Vanilla Kingdom. In my palace.”

The words made my blood boil. “You dare—”

“You were wounded,” he interrupted, stepping further into the room, his gaze locked onto mine with that same infuriating gentleness. “We couldn’t leave you there.”

I clenched my fists. “So, what now? Am I a prisoner? A trophy for your so-called victory?”

Pure Vanilla sighed. “You’re not a prisoner. You are here because I believe there’s still something in you worth saving.”

My laughter was bitter. “Spare me your mercy. You think chaining me in a golden cage will change who I am?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I won’t give up on you.”

His words made something in my chest tighten, but I shoved the feeling away. “Then you’re a fool. I will escape. And when I do, your kingdom will regret bringing me here.”

For the first time, something flickered in his expression—something that almost looked like hurt. But he did not argue. Instead, he simply said, “Breakfast is being prepared. If you wish to join us, the guards will escort you.”

And with that, he turned and left, closing the door behind him.

I waited a few seconds before rushing toward it, testing the handle.

It wasn’t locked.

That surprised me.

But that didn’t mean I was free. I knew well enough that there would be guards beyond these walls, eyes watching my every move. Even if I wanted to escape now, I would need time. Strength. A plan.

I turned back to the window, my fingers pressing against the glass as I stared out at the Vanilla Kingdom.

No matter how much light surrounded me, I would not let it swallow me whole.

I would not be tamed.

I would find a way to return to the darkness.

No matter what it took.

——————

Then, for the first time in my existence, I felt it.

Hunger.

A deep, gnawing emptiness clawed at my insides, making my limbs feel weak. I pressed a hand to my stomach, a foreign sensation twisting through me. It was more than just needing energy—it was something primal, something ravenous. A beast stirring within, demanding to be fed.

I had never experienced hunger like this before. In the darkness, I had survived on raw power, on the cold energy that seeped through the shadows. But here, in this place of warmth and light, my body felt… vulnerable.

I scowled. No. I would not let weakness consume me.

But my body betrayed me. My legs wobbled as I took a step back, and a deep growl rumbled from my stomach. It was unbearable, this sensation—foreign, humiliating.

I cursed under my breath. As much as I despised this place, I needed sustenance. I could not think of escape if my body refused to obey me.

With slow, measured steps, I approached the door and opened it. Two guards stood outside, their expressions unreadable, but they did not raise their weapons at me.

“Take me to breakfast,” I muttered, my voice laced with irritation.

They exchanged a glance before nodding, stepping aside to let me pass. They did not chain me, did not shove me forward.

They did not treat me like a prisoner.

That unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

The halls of the Vanilla Kingdom were disgustingly bright, sunlight streaming through tall, arched windows. Every surface was pristine, every corner filled with an aura of peace that felt suffocating. It was nothing like the darkened ruins I had called home.

Eventually, the guards led me into a grand dining hall. The long table was adorned with golden plates, fine china, and more food than I had ever seen in one place. Fruits, bread, honey-glazed pastries, and steaming cups of tea filled the air with an overwhelming sweetness.

At the far end of the table sat Pure Vanilla Cookie, his usual serene expression on his face as he sipped from a delicate cup. He looked up as I entered, his gaze meeting mine with something unreadable.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” he said, motioning to a seat across from him.

I hesitated. Sitting at his table felt like surrender.

But my hunger gave me no choice.

With slow, reluctant steps, I approached and sat down, my body still tense. I reached for a simple piece of bread, ignoring the way the guards observed my every movement.

The moment the food touched my tongue, my body reacted. A shudder ran through me as the flavors overwhelmed my senses—warm, rich, real. Nothing like the cold sustenance of the shadows.

I hated how good it tasted.

Pure Vanilla must have noticed my reaction, because he smiled faintly. “You’re not used to this, are you?”

I scowled, swallowing my bite. “Don’t act like you understand me.”

He sighed, setting down his cup. “I don’t pretend to. But I do know what it’s like to be lost. To feel like you don’t belong anywhere.”

Something sharp twisted in my chest, and I shoved another bite of food into my mouth just to avoid responding.

Pure Vanilla didn’t push further. Instead, he simply continued eating, letting the silence settle between us.

For the first time since my capture, I felt something strange.

Not anger. Not hatred.

Just… quiet.

I kept waiting for Pure Vanilla to lecture me, to try and break me with his mercy, to force his ideals upon me like a sermon. But he never did. Instead, he treated me as though I were simply… another Cookie. Not a villain. Not a monster.

And I hated it.

It was only after a long silence that he finally spoke.

“Shadow Milk Cookie… what was your life like before the darkness took you?”

The air between us grew sharp in an instant.

I froze mid-bite. My fingers clenched around the utensil, the metal bending slightly under my grip.

“What?” My voice was dangerously low.

Pure Vanilla hesitated, as if he had already realized his mistake, but he did not take back his words. “Before all of this… before the shadows, before the battles—who were you?”

Something hot, something violent flared in my chest. I set my fork down with slow, deliberate care, my appetite vanishing as a storm built within me.

“You want to know about my past?” I repeated, my voice thick with restrained fury. “You want to hear some tragic story, is that it? Some tale that will help you understand me, justify me, make me fit into your perfect world?”

Pure Vanilla’s eyes flickered with something—concern, regret—but he didn’t look away. “That’s not what I—”

“No,” I snarled, slamming my fist onto the table, the plates rattling from the force. “You don’t get to ask me that. You don’t get to dig into things you couldn’t possibly understand. You sit in your golden palace, surrounded by light and love and everything that makes the world soft. You know nothing about what it’s like to claw your way through darkness, to be shaped by it.”

Pure Vanilla did not flinch. “Then tell me. Make me understand.”

His calmness only fueled my rage. My chair scraped against the floor as I stood abruptly, my hands clenched into fists. “You think I owe you that? That I owe you anything? After everything you and your kingdom have done?”

For the first time, something sharp entered his voice. “I never wanted war, Shadow Milk Cookie. I never wanted any of this.”

I scoffed. “And yet, here we are.”

The air crackled between us, tension thick enough to suffocate. The guards at the entrance stiffened, watching carefully, ready to intervene. But Pure Vanilla lifted a hand, silently telling them to stand down.

“I only asked because I care,” he said softly. “Not because I want to change you, not because I want to justify anything. I asked because I see someone in pain. And despite everything… I don’t want you to carry that alone.”

The words cut deeper than any blade.

I took a step back, my breath uneven. My anger had been burning so fiercely—wild, uncontainable—but now it felt unsteady, like a fire struggling against a storm.

I hated that he looked at me like that. Like I was something more than a shadow. Like I was something worth saving.

I turned on my heel. “I’m done here.”

I left before he could say another word, before he could press any further. The halls of the Vanilla Kingdom blurred around me as I stormed away, my mind a tangled mess of fury and something I couldn’t name.

I didn’t stop until I was alone, far from the warmth, far from his piercing gaze.

And yet, no matter how much distance I put between us, his words clung to me like a curse.

Chapter Text

The palace was quiet without him.

I didn’t think it would matter—his presence, his absence. But when Pure Vanilla left the palace on kingdom business, something changed.

The first day was tolerable. The guards still watched me, the servants still avoided me, and the golden halls still suffocated me with their pristine glow. I ate in silence, barely acknowledging the others in the dining hall, and returned to my room without a word.

The second day, I barely left my bed. There was no one to question me, no one to insist I join them for meals, no one to watch me with those eyes that saw too much. The air in my room felt thick, heavy, pressing down on my chest like an unseen weight. I didn’t need to be here. I didn’t want to be here. And yet, I remained, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the ornate designs above me.

By the third day, I felt it creeping in—the suffocating nothingness. The stillness of the room, the way the world outside continued without me. The way his presence was gone, leaving behind only an echo of something I refused to name.

By the fourth day, the silence had become unbearable.

I snapped.

It started with a single motion—a flick of my wrist, knocking over a glass on the bedside table. It shattered against the floor, the sound sharp, cutting through the emptiness.

Something inside me twisted, and I welcomed the rage as it surged through my veins like wildfire.

I stood abruptly, the chair beside my desk crashing to the floor as I grabbed the first thing in reach—a lamp. I hurled it against the wall, watching as the ceramic shattered into countless fragments.

But it wasn’t enough.

I tore the blankets from the bed, flinging them aside as I sent books and trinkets flying off the shelves. My fists slammed against the wooden furniture, cracking its polished surface. The mirror across the room caught my reflection for only a second—wild eyes, chest rising and falling with unrestrained fury—before I drove my fist through the glass. It fractured instantly, splintering into jagged shards that rained onto the floor.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

I grabbed the edge of the heavy oak desk, muscles straining as I flipped it over, sending parchment and ink bottles crashing onto the ground. The dark liquid spread like veins across the marble, staining the perfect floors of the Vanilla Kingdom with something chaotic, something imperfect.

Something real.

I stood in the wreckage of my destruction, my breath ragged, my hands trembling. The walls around me bore the scars of my fury—scratches, dents, shattered remains of things that had once been whole.

And yet, it changed nothing.

The silence remained. The emptiness persisted.

A bitter laugh forced its way past my lips, harsh and broken.

What had I expected? That destroying this room would break the cage I was trapped in? That it would drown out the weight pressing against my chest? That it would silence the thoughts clawing at my mind?

I sank onto the edge of the ruined bed, my fingers curling against the sheets. My body ached, my knuckles raw from the impact against wood and stone, but none of it compared to the hollowness inside me.

I closed my eyes, inhaling sharply.

It was not the walls of the Vanilla Kingdom that trapped me.

It was something far worse.

And no amount of destruction could set me free.

The rage drained from me as quickly as it had flared, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake. My breath shuddered as I stared at the wreckage surrounding me, at the shards of glass catching the dim candlelight, at the ink-stained floor, at the broken pieces of a world I did not belong to.

My hands, bloodied and shaking, curled into my lap as something unfamiliar rose in my chest—a tightness, a pressure that had nothing to do with anger.

It was loneliness.

It was grief.

I hunched over, my shoulders trembling as the weight of it all crashed over me like a tidal wave. The dam I had built inside myself cracked, then shattered, and before I could stop it, before I could force myself to swallow it back down—I broke.

A ragged sob tore from my throat, raw and painful. My hands fisted into the sheets as I pressed my forehead against the mattress, my body shaking with each breath. Tears burned my eyes, slipping down my face in silent streams, falling onto the fabric beneath me.

I couldn’t stop.

I had spent so long clinging to my rage, to my defiance, to the belief that as long as I stayed angry, I would stay strong. But now, in the emptiness of this room, in the absence of battle, in the absence of purpose, I realized the truth.

I had nothing left.

I was nothing.

A shadow without its master. A warrior without a war.

Useless.

The sobs wracked my body, deeper, harder, years of pent-up pain spilling free in the darkness. I gritted my teeth, but it did nothing to stop the broken sounds escaping me. My fingers dug into the mattress, desperate to hold onto something, anything, as if it would keep me from unraveling completely.

But there was nothing.

Nothing but the echo of my own grief.

I didn’t know how long I stayed like that, crumpled and shaking, drowning in my own sorrow. Minutes? Hours? It didn’t matter.

No one came. No one knocked. No one called my name.

And so I wept alone, in a kingdom that did not need me, in a palace that was not my home, in a world that had already left me behind.

Eventually, the exhaustion won. My body, drained of its fight, slumped against the ruined bed. My breath evened out, but the heaviness in my chest remained, an ache that refused to fade.

Somewhere in the wreckage, the remnants of a shattered mirror caught my eye. I stared at the fragmented reflection—at the broken pieces of myself staring back.

For the first time, I wondered if I had ever truly been whole.

A soft knock at the door startled me. I didn’t respond, but the door creaked open regardless. A servant stood hesitantly in the doorway, eyes wide at the destruction that lay before her. She didn’t speak, but she placed a small tray on the untouched part of the desk—a plate of food, a cup of tea—and then quietly stepped back, disappearing as quickly as she had come.

I didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge it. But my stomach twisted with hunger, a dull ache reminding me that I was still here. Still alive.

I reached for the cup, fingers wrapping around its warmth. The tea was sweet, familiar.

Vanilla.

I closed my eyes, exhaling shakily.

Even in his absence, he haunted me..

——————

Chapter Six: The Return

The room reeked of ink and dust, of shattered wood and failure.

I sat on the ruined bed, staring at my hands—hands that had broken everything they touched. My knuckles were raw, streaked with dried blood, trembling in the silence that surrounded me. The chaos I had created lay around me, a reflection of the storm raging inside my chest. And yet, none of it made me feel any less hollow.

The world outside moved on without me. The golden halls of the Vanilla Kingdom remained untouched, its people continued their peaceful lives, and I… I had become nothing more than a relic of war, a beast without a battlefield.

The door creaked open.

I didn’t look up. I didn’t need to. I knew who it was by the way the air shifted—calm, warm, familiar. The scent of vanilla reached me before his voice did, as gentle as always.

“Shadow Milk…”

I clenched my fists. He was back.

I didn’t answer, didn’t move. What could I possibly say? That I had destroyed his precious palace room? That the moment he left, the illusion of control I had been clinging to shattered like the glass on the floor? That without him here, I had spiraled into something even I couldn’t recognize?

Footsteps approached—slow, cautious. Then he knelt before me, close enough that I could feel his warmth.

“I’m back.”

Something inside me twisted. My throat felt tight. My fingers curled against my palms.

“I broke everything,” I muttered, my voice hoarse from disuse.

He didn’t chastise me. He didn’t scold me or demand an explanation.

“That doesn’t matter,” he said.

I let out a bitter laugh, though it felt more like a hollow exhale. “Of course it does. Everything I touch—everything—I destroy.” My jaw clenched as I forced myself to finally look at him. “I don’t belong here. I never did. I’m just a stray beast you decided to take in out of pity. And now I’m trapped in a gilded cage, watching a world that doesn’t need me move on without me.”

His expression didn’t change. No pity, no disappointment—just quiet understanding. The kind that made my chest ache.

“You are not a stray beast,” he said. “And you are not trapped.”

I wanted to believe him.

I wanted to hate him for saying it.

“Then why do I feel like I am?” My voice cracked, the edges fraying, and I hated how weak I sounded.

He reached for my hand. I flinched—but I didn’t pull away. His touch was warm, grounding, and something in me stilled against it.

“Because you’re hurting,” he said, voice unbearably soft. “And you’ve been hurting for so long that you don’t know what it’s like to be anything else.”

I inhaled sharply. My vision blurred, my breath shuddering in my chest.

“I don’t know how to stop,” I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could choke them back. “I don’t know how to be anything else. I don’t know how to exist without war, without battle, without rage. And now, without any of that, I—”

I broke.

The dam I had built inside myself shattered, and suddenly, I couldn’t hold it back anymore.

A ragged sob tore from my throat, shaking me to my core. My hands fisted into his robes, gripping onto him like he was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.

“I don’t know who I am anymore!” I choked out. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be! I feel like a ghost of something that used to matter, but I don’t anymore! I don’t know what to do, Vanilla—I don’t know what to do!”

And then he held me.

No hesitation, no uncertainty. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, as if he had been waiting for this moment. As if he had known all along that this storm had been brewing inside me.

I sobbed into his chest, raw and broken, years of buried grief spilling into the open. My fingers clutched at him desperately, afraid that if I let go, I would disappear entirely.

But he didn’t let go. He held me tighter, his hand smoothing over my hair, his voice a whisper against my ear.

“You are not nothing,” he murmured. “You have always mattered. Even now, you matter. And I will stay by your side until you see that.”

My sobs only deepened at his words, my body trembling against his. I had spent so long believing I was a monster, a shadow of something that had already faded. But now, in his arms, in the warmth of his unwavering presence, I felt something else.

I felt seen.

I felt heard.

For the first time in my life, I let myself be held.

For the first time, I wasn’t alone.

——————

(PURE VANILLA COOKIES POV!)

Chapter Seven: Unspoken Realization

The room had fallen into silence, save for the faint sound of Shadow Milk Cookie’s breathing. He had finally succumbed to exhaustion, his body slack against me, the last of his ragged sobs fading into soft, uneven breaths.

I didn’t move.

I couldn’t bring myself to.

Even as the weight of his body pressed against mine, even as his grip on my robes slowly loosened, I remained still, unwilling to disturb the fragile peace that had settled over him. His face, usually so sharp with anger and defiance, was now soft in sleep. His brow, so often furrowed, was smooth for the first time since he had arrived in the Vanilla Kingdom.

He looked… vulnerable.

My chest ached at the sight of him. Not out of pity, no—Shadow Milk Cookie would never want that. No, it was something deeper, something I couldn’t quite name. Something that had been quietly building inside me since the moment I first looked into his storm-colored eyes and saw more than just a beast shaped by war.

I exhaled slowly, my fingers unconsciously tightening where they rested against his back. He had been through so much. So much pain, so much isolation. He had built walls so high and so thick that even he had begun to believe there was nothing left beyond them. But tonight, those walls had cracked.

And I had seen him—truly seen him.

I reached up, carefully brushing strands of silver hair from his face. His skin was still warm from the heat of his tears, his eyelashes damp. The sight stirred something deep within me, something unfamiliar yet undeniable.

I wanted to protect him. Not just from the world, but from himself. I wanted to be the warmth that reminded him he was not alone. I wanted to be the one who proved to him that he was more than his past, more than his suffering.

My heart pounded, and I swallowed hard against the strange intensity of it all.

What was this feeling?

I had cared for others before. I had comforted, I had healed, I had offered kindness without hesitation. But this was different. This wasn’t just concern or sympathy. It was… more.

It was the way my hands refused to let go of him. The way my breath caught when I saw him so fragile. The way his pain felt like my own, and his presence felt like something I didn’t want to lose.

My fingers lingered against his cheek before I pulled back, letting out a shaky breath. This feeling… it was powerful. Overwhelming, even. But I didn’t understand it. Not yet.

Shadow Milk Cookie stirred slightly, his grip tightening for the briefest moment before settling again. I watched him, a quiet warmth blooming in my chest despite my confusion.

I would stay by his side.

For as long as he needed me.

And perhaps, one day, I would come to understand what this feeling truly was.

Chapter Text

I woke slowly, as if surfacing from the depths of a dream I couldn’t remember. My body felt heavy, my limbs stiff, my throat raw from crying more than I ever had in my life. The room around me was still, bathed in the faint golden glow of morning light filtering through the curtains.

For a long moment, I didn’t move.

Everything felt strange. Too quiet. Too warm. Too… safe.

I wasn’t in my dark, cold base. I wasn’t waking to the distant sound of battle, the heavy presence of war looming over me. Instead, I was here, in the Vanilla Kingdom. In a place where the air smelled of flowers and morning dew, where the silence wasn’t suffocating but soft.

And I wasn’t alone.

My breath caught as I felt it—an arm draped lightly around me, the steady rhythm of another’s breathing close by.

Pure Vanilla.

I tensed instinctively, my mind struggling to grasp why he was still here. Why he hadn’t left after I had fallen apart in his arms like some pathetic, broken thing.

Carefully, I turned my head, my gaze landing on him.

He was still asleep, his expression peaceful, serene. His golden hair fell softly against his face, the ever-present glow around him dim but still there, like a warmth that never faded. His hand, the one that had been on my back last night, was now resting near mine, close enough that if I moved even slightly, our fingers would brush.

I should have pulled away.

I should have gotten up, put distance between us before he woke. Before he looked at me with that same endless kindness that made my chest ache.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I stayed, watching the slow rise and fall of his breath, feeling the warmth that radiated from him even in sleep.

What was this?

Why did it feel like my body refused to leave his side? Why did the thought of his absence make my stomach twist?

I clenched my fists against the blankets, frustration creeping in. This was weakness. I had spent my whole life teaching myself not to rely on anyone, not to need anyone. And yet here I was, lying beside the very cookie who had once stood on the opposite side of the battlefield from me, feeling… something I didn’t have words for.

I exhaled sharply and forced myself to sit up. The sudden movement made Pure Vanilla stir, his brows furrowing slightly before his eyes slowly opened, still hazy with sleep.

The moment his gaze met mine, something in my chest tightened.

He blinked, as if processing that I was still here, that I hadn’t disappeared in the night like a shadow. Then, slowly, a small, tired smile crossed his lips.

“Good morning, Shadow Milk.”

I swallowed, looking away, forcing my voice to be steady. “Morning.”

I could feel his eyes on me, studying me, reading me like he always did. And for once, I didn’t know if I wanted to run from it or stay right where I was.

I had spent my life drowning in war, in anger, in solitude.

And yet, here in this quiet morning light, in the warmth of his presence, I felt something different.

Something I wasn’t ready to name.

The warmth lingered even after I pulled myself away.

I had left the room as soon as I could, my steps quick, my breathing uneven. The moment I had woken up beside him, something in me had felt—wrong. Too raw. Too exposed. I wasn’t used to waking up in a place like this. I wasn’t used to waking up next to someone who looked at me like I was worth something more than my past.

I found myself standing in the palace gardens, the scent of flowers thick in the air. Everything here was so delicate, so untouched by war. It felt like an entirely different world, one I had no place in.

I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists, trying to shake off the unease crawling through me.

I wasn’t like him. I wasn’t meant to be here.

“Shadow Milk?”

His voice.

I turned sharply, finding Pure Vanilla standing at the entrance of the garden. The sunlight made him glow, his golden robes swaying with the breeze. He was watching me with that same soft expression, the one that made my chest feel too tight.

I scowled. “What?”

He didn’t flinch at my sharpness. He never did. Instead, he stepped closer, his hands clasped in front of him. “I noticed you left in a hurry. I wanted to check on you.”

I huffed, looking away. “I don’t need you to check on me.”

Silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t tense. It was patient. Like he was waiting for me to speak, waiting for me to say what I couldn’t.

I hated it.

I hated how easily he saw through me.

I crossed my arms and exhaled sharply. “Why do you keep doing this?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Doing what?”

“This.” I gestured vaguely between us. “Treating me like I belong here. Like I’m—”

Like I’m something more than a monster.

Pure Vanilla’s expression softened. “Because you do.”

I scoffed. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he insisted, stepping closer. “Shadow Milk, I’ve seen you. Not just the warrior, not just the beast others made you out to be. I’ve seen who you really are. You’re not just anger and pain. There is more to you than that.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. “And what if that’s all I know how to be?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Then let me show you something different.”

Something inside me cracked, just slightly.

I wanted to argue, to push him away, to bury this conversation before it could dig any deeper. But I couldn’t. Because the way he looked at me—the way he always looked at me—made me want to believe him.

And that terrified me more than anything else.

——————

The days passed in an unfamiliar rhythm. I had been accustomed to war, to the raw, unrelenting nature of survival. But here in the Vanilla Kingdom, everything felt… still. Too still. It was as though time itself flowed differently within these walls, as if the air itself was softer, carrying whispers of peace I had never learned to trust.

I hated it. And yet, I didn’t leave.

Instead, I wandered. The corridors of the palace stretched endlessly, filled with shimmering tapestries and stained glass windows that bathed the halls in soft, colorful light. The gardens flourished with vibrant life, the scent of blooming flowers carried on every passing breeze. It was so different from what I had known—too bright, too open. I didn’t belong in places like this.

But still, I stayed.

I rarely saw Pure Vanilla. He was busy, of course—always tending to the people of his kingdom, always offering his unwavering kindness to those who needed it. He didn’t press me to join him. He didn’t force me to talk or to engage. But I knew he was watching, waiting. Giving me space, but never straying too far.

Perhaps that was why, when I finally saw him again, I felt something twist inside me.

It was late when I found myself in the courtyard. The sky had darkened, stars twinkling like distant promises. I had meant to stay in my room, but the restless energy inside me had grown unbearable, pulling me outside.

And there he was.

Pure Vanilla stood among the moonlit flowers, his staff resting at his side. He had not yet noticed me, his gaze lifted toward the sky as though lost in thought. There was something about him in that moment—something quiet, something heavy. A weight I hadn’t noticed before.

I hesitated before speaking. “You look troubled.”

He turned at the sound of my voice, his usual gentle smile gracing his lips. “Shadow Milk.”

I crossed my arms, leaning against a nearby stone pillar. “You didn’t answer my question.”

His gaze drifted slightly, as if searching for words. “Even a peaceful kingdom has its struggles,” he admitted finally. “There is always something to tend to, someone in need of help.”

I scoffed. “Sounds exhausting.”

Pure Vanilla chuckled softly, but there was a weariness behind it. “It can be. But that is the duty I have chosen.”

I studied him for a moment. The golden glow that always surrounded him was dimmer in the moonlight, casting him in a softer, more human light. He wasn’t the untouchable figure I had once thought him to be. He was… just him. Just Pure Vanilla.

And for some reason, that realization unsettled me more than anything else.

I exhaled sharply and looked away. “You should rest.”

“I could say the same for you,” he replied. “You’ve been wandering a lot.”

I stiffened. “Not much else to do in a place like this.”

Pure Vanilla’s expression was unreadable for a moment. Then, quietly, he asked, “Are you still searching for something?”

The question hit me harder than I expected. I opened my mouth to respond—then closed it again. Because I didn’t know.

Was I?

Or had I already found it, and I was simply too much of a coward to accept it?

A silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken things. Pure Vanilla did not push for an answer. He only watched me, patient as ever.

For the first time since I had arrived in this kingdom, I felt truly seen.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I was ready for it. Pure Vanilla sighed, shifting slightly, his robes catching the moonlight. “You don’t have to answer now. Or ever, if you don’t want to.”

I clenched my jaw. “Then why ask at all?”

“Because sometimes, the right question lingers in our minds long before we’re ready to face it. And I want you to know you don’t have to face it alone.”

I hated how easily he said things like that. How his words slipped past my defenses like they belonged there, like they had the right to settle into the cracks I had spent years reinforcing.

He moved closer then, just enough that I could feel his presence more fully. Not pressing, not demanding—just… there.

I swallowed hard and turned my gaze back to the sky. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Then don’t rush it,” he murmured. “Let yourself figure it out in time.”

I let out a slow breath. That was the problem, wasn’t it? I had always acted, always fought, always moved forward without hesitation. Now, standing still felt foreign. Waiting felt impossible.

Pure Vanilla hesitated before speaking again, softer this time. “Will you come with me tomorrow?”

I glanced at him. “Where?”

“Into the city,” he said. “I have some business with the citizens. You don’t have to do anything—just walk with me. See the kingdom for what it is.”

I furrowed my brows, immediately wanting to say no. But I hesitated. He wasn’t asking me to change. He wasn’t asking me to let my guard down. Just to walk beside him.

And somehow, that was harder to refuse.

I looked away, exhaling through my nose. “Fine.”

Pure Vanilla smiled, and something about it made my chest ache.

“Then I’ll see you in the morning..”

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the tall palace windows, casting golden rays onto the marble floor. It was too bright. Too warm. I was used to the cold, to the quiet of shadows. But the Vanilla Kingdom never let me retreat into that comfort. It pulled me forward, forcing me to face things I didn’t want to acknowledge.

I had agreed to go with him. And now I was regretting it.

Standing outside the palace gates, I watched as Pure Vanilla spoke to the citizens who had gathered to greet him. Their eyes were filled with admiration, their voices soft with gratitude. I could never understand that kind of devotion.

And yet, as I observed from the sidelines, I couldn’t deny the way he moved among them—so effortlessly, so full of purpose. It was like he belonged to them just as much as they belonged to him.

I had never belonged anywhere.

“You don’t have to stay so far back, you know.”

I tensed at his voice beside me. He had finished speaking to a small group of elderly cookies, and now he turned his attention to me, his expression patient, as always.

“I’m fine right here,” I muttered.

Pure Vanilla hummed thoughtfully, but didn’t press. Instead, he simply stood with me, watching the town. There was a comfortable silence between us—one I wasn’t sure I deserved.

“They don’t fear you,” he said after a while.

I scoffed. “Give them time.”

“No,” he said softly, shaking his head. “They look at you with curiosity. Some with hesitation, yes, but not fear. That says something, doesn’t it?”

I glanced away. “They’re fools if they think I’ve changed.”

“Have you?”

I clenched my jaw. “I don’t know.”

Another silence. Another moment where he let me sit with my own words before offering his own.

“You’re here,” he said finally. “That means something.”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

As we continued walking through the town, I saw more of what Pure Vanilla had built. Stalls filled with fresh bread, laughter spilling from busy shops, children running through the cobbled streets without fear. This was a world unlike my own. A world that had never been meant for me.

But still, I was here.

A tug at my cape startled me, and I turned sharply to find a small cookie staring up at me with wide eyes. I expected fear, or at least hesitation. Instead, the child grinned and held out something wrapped in cloth.

“For you!”

I blinked, unsure of what to do. Slowly, I reached out, taking the small package. It was warm.

“It’s a honey pastry,” the child explained. “Mama makes the best ones! You should try it.”

I stared at it in my hands. No one had ever given me something like this before. A gift without a price. Without a demand.

Pure Vanilla smiled beside me. “You should try it.”

I hesitated, then, under their watchful eyes, I took a cautious bite.

It was sweet. Too sweet. The kind of sweetness that lingered, that refused to be ignored. And for a moment, I hated how much I liked it.

The child beamed. “See? Told you it was good!”

Before I could respond, they ran off, disappearing into the crowd.

I swallowed the bite, my throat tight. “I don’t understand this place.”

Pure Vanilla turned to me, his voice gentle. “Maybe you don’t have to.”

Maybe I didn’t. But for the first time, I wondered if I wanted to.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I let myself smile. A real, unguarded smile.
For a brief, fleeting moment, I wasn’t a warrior. I wasn’t a shadow lurking in the corners of this world.

I was just… a cookie, standing in the middle of a peaceful kingdom, sharing a kind gesture with a stranger.

But the moment shattered in an instant.

Another child, smaller and younger, spotted me.
Their eyes went wide with terror, their tiny body trembling. And then, before I could react, they let out a wail—a piercing, terrified cry.

“M-monster!” the child sobbed, stumbling backward before turning to run.

The world seemed to freeze. That single cry was enough.
Enough to make the nearby shopkeepers turn their heads, enough to send a ripple of realization through the crowd.

Whispers spread like wildfire, murmurs turning into gasps, gasps turning into screams.

“It’s him!”

“Shadow Milk Cookie!”

“The monster of the battlefield!”

The fear in their voices was unmistakable.

The warmth, the kindness, the fleeting acceptance—it all crumbled into dust as panic took hold.
One by one, the citizens turned away, gathering their children, locking their doors.

Some ran outright, while others watched in frozen terror, their eyes filled with the same fear I had seen a hundred times before.

I barely registered the honey pastry slipping from my fingers, landing soundlessly on the ground.

Of course. Of course this would happen.

I felt my entire body tense, my breath shallow. It didn’t matter that I had done nothing.

It didn’t matter that, just moments ago, I had felt almost… normal. All it had taken was a single moment of recognition for them to see me for what I really was.

A beast. A creature of war. A threat.

Pure Vanilla stepped closer, his voice urgent. “Wait, please—he’s not—”

But it was no use. The damage was done.

I took a step back. Then another. I couldn’t bear to look at him, not when I already knew what I’d see. Pity. Sadness. That unbearable kindness that felt like a blade against my skin.

“Shadow Milk—”

“I shouldn’t have come here,” I muttered, my voice hollow. “I never should’ve come.”

Then, before I could do something reckless—before I could lash out in frustration, or worse, let them see how much this hurt—I turned and walked away.

I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I had to leave before I shatterer and lashed out..

—————

(PURE VANILLA COOKIE POV)

The moment Shadow Milk Cookie turned away, I knew I couldn’t let him go.

Without thinking, I pushed forward, chasing after him as fast as my legs would carry me. The cries of the villagers faded into the background, drowned out by the pounding of my heart. I could feel the weight of their fear lingering in the air, but it didn’t matter. Not right now. Not when I saw the way his shoulders tensed, his hands clenched into fists—like he was barely holding himself together.

“Shadow Milk!” I called out, desperation threading through my voice. “Wait!”

He didn’t stop.

I turned to one of the nearby guards, my voice firm. “Bring the carriage. Now.”

The guard hesitated for only a second before nodding and running off. I kept my eyes on Shadow Milk’s retreating form, willing him to stop, to just listen. I didn’t know what I would say yet—how I could possibly make this right—but I knew I had to try.

The carriage arrived swiftly, the horses snorting impatiently. I didn’t waste a second. “Shadow Milk, get in.”

He finally stopped, though he didn’t turn to face me. His voice was low, bitter. “Why?”

“You know why.” I softened my tone, trying to meet him where he was. “Come back with me.”

Silence stretched between us. I held my breath, watching as the tension in his shoulders wavered, just slightly. Then, with a sharp exhale, he climbed into the carriage without another word.

The ride back to the palace was unbearably quiet. I wanted to say something, to offer reassurance, but I knew it wouldn’t reach him right now. Not when he was shutting himself off, curling back into the shadows he had spent so long surviving in. I could only watch as he stared out the window, his expression unreadable, his fingers gripping the fabric of his cloak like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

When we arrived at the palace, I barely had time to step out before he moved. The second his boots touched the marble steps, he vanished—melting into the darkness before I could even call his name.

“Shadow Milk—”

But he was already gone.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where he had just been. A deep sigh escaped me as I ran a hand over my face, exhaustion settling in.

I had found him once before.

And I would do it again..

The palace was vast, filled with endless hallways, hidden corridors, and rooms tucked away in places that even I barely visited. But despite its size, I searched every inch of it. And yet, Shadow Milk Cookie was nowhere to be found.

I had checked his room first, though I knew it was foolish to expect him to stay there. When I opened the door, I was met only with the destruction he had left behind from his earlier rage. Shattered glass, broken furniture, torn fabrics—it was all a painful reminder of his turmoil. And of how lost he must have felt.

After that, I searched the halls, the library, even the dimmest corners of the palace where I thought he might hide away. Each time I came up empty, my worry deepened. It wasn’t just that he was missing—it was the possibility that he was out there suffering, alone, spiraling further into his own darkness.

Hours passed, the sky outside shifting from the warm hues of the afternoon to the deep blues of twilight. I refused to stop. I couldn’t stop. Not when I knew he was still here, somewhere. I just had to find him.

By the time night had fully settled over the kingdom, my energy was waning. I leaned against a pillar in one of the palace hallways, rubbing a hand over my tired eyes. Maybe he really didn’t want to be found. Maybe, no matter how much I searched, I would never be able to reach him the way I wanted to.

But then, as I turned toward the garden, something in me stilled.

The night air was crisp as I stepped outside, the scent of flowers lingering in the cool breeze. The garden was quiet, the only sounds coming from the gentle rustling of leaves and the faint trickle of the fountain. And then, beneath the glow of the moon, I saw him.

Shadow Milk Cookie was curled up on a bench, his knees drawn to his chest, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. He looked smaller like this, lost in the vastness of the world around him. His face was turned slightly away, his expression unreadable, but I could see the exhaustion in the way his shoulders sagged, the way his body seemed to sink into itself.

Relief flooded through me, but I didn’t move closer just yet. I didn’t want to startle him, didn’t want to break whatever fragile moment this was. Instead, I simply watched, my heart aching at the sight of him like this.

“Shadow Milk,” I finally called, my voice gentle, hesitant.

He flinched but didn’t lift his head. For a moment, I thought he might ignore me entirely. But then, after a long silence, he exhaled a breath that sounded almost defeated.

“You never stop looking for me, do you?” he muttered.

I stepped closer, careful, as if approaching a wounded creature. “I told you before—I won’t give up on you.”

He let out a hollow chuckle, shaking his head. “You should.”

But I wouldn’t. I never would.

Carefully, I sat on the edge of the bench, leaving just enough space between us. I didn’t push him to talk, didn’t force anything. I just let the silence settle around us, hoping that somehow, in this quiet moment beneath the moonlit sky, he would know he wasn’t alone.

And that no matter how far he tried to run, I would always find him.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The soft chirping of crickets and the whisper of the wind through the leaves filled the silence. Then, Shadow Milk Cookie let out a slow breath.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Before… before everything, I was just another cookie. I had a home. A purpose. I wasn’t… this.”

I turned my gaze to him, patiently waiting for him to continue. He hesitated, his fingers curling slightly as if grasping at a memory that was too painful to hold.

“I had a mentor, someone who took me in, taught me how to fight, how to survive. I trusted them.” His voice wavered, bitterness laced in every syllable. “But in the end, I was nothing more than a tool to them. Something to use and discard when I was no longer needed. And when I finally realized that, it was too late. I had already become the monster they wanted me to be.”

His fists clenched in his lap, his entire body tense as if holding back a storm of emotions. “I thought that if I kept fighting, if I kept pushing forward, maybe I’d prove I was more than what they made me. But all I ever did was destroy. Hurt others. And now… now I don’t know what I am anymore.”

The weight of his words settled in my chest like a heavy stone. I had known he carried pain, but hearing it like this—raw, unguarded—was something else entirely.

“Shadow Milk…” I started, but he shook his head.

“I don’t need pity, Vanilla,” he muttered, his voice sharp. “I just… I don’t know why you keep trying. Why you keep chasing after me like I’m something worth saving.”

I hesitated, then spoke softly. “Because I know what it’s like to lose yourself. To feel like the world has already decided what you are. And I know how painful it is to try and fight against it.”

For the first time, he turned to face me fully, his crimson eyes searching mine. “You?”

I offered a small, sad smile. “When I lost my kingdom, when Dark Enchantress took everything I loved, I… I felt powerless. Like no matter what I did, I could never be enough to fix the damage. I spent so long trying to be the Pure Vanilla everyone needed me to be, but inside, I was just… lost.”

Shadow Milk Cookie studied me, his expression unreadable. “So what did you do?”

I exhaled softly. “I found others who reminded me that I wasn’t alone. That I was still me, no matter how much I had lost. And that’s what I see in you, too. No matter what you believe about yourself, no matter what others have told you—you’re not just some tool, or a monster, or something broken beyond repair. You’re still you.”

His gaze lowered, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know if I believe that.”

“Then let me believe it for you,” I said gently.

The silence stretched between us once more, but this time, it wasn’t heavy with sorrow. It was something else—something quieter, more fragile.

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t say anything else. But as the night stretched on, he didn’t pull away either. And for now, that was enough..

Chapter Text

The tension from the night before still lingered in the air as morning arrived. I had expected Shadow Milk Cookie to retreat back into himself after sharing so much, to push me away as he always did. But when I woke up and stepped into the garden, I found him still sitting on the same bench, his cloak draped around his shoulders, his head tilted slightly upward as he gazed at the sky.

He looked… tired. As if the weight of our conversation still pressed down on him, leaving him unsure of where to go next.

I approached carefully, making sure my footsteps were audible so I wouldn’t startle him. He didn’t flinch this time, didn’t tense up as I sat down beside him. It was a small step, but it was something.

“You didn’t go back inside?” I asked softly.

His crimson eyes flicked to me for a brief moment before returning to the horizon. “Didn’t feel like it.”

I nodded, letting silence settle between us again. I didn’t want to rush him. I knew now that he needed time, space to process everything. But there was something different about him this morning—an exhaustion that went beyond just physical weariness. It was as if speaking about his past had cracked something inside him, and he wasn’t sure how to put the pieces back together.

“Last night…” he finally muttered, his voice hesitant. “I don’t know why I told you all of that.”

“Maybe because you needed to,” I said gently. “You’ve held it in for so long, haven’t you?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he exhaled a slow breath. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“It doesn’t have to—not yet. Healing isn’t instant, Shadow Milk. It’s… slow. Complicated. Some days, you’ll feel like you’ve made progress, and other days, it’ll feel like you’re falling apart all over again. But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

His fingers curled slightly at his sides. “I don’t know how to be anything other than this.”

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “Then maybe… you don’t have to figure it all out right now. Maybe for today, you can just be here. With me.”

For the first time, he didn’t immediately reject the idea. He didn’t scoff or turn away. He simply sat there, silent, considering it.

The morning breeze was cool against my skin, the scent of blooming flowers filling the air. It was peaceful—something I wished he could allow himself to experience without the weight of his past dragging him down.

“There’s a festival happening in the town today,” I offered after a moment. “It’s small, but the citizens gather in the square to celebrate the changing of seasons. There will be food, music…”

He gave me a skeptical look. “You want me to go to a festival?”

“I think it might be good for you,” I admitted. “You’ve spent so much time in the shadows, hiding, running. Maybe it’s time to try something different. Just for a little while.”

He scoffed but didn’t immediately dismiss the idea. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

I smiled softly. “Not when it comes to you.”

His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. But if anyone screams and runs again, I’m leaving.”

I chuckled. “That’s fair.”

As we sat there, the sunlight filtering through the trees, I felt something shift between us. It wasn’t a grand change, not yet—but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

——————

The streets of the Vanilla Kingdom were alive with energy as the festival carried on in full swing. Laughter and music intertwined in the air, blending with the aroma of freshly baked goods and seasonal spices. Everywhere I looked, citizens danced, played games, and gathered around colorful stalls. The atmosphere was warm, welcoming—a stark contrast to the tense presence beside me.

Shadow Milk Cookie walked slightly behind me, his hood drawn low over his face. His posture was stiff, his movements calculated as if he were prepared to flee at any given moment. It was clear that, despite agreeing to come, he was regretting his decision.

“You don’t have to stay the whole time,” I reminded him softly, hoping to ease his discomfort. “Even if you just take a moment to enjoy yourself, that’s enough.”

He let out a quiet scoff but didn’t respond. His crimson eyes darted around the crowd, scanning the faces of every passing cookie. I knew what he was thinking—he was waiting for someone to recognize him, to panic, to run. But this time, things were different. The citizens were too engrossed in the festivities to pay much attention to a cloaked figure in my company.

We moved deeper into the festival, passing by vendors selling beautifully decorated sweets and pastries. A baker called out to us, offering a tray of warm, freshly baked sugar twists.

“Care to try some? On the house for our dear ruler and his guest!” she beamed, holding the tray out to both of us.

I accepted one with a grateful nod and turned to Shadow Milk Cookie, who eyed the treat suspiciously. “It’s just food,” I assured him with a small smile. “No tricks.”

He hesitated before finally taking one, though his movements were slow, hesitant. He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. His expression remained unreadable, but he didn’t make any snide remarks, which I took as a good sign.

“They’re good,” he admitted after a moment.

The baker beamed with pride, oblivious to how much of a victory this small moment was.

We continued on, weaving through the crowd as we explored the festival. The further we walked, the more I noticed the tension in his shoulders easing—just slightly, but enough to be noticeable. He was still guarded, still watching his surroundings like a cornered beast, but he was engaging with the world rather than shrinking away from it.

Then, a group of young cookies ran past us, laughing as they tossed colorful flower petals into the air. One of the petals drifted down, landing on the edge of Shadow Milk Cookie’s hood. I saw the way he reached up instinctively, plucking it from the fabric and holding it between his fingers.

It was such a simple, fleeting moment, but it struck something deep within me. For the first time since I had met him, he wasn’t drowning in anger or pain. He was just… existing.

The thought warmed my heart, but before I could say anything, an unfamiliar voice called out.

“Hey, wait a second…”

A cookie nearby had stopped in his tracks, his gaze locked onto Shadow Milk Cookie. My companion immediately tensed, his entire body going rigid. The atmosphere shifted in an instant.

“That’s him,” the cookie whispered, eyes widening. “That’s the monster from before!”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s hands clenched into fists, his entire demeanor shifting into something cold, something distant. Around us, murmurs began to spread. More and more cookies started recognizing him, their expressions morphing from confusion to fear.

“Why is he here?”

“Is he attacking the festival?!”

“Someone, call the guards!”

Panic rippled through the crowd like wildfire. Some cookies backed away, others outright ran. The joyful atmosphere that had enveloped the festival only moments ago shattered, replaced by terror.

“No!” I stepped forward, raising my voice, demanding their attention. “Enough of this! You will not treat him like this!”

The cookies hesitated, shocked by my outburst. “But he—” one tried to argue, but I cut them off with a sharp look.

“He is my guest,” I stated firmly. “He has done nothing wrong here. You call him a monster, but has he attacked you? Has he harmed any of you tonight?”

The crowd fell silent. None of them could answer.

“I will not stand for this kind of treatment in my kingdom,” I continued. “We are better than this. Fear does not justify cruelty.”

Shadow Milk Cookie stood motionless beside me, his face unreadable beneath his hood. For a moment, no one spoke, the weight of my words settling over them. Then, slowly, the crowd dispersed, guilt and uncertainty lingering in their eyes.

I turned to him. “Let’s go,” I said softly.

He didn’t argue. Without another word, we stepped away from the festival and made our way toward a quieter street.

⸻

Shadow Milk Cookie’s POV

I kept my head down as we walked, my emotions twisting into something I couldn’t define. Rage? Embarrassment? Something else? I didn’t know. But what I did know was that Vanilla had stood up for me. Again.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I muttered, breaking the silence.

“Yes, I did,” he replied simply. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

I scoffed. “You really think that changes anything? They still see me as a monster.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But perceptions can change. It takes time.”

I glanced at him from beneath my hood. “You really think I can just… be normal? That they’ll ever stop fearing me?”

He smiled, soft and hopeful. “I think you are more than what they see. And I think, deep down, you want them to see it too.”

I looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze. But for the first time, I wasn’t so sure he was wrong.

——————

The sun began its slow descent over the Vanilla Kingdom, casting a golden glow over the rooftops and streets. The festival had begun to wind down in some areas, though the air was still alive with warmth and laughter. Lanterns flickered to life, casting soft, ambient light as the anticipation for the fireworks grew. The scent of sweet confections and roasted nuts lingered in the air, mixing with the crisp evening breeze.

Pure Vanilla Cookie walked beside me, his presence calm and unwavering. I still felt the weight of the day pressing on my shoulders—the fear in their eyes, the whispers that followed me even after Vanilla had silenced them. It had been a mistake to come. I should have known better.

Yet, despite everything, I was still here.

“Come with me,” Vanilla said gently, breaking the silence between us. He didn’t wait for a response, simply leading me through the quieter paths of the festival until we arrived at a secluded spot atop a hill that overlooked the kingdom.

From here, the entire Vanilla Kingdom stretched out before us, the festival lights twinkling like stars. The sight was… peaceful.

“This is where I always watched the fireworks as a child,” Vanilla admitted, his voice touched with nostalgia. “I thought you might like it here.”

I scoffed, though there was no real bite behind it. “What makes you think I care about fireworks?”

He only smiled knowingly. “Wait and see.”

The sky darkened, and then, with a sudden burst, the first firework soared into the air, exploding in a cascade of gold and silver. Another followed, then another, painting the night sky with vibrant colors.

I stared, the light reflecting in my crimson eyes as the booms echoed across the hills. I had seen destruction, seen fire swallow everything in its path—but this was different. This was fire tamed, turned into something beautiful, something meant to be shared.

I hadn’t realized how tense I still was until I felt a gentle touch at my wrist. I turned, startled, to see Vanilla watching me carefully, his hand barely brushing against mine. It wasn’t a command, nor was it a demand. It was simply an offer.

Something in my chest tightened, an unfamiliar feeling twisting deep inside me. It was foreign, unsettling—yet, I didn’t pull away.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself exist in the moment. Just this once.

Another firework burst in the sky, illuminating Vanilla’s face. He wasn’t watching the fireworks anymore. He was watching me.

The realization sent something sharp and warm through my core. I turned away quickly, focusing on the display above. I told myself it was nothing. Just a trick of the light, a trick of the moment.

But deep down, I knew better.

A comfortable silence stretched between us, only broken by the occasional crackle of fireworks. Then, I heard Vanilla shift beside me. “Shadow Milk… I know tonight has been difficult for you, but I’m glad you came.”

I exhaled through my nose, arms crossed as I tried to ignore the way my heart was still pounding. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But… you saw it, didn’t you? Not everyone looked at you with fear. Some cookies accepted your presence. That is something, isn’t it?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to think about it. The idea that maybe—just maybe—things could be different gnawed at me, but I had spent too long convincing myself that I was unworthy of such things.

Vanilla’s voice softened. “I see you, Shadow Milk. Not as a monster. Not as the thing you think you are. Just… you. And I think you deserve to see yourself that way, too.”

His words struck something deep inside me, something I wasn’t ready to acknowledge. I clenched my jaw, forcing my gaze to stay on the fireworks, even as my vision blurred slightly at the edges.

Then, without thinking, I muttered, “You’re too soft, Vanilla.”

He chuckled, and to my surprise, his hand curled slightly against mine, fingers brushing in the smallest of movements. “Perhaps. But it seems that softness is what brought us here.”

Another firework lit up the sky, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel entirely alone.

The fireworks continued, filling the night with color and light. The warmth of Vanilla’s presence next to me, the soft touch of his fingers lingering on mine—it all made something inside me feel fragile, as if I might break under the weight of it. I wasn’t used to being treated like this, with patience, with kindness. It was unsettling, yet… comforting in a way I couldn’t put into words.

After a long pause, I finally spoke. “Why do you care so much?”

Vanilla turned his gaze toward me, his expression open, honest. “Because I know what it’s like to feel alone.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “You? Alone? You’re Pure Vanilla Cookie. Everyone adores you.”

His smile was small, almost sad. “Even those who are surrounded by others can feel alone.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. The words felt too heavy, too real. I let out a slow breath and glanced back at the fireworks.

“I don’t know if I can ever be what you see in me,” I admitted quietly.

Vanilla’s hand finally, fully, closed over mine. “Then let me believe in you until you can.”

The warmth of his words settled deep inside me, and for the first time in a long, long while, I let myself hold onto something other than anger or pain.

The last firework exploded in a brilliant cascade of gold, and in that moment, under the soft glow of the stars, I allowed myself to hope—just a little.

Chapter Text

The festival had ended, and the streets of the Vanilla Kingdom were left in peaceful quiet. The embers of fireworks still lingered in the sky, fading into the vast darkness above. I walked beside Pure Vanilla Cookie in silence, the warmth of our earlier moment still lingering in the air between us.

I hadn’t spoken since the fireworks ended. My mind was a storm, thoughts crashing and colliding with emotions I wasn’t sure how to handle. The warmth of his hand on my own still haunted me, the kindness in his voice when he said he believed in me. It was all too much. Too foreign. Too dangerous.

The palace gates loomed ahead, their ornate details glistening under the moonlight. Guards gave us brief nods as we passed through, but I barely noticed. The moment we stepped inside, I pulled away slightly, keeping a careful distance from him.

“I should go to my room,” I muttered, not waiting for a response before turning toward the hallway that led to the guest quarters.

Vanilla hesitated, his expression unreadable, before he nodded. “Rest well, Shadow Milk.”

The title felt strange now, like a reminder of something distant, something slipping away from me. I ignored the feeling and strode toward my chambers. The moment the door shut behind me, I leaned against it, exhaling sharply.

I had let my guard down. Again.

Anger curled in my chest—not at Vanilla, but at myself. I had spent years building my defenses, ensuring that no one could reach me. I had accepted my role as the beast, the outcast, the monster they feared. And yet… Vanilla refused to see me that way.

I moved toward the window, my crimson eyes scanning the gardens below. The same bench I had hidden in the other night sat empty, bathed in moonlight. My sanctuary, but no longer a place where I could disappear. Vanilla had found me there. He would always find me.

I let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through my unruly hair. “Fool,” I whispered to myself. “You’re letting him get too close.”

And yet, the thought of pushing him away now felt unbearable.

⸻

I barely slept that night. My dreams were restless, filled with fragmented memories and lingering echoes of fireworks bursting in the sky. When I finally rose from bed, the sun had barely begun its ascent.

I dressed quickly, slipping into the shadows of the palace halls before the other cookies stirred. I didn’t know where I was going, only that I needed to move, to escape the weight pressing on my chest.

The air outside was crisp, the remnants of the festival still scattered throughout the streets. Banners fluttered lazily in the breeze, and the scent of sweets still lingered in the air. The world felt strangely calm, a stark contrast to the turmoil in my heart.

I found myself back at the bench in the garden, the one where Vanilla had found me before. I sat down heavily, elbows resting on my knees as I let my gaze wander across the kingdom.

“I don’t belong here,” I muttered to myself, my voice barely audible. “I never did.”

A quiet footstep behind me made me tense. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“You’re up early,” Vanilla said softly, stepping closer but not intruding on my space.

I didn’t respond immediately. I clenched my fists, staring at the ground. “You should stop looking for me.”

Vanilla didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved to sit beside me, leaving a respectful distance between us. “Why?”

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “Because I don’t need this. Any of this.”

“Then why are you still here?” Vanilla’s voice was gentle but firm. “Why haven’t you left?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came. I had told myself over and over that this wasn’t my place, that I didn’t deserve the kindness being offered to me. And yet… I had stayed. I had let Vanilla take my hand during the fireworks. I had let myself feel something other than anger, even if just for a moment.

“I don’t know,” I finally admitted, voice raw with frustration.

Vanilla turned to face me fully, his blue eyes soft yet unwavering. “Then stay until you do.”

I looked at him then, really looked at him. Pure Vanilla Cookie, the beacon of light, the one who had every reason to turn me away and yet continued to reach for me.

For the first time in a long time, I felt something dangerous stirring in my heart.

Hope. The silence stretched between us, thick yet strangely comforting. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing, letting the cool night air brush against my skin.

Vanilla shifted beside me, his hands resting on his lap. “You know, I used to come to this garden when I felt lost,” he admitted. His voice was quiet, but it carried a weight to it, something deeper. “I thought that if I sat here long enough, I’d find the answers I was looking for.”

I scoffed, though there was no real venom in it. “And did you?”

He smiled, though there was something bittersweet about it. “Not always. But sometimes, just sitting here, breathing, was enough to remind me that I wasn’t alone.”

His words hit me harder than I wanted them to. Alone. It was a word that defined me for so long. A fate I had accepted, even embraced. But now, for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I wanted that anymore.

I hesitated before speaking, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to be anything other than what I am.”

Vanilla turned to me, his gaze unwavering. “Then let me help you figure it out.”

I clenched my jaw, torn between the instinct to reject his offer and the aching desire to believe him. To believe that maybe—just maybe—there was something more for me than darkness and solitude.

“I don’t need saving,” I muttered, though it lacked conviction.

Vanilla nodded. “I know.” He stood then, offering a hand. “But that doesn’t mean you have to walk alone.”

I stared at his outstretched hand, the war raging inside me stronger than ever. I had spent so long pushing others away, building my walls higher and higher. But in that moment, something in me shifted.

With a slow breath, I reached out, fingers brushing against his before finally taking hold.

The warmth of his grasp sent a strange feeling through me, something I couldn’t name.

Something that felt a lot like hope.

——————

The festival had ended, and the streets of the Vanilla Kingdom were left in peaceful quiet. The embers of fireworks still lingered in the sky, fading into the vast darkness above. I walked beside Shadow Milk Cookie in silence, the warmth of our earlier moment still lingering in the air between us.

He had been quiet since the fireworks ended, his expression unreadable. I wanted to say something—to assure him that he was welcome here, that he wasn’t alone—but I knew better than to force words where silence was needed.

The palace gates loomed ahead, their ornate details glistening under the moonlight. Guards gave us brief nods as we passed through, but Shadow Milk barely seemed to notice. When we stepped inside, he pulled away slightly, creating distance between us.

“I should go to my room,” he muttered, already turning toward the hallway that led to the guest quarters.

I hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Rest well, Shadow Milk.”

He didn’t acknowledge my words, disappearing down the hall without another glance. I let out a quiet sigh before heading toward my own chambers. There was something shifting between us, something fragile and uncertain. And though he tried to hide it, I could sense the turmoil within him.

⸻

The next morning, I rose early, expecting to find Shadow Milk keeping to himself as he usually did. But when I stepped into the dining hall, I was met with an entirely different sight.

He was already seated at the long table, speaking animatedly with a few of the palace staff. His deep crimson eyes gleamed with amusement, and—was that a smile on his face?

“Then I told the guy, ‘Listen, buddy, if you think you can outdrink a milk beast, be my guest!’” He threw his head back with laughter, his usual rough exterior momentarily replaced by something much lighter. “Spoiler alert—he couldn’t.”

The cookies around him chuckled, some shaking their heads in disbelief. I found myself frozen in the doorway, watching him. This was a side of him I had never seen before.

Carefree. Playful. Almost… happy.

“Pure Vanilla, there you are!” One of the attendants noticed me, and suddenly all eyes were on me—including Shadow Milk’s. For a moment, something flickered in his expression—hesitation, perhaps—but then he grinned.

“Ah, the great king himself graces us with his presence!” he said dramatically, motioning toward an empty seat across from him. “Come, sit! You’ve missed my legendary storytelling.”

I blinked, still slightly stunned, before making my way to the table. As I sat, I couldn’t help but smile. “I see you’re in high spirits this morning.”

He smirked. “Well, I figured I should give the staff a break from my usual brooding. Can’t have them thinking I’m completely miserable all the time.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “That’s very considerate of you.”

He scoffed. “Don’t get used to it.”

For the remainder of breakfast, he continued his playful antics—making exaggerated remarks, teasing the staff, even throwing in the occasional bad joke. And yet, despite how much he entertained those around him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the full truth.

It was a mask.

⸻

Later that evening, as the palace halls quieted and most of the kingdom had settled for the night, I decided to check on him. Something in me refused to let go of the feeling that his lightheartedness was just a cover.

I found him in the garden, sitting on the bench where I had found him once before. But this time, he wasn’t relaxed. His posture was tense, his shoulders hunched. His hands were gripping the edges of his sleeves, knuckles white.

The mask had slipped.

I approached cautiously, not wanting to startle him. “Shadow Milk?”

He didn’t respond right away. His eyes were focused on the ground, as if he were trapped in some invisible battle with himself.

After a long silence, he finally spoke. “Do you ever feel like… no matter how much you try, you’ll always be the thing they see you as?”

His voice was different now—soft, raw.

I sat beside him, careful to give him space. “I think… many of us have struggled with that feeling at some point.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Yeah, but you overcame it. You proved yourself to the world.” He clenched his fists, his body trembling. “Me? I spent years being a monster. And even when I try to be normal, to act like everyone else, I still see it in their eyes. The fear. The doubt.”

I looked at him then, really looked at him. This wasn’t just frustration. This was shame—deep, unshakable shame that had been carved into him for far too long.

I wanted to tell him he wasn’t a monster. That he was more than what he believed himself to be. But I knew words alone wouldn’t be enough.

So instead, I placed a gentle hand over his, grounding him.

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” I said softly. “Not to them. Not to me. You are allowed to just be.”

He tensed under my touch, but he didn’t pull away. His breathing was uneven, his gaze distant. For a moment, I thought he might break again.

But instead, he just whispered, “I don’t know how.”

I squeezed his hand lightly, offering him the only thing I could—reassurance. “Then let me help you.”

The night stretched around us, silent and still. And though he didn’t answer, he also didn’t let go of my hand.

Perhaps, even if he couldn’t see it yet, a part of him wanted to believe. The silence stretched on, but it was no longer suffocating. I could feel the tension in him slowly unravel, though the weight of his pain still lingered.

“I used to be proud of what I was,” he murmured at last. “Back then, I thought strength was all that mattered. If I was feared, it meant I was powerful.”

I listened carefully, my thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. “And now?”

His gaze dropped, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now, I don’t know who I am without it.”

I exhaled softly, the ache in his words settling deep in my chest. He had spent so long defining himself by what he had been forced to become. The idea of being something else—someone else—must have been terrifying.

“You’re still you, Shadow Milk,” I said gently. “No matter what form you take, no matter what you’ve done in the past… you are still you.”

His breath hitched slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might cry. But instead, he leaned back, tilting his head toward the night sky. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not,” I admitted. “But you don’t have to figure it out alone.”

He didn’t respond, but the smallest sigh escaped him, his body losing some of its rigid tension. He stayed like that for a long time, staring at the stars as if searching for answers.

And I stayed beside him, letting the night wrap around us like a quiet promise. At some point, his breathing evened out, his body growing heavier against the bench. He had fallen asleep, exhaustion finally taking hold of him.

I watched him for a long moment, brushing a few strands of hair from his face. The weight he carried was immense, and yet… here, in this quiet moment, he looked almost peaceful.

Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe that he wasn’t alone anymore.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Shadow Milk Cookie sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the floor. He hadn’t moved for a while, just sitting there, letting the quiet settle over him. His body still ached from the tension of the previous night, his mind still tangled in thoughts he couldn’t quite shake.

You are still you.

Pure Vanilla’s words lingered, wrapping around him like chains. He didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t know if he could believe them.

A soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Pure Vanilla stepped inside, his expression calm but searching. He had that look again, the one that made Shadow Milk’s skin prickle—like he was trying to see right through him.

“You left early,” Pure Vanilla said quietly.

Shadow Milk Cookie shrugged. “Didn’t want to wake up out there and have some palace guard panic and throw a spear at me.”

Pure Vanilla chuckled, stepping closer. “I would have stopped them.”

Shadow Milk Cookie rolled his eyes but said nothing. Silence stretched between them, heavy but not unbearable. Finally, Pure Vanilla spoke again.

“Did you sleep well?”

Shadow Milk Cookie hesitated. He almost wanted to lie, to brush it off, but instead, he muttered, “Better than I have in a long time.”

“I’m glad,” Pure Vanilla said, and Shadow Milk Cookie could tell he meant it. He always meant it.

Shadow Milk clenched his jaw, hating how exposed he felt under that kindness. He wanted to say something sharp, something to push him away, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he found himself exhaling, his fingers tightening around the fabric of his sleeve.

“You still seem troubled,” Pure Vanilla observed gently.

“When am I not troubled?” Shadow Milk muttered, his voice laced with bitterness.

Pure Vanilla sat beside him, close enough to offer warmth, but not close enough to corner him. He was waiting, giving him space to speak.

Shadow Milk sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I just… I don’t know what to do with all of this.”

Pure Vanilla tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“This.” Shadow Milk gestured vaguely at the room, at himself, at the entire situation. “I’ve spent my whole life being feared. Even before I was a beast, I relied on my power, my reputation. It was the only thing I had. But now? I don’t even know what I am anymore.”

Pure Vanilla studied him carefully before speaking. “You’re someone who has survived,” he said softly. “Someone who is trying. And that is more than enough.”

Shadow Milk scoffed, shaking his head. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It isn’t,” Pure Vanilla admitted. “But you don’t have to figure it all out at once.”

The silence returned, but it wasn’t suffocating this time. It was just there, existing between them. Shadow Milk sighed, rubbing his face before muttering, “You’re insufferably optimistic, you know that?”

Pure Vanilla smiled. “I’ve been told.”

A reluctant chuckle escaped Shadow Milk’s lips, and he shook his head. “Alright, enough of this emotional nonsense. I need food before I start throwing furniture.”

Pure Vanilla laughed, standing up. “Then let’s eat.”

As they left the room, walking side by side, Shadow Milk Cookie could still feel the weight pressing down on him. But for the first time, it didn’t feel quite as heavy. And maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t carrying it alone anymore.

The palace halls were quieter than usual as I walked beside Pure Vanilla toward the dining room. A few attendants bustled in the distance, their movements efficient and practiced, yet their eyes flickered toward me before quickly looking away. I could feel the shift in the air, the hesitation in their glances. It wasn’t fear anymore—not exactly. It was something different. Uncertainty.

They didn’t know what to make of me. I wasn’t the monster lurking in the shadows anymore, but I wasn’t one of them either. I could see the way their hands twitched, the way their shoulders tensed just slightly as if bracing for something unseen.

And the truth was, I wasn’t sure how to act around them either.

Pure Vanilla must have noticed the stiffness in my posture, the way my shoulders had tensed. His hand was suddenly on my arm—light, steady, guiding. I turned to glance at him, expecting pity, but there was none. Just quiet assurance, something warm and constant.

I didn’t pull away.

When we reached the dining hall, the smell of fresh bread, ripe fruit, and warm tea hit me instantly. My stomach twisted, a dull ache spreading through my core. Hunger. Real hunger. Not the insatiable, all-consuming craving I had felt as a beast, where every fiber of my being had screamed for sustenance. This was different—sharper, more natural, almost human.

The long table was set with plates of golden pastries, neatly arranged fruit, and pitchers of honey-sweetened tea. It looked too pristine, too delicate for someone like me. Like if I sat down, I would ruin the image of it.

Pure Vanilla gestured toward a chair. I hesitated, my fingers twitching at my sides. The last time I had eaten here, I had been an outsider, sitting stiffly with eyes burning into my back. Now, I wasn’t sure what I was.

But my stomach gnawed at me, so I sank into the seat.

I reached for a piece of bread, tearing it in half with calloused fingers before taking a bite. The warmth spread through my mouth, the soft texture almost foreign against my tongue. For a moment, I closed my eyes, letting myself savor it.

It was good. It was real.

“You should eat slowly,” Pure Vanilla’s voice broke through the moment, laced with quiet amusement. “You act like you haven’t had a proper meal in years.”

I swallowed and glanced at him. “I haven’t.”

His smile faltered, the corners of his mouth twitching down slightly. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. His gaze softened, filled with something unspoken. Understanding. And it didn’t make my skin crawl the way it usually did when people looked at me like that.

I exhaled through my nose and took another bite, slower this time.

The silence between us wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t suffocating. It was just there, existing in the space between bites and sips of tea.

And for now, that was enough.

As I finished my meal, I caught glimpses of Pure Vanilla watching me, his expression unreadable yet thoughtful. I didn’t know what he was looking for—some sign of gratitude, some moment where I would admit that I didn’t hate this. But he wouldn’t get that from me. Not yet.

I pushed my plate back slightly, sighing as I leaned into the chair. The warmth of the food settled in my stomach, grounding me more than I wanted to admit. For so long, I had been running—always fighting, always moving. To simply sit, to eat without fear or urgency… it was unsettling in a way I couldn’t put into words.

Pure Vanilla set his teacup down gently. “Would you like to walk in the gardens?”

I frowned. “Why?”

A small smile played at his lips. “Because I think fresh air might do you some good.”

I scoffed but didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong.

We stepped out into the gardens, the late morning sun filtering through the leaves, dappling the stone pathways with light. The scent of flowers and damp earth filled the air, reminding me of a time long before everything had gone wrong. A time when things were… simpler.

I hated that my mind went there.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, walking a few paces ahead of Pure Vanilla. The soft crunch of gravel under my boots was the only sound between us for a while. I could feel his presence behind me, steady and patient, waiting for me to say something first.

I sighed. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Pure Vanilla blinked, as if the question hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Because I want to be.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

He hummed in amusement. “Then let me give you another one—I believe in second chances.”

I clenched my jaw, my gaze dropping to the ground. “Even for someone like me?”

“Especially for someone like you.”

I let out a bitter chuckle. “You’re too soft.”

“Perhaps,” Pure Vanilla admitted, “but I don’t mind.”

I scoffed again, shaking my head. But even as I tried to dismiss him, there was something in his voice—something certain and unwavering—that made my chest feel tight.

I had spent so long convincing myself that I didn’t need this. That I didn’t want it.

So why did it feel so hard to walk away?

We continued walking, the silence stretching between us like a fragile thread. I should’ve left it alone. Should’ve let the moment pass. But something in me—something restless, something raw—pushed me to speak again.

“I don’t get you,” I muttered.

Pure Vanilla tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

I gestured vaguely around us. “All of this. You’re acting like I belong here. Like I deserve any of this.”

Pure Vanilla’s expression softened. “Because you do.”

I laughed, sharp and humorless. “You don’t know that.”

He stopped walking. “But I do.”

I turned to face him, something twisting in my chest. “You’re wrong.”

Pure Vanilla studied me for a long moment. “Then why are you still here?”

The question hit harder than I wanted to admit. I opened my mouth, then closed it, unable to find the right words.

Pure Vanilla smiled gently. “You don’t have to answer that now.”

And for once, I didn’t argue.

The garden stretched ahead of us, bathed in soft golden light. I hadn’t even realized how far we had walked. The distant hum of palace life faded behind us, leaving only the whisper of the wind through the leaves. I breathed in deeply, trying to steady something shaky inside me.

For a moment, I let myself exist there. No expectations, no demands. Just the quiet company of a cookie who refused to let me push him away.

And for the first time in a long, long while… it didn’t feel so bad.

~~~~~~~~~

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the garden as the evening settled in. The sky was painted in rich hues of violet and orange, a stark contrast to the darkness that loomed over the palace. Pure Vanilla and I had wandered the garden for what felt like hours, exchanging little more than quiet words, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

I found myself watching the shifting shadows as they danced across the ground, feeling the familiar weight of them press against my chest. The dark was comforting, almost suffocating, like an old cloak I had never quite managed to shed.

For a moment, I wished I could retreat back into the shadows, where it felt safer, where my thoughts didn’t have to surface.

But Pure Vanilla was still by my side, steady and patient. His presence was almost tangible, like a constant warmth against the cold that had crept into my bones over the years. I had never known how to handle such warmth, always too eager to escape or dismiss it.

“I never asked,” Pure Vanilla said quietly, breaking the silence, “but… what made you choose to stay?”

I stopped walking, my boots grinding softly against the gravel as I turned toward him. The question felt too simple, too complicated at the same time. What had made me stay? The truth was, I didn’t know anymore.

“I don’t really have a choice,” I said, my voice rough, lacking the usual venom I would have laced into the words. “I can’t go back to what I was.”

“You don’t have to,” Pure Vanilla replied gently, his voice carrying an underlying certainty that made something twist uncomfortably inside me. “You’re not that anymore. Not in here.”

I met his gaze then, his warm, kind eyes staring back at me with a quiet intensity. There was no pity there, no judgment. Just acceptance.

It unsettled me, more than I wanted to admit. There were so many things I didn’t know about myself. So many things I hadn’t been willing to face. But standing here, with him, I felt like I was being forced to confront all of it.

“I don’t know what to do with that,” I muttered, looking down at the ground, the words feeling too heavy for me to bear.

“You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” Pure Vanilla said, his hand brushing against my arm. The simple touch was enough to send a ripple through my chest, though I tried to ignore it. “But you have a place here. That’s enough for now.”

I wanted to say something in response, something sharp to push him away, but the words got caught in my throat. Instead, I let the silence stretch between us, the weight of the moment settling over me like a thick fog. Maybe I was scared of what would happen if I let myself believe it. But I had no idea how to pull away now.

Pure Vanilla didn’t push me. He just stood there, waiting. His patience stretched out, endless and soft.

And in that quiet moment, I realized just how badly I had needed this—needed him. Even if I couldn’t admit it, couldn’t face the things that had been festering inside me for so long, it was still there. Waiting. Whether I was ready for it or not.

The breeze picked up, and I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The world around us seemed so far away, but in that instant, it felt like it was just the two of us.

“I don’t deserve this,” I said finally, my voice quieter than I intended.

“Maybe,” Pure Vanilla answered, “but you’re still here. And that’s enough for me.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, I found myself turning away, my eyes drifting to the fading light in the sky. The stars were just beginning to twinkle faintly above us, a stark reminder that the world kept turning, no matter how lost I felt.

But maybe, for once, I didn’t have to have all the answers. Maybe I didn’t have to be perfect. For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself believe that.

And as I stood there, with Pure Vanilla beside me, I felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

I stood there, my eyes tracing the fading light of the day as the stars began to scatter across the sky, barely visible through the canopy of trees. Pure Vanilla remained silent beside me, his presence as steady as the earth beneath our feet. The stillness between us was not uncomfortable; it was, perhaps, the first time in a long while I hadn’t felt the need to fill the silence with some clever retort or sarcastic remark.

It was strange, being here in this moment. To feel so out of place yet, somehow, at home. I had spent so long hiding in the darkness, hiding from what I was, from what I could be. The shadows had always been my refuge, but here, under the soft glow of the stars, it felt like the shadows no longer held the same power over me.

I shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do with these feelings that kept rising up, like waves crashing against a shore, unpredictable and strong.

“You’re quiet,” Pure Vanilla said after a long pause. “Is everything alright?”

His voice, gentle and warm, broke through the thoughts swirling in my mind. I glanced over at him, surprised by the concern in his tone. It was as if he could see through me, as if he could tell there was something heavy resting on my chest, even if I hadn’t said a word.

“I don’t know,” I muttered, looking away again. I could feel my chest tighten, the familiar bitterness creeping in. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, what I’m supposed to do.”

Pure Vanilla remained quiet for a moment, his gaze never leaving me. He was waiting, letting me work through whatever it was that plagued my mind. It was the kind of patience I didn’t deserve, and I could feel the weight of it pressing against my chest, almost suffocating in its kindness.

“You don’t have to have it all figured out,” Pure Vanilla said softly, stepping closer. His words were almost a whisper, meant only for me. “Take it one step at a time.”

I clenched my fists at my sides, feeling something shift inside me—something raw and fragile. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“You start by being here,” he said, his voice so sure it made my heart race. “You start by letting yourself be.”

I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he insisted. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

I met his eyes then, for the first time really seeing the depth of sincerity in them. And for a brief, fleeting moment, I felt something in me crack. Something I had been holding back, something I didn’t even know I needed.

But before I could say anything, before I could admit how much it meant to me, the moment was gone. The air shifted again, and the familiar wall that had always surrounded me—my defenses, my anger—rose up once more. I couldn’t let myself be vulnerable like that, not here, not now.

“I should go,” I said abruptly, my voice rougher than I intended as I turned away.

Pure Vanilla didn’t stop me. He just watched me, his gaze filled with an emotion I couldn’t name. I could feel his presence behind me, as if he were reaching out, but not in a way that demanded anything. He was waiting.

I walked away, my footsteps echoing in the quiet garden, but the heaviness that had been inside me didn’t lift. It clung to me, heavier than before, as if it were tied to something deep within me. Something I couldn’t ignore any longer.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to see the expression on Pure Vanilla’s face—because I knew that if I did, I’d break. And I wasn’t ready for that yet.

⸻

The night air was colder now, and the soft rustle of leaves in the trees was the only sound that kept me company as I walked aimlessly through the gardens. My thoughts were a whirlwind, spiraling around the words Pure Vanilla had said, the softness in his voice. It had meant something, something I couldn’t deny. But I couldn’t face it. I wasn’t ready to face it.

I stopped at the edge of the garden, staring out into the darkened woods beyond. The trees stood tall and silent, their branches stretching toward the sky. They seemed like guardians of some secret, something hidden away from the world. I envied them in that moment.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, but the faint sounds of footsteps behind me brought me back to the present. Pure Vanilla had followed me. I could hear the soft rustling of his clothes, the careful steps he took as he approached. I didn’t turn to face him, but I could feel his presence growing closer.

“You’re not alone, you know,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my heart twisted. “I don’t need anyone.”

Pure Vanilla didn’t seem fazed by my words. He stepped closer, until I could feel his warmth beside me. “I know. But I’m still here.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sudden wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me. His words, the simple truth of them, felt like a lifeline. But I wasn’t ready to grab onto it yet.

“I’m not like you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He was silent for a moment, and I could feel him considering my words, choosing his next carefully. “No. You’re not. But that doesn’t mean you don’t belong here. You do. You belong with us.”

I shook my head, finally turning to face him. “I’ve done things. Things I can’t take back.”

He met my gaze, his eyes steady. “I know. But I also know you’re not defined by those things. You’re more than that, Shadow Milk.”

For the first time in so long, I felt something stir inside me. Something warm, something dangerous. I had spent so long thinking I wasn’t worthy of anything, of anyone. But here, with Pure Vanilla, I was starting to wonder.

Maybe, just maybe, I could be something different.

Chapter Text

I woke before the palace even stirred, the familiar darkness still clinging to me like a second skin.

In the quiet hours of predawn, when even the shadows seemed to slink away in protest, I lay awake with my thoughts, the conversation from the night before echoing in my mind.
Pure Vanilla’s gentle words, his unwavering insistence that I belonged—no matter how broken I felt—kept gnawing at me. I didn’t know what to make of it.

The garden, with its cool dew and whispered secrets, had been our haven the night before.

There, beneath a sky strewn with reluctant stars, I had finally allowed a flicker of hope to pierce through years of self-imposed isolation.

And now, as I stepped silently from the small, drafty room I’d been relegated to, I couldn’t help but wonder:
Was I ready to confront this hope? Or was I simply fooling myself once again?

I moved through the palace corridors like a ghost, my thoughts tumbling over one another as I passed empty halls that echoed with my footsteps.

The memory of Pure Vanilla’s soft gaze lingered, a presence so contrasting to the hard, bitter solitude I’d known all my life.

I remembered him saying, “You belong with us,” and in that moment, part of me—an almost forgotten part—wanted to believe it.

A door creaked somewhere behind me, and I paused.
For an instant I wondered if I should turn back, let myself be pulled back into the safety of the darker corners of the palace.

But then the memory of the gentle touch on my arm, the warmth of his hand in mine, spurred me onward. I wasn’t ready to drown in darkness again, at least not this morning.

I found myself once more in the palace gardens.
The dew had lifted, replaced by the muted glow of early light. The bench where I’d sat with Pure Vanilla still stood there, as though it held the secrets of our shared night in its weathered wood. I sank onto it, gazing blankly into the distance, trying to grasp the swirling emotions inside me.

I’d always defined myself by what they expected—by the beast, by the monster I was made out to be. Yet here, in the stillness of the morning, I questioned everything.

The gentle encouragement, the insistence that I was more than my scars—could it be that I was still capable of change?

I closed my eyes, allowing memories to flood in:

the echo of laughter during the festival, Pure Vanilla’s playful banter over breakfast, and the way he had watched me, as though waiting for me to decide whether I was worth the risk of being seen.

It had been raw, vulnerable, and painful. I remembered my own dismissive retorts, the irony in my bitter humor. “You’re too soft,” I had said—words meant to shield me from the truth that maybe I did want a gentler world.

But as the minutes ticked by, I felt the cold grip of inevitability. I wasn’t going to run from this anymore.
I wasn’t going to hide behind anger and cynicism, even if it was all I’d known for so long.

A gentle sound reached my ears—a soft, measured footfall on the stone pathway.

I slowly opened my eyes. There, in the diffused light of dawn, stood Pure Vanilla. His eyes, as warm and unwavering as they had been the night before, met mine with quiet concern.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of unspoken questions.

I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I tried to steady my breathing, unsure if I was ready to speak of the turmoil swirling inside me. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I managed to say, “I…I’m trying.”

He smiled gently, as though that one word was all he needed to hear. “That’s all any of us can do,” he replied.

His hand reached out, hesitating in the space between us for just a heartbeat before resting on my shoulder in a gesture of solidarity, a silent pledge that I wasn’t alone.

I felt a strange mixture of gratitude and shame.
Part of me—buried deep under layers of mistrust and self-loathing—resented the softness he offered so freely.

Yet another, quieter part longed for that very tenderness, wishing I could let it in without fear of losing myself.

“Last night…” I began, my voice rough from disuse, “I felt like I was on the edge of something I wasn’t ready to face.”

Pure Vanilla’s eyes softened. “It’s okay. Sometimes, standing on the edge is the only way to see how far you’ve come.”

I let his words hang there, pondering them as I stared out into the awakening garden.
The dew had disappeared, replaced by the gentle warmth of the new day.

I wondered if the light was here to stay, or if it would eventually burn away the remnants of the darkness that had defined me for so long.

For what felt like hours, we sat in companionable silence, each lost in our own reflections.
Gradually, though, the garden began to stir with the beginnings of day—a bird called from the treetops, a gentle rustle of leaves as a cool breeze meandered through the branches.

In that moment, I realized that change, like the morning, was inevitable. It came whether you were ready or not.

I turned to Pure Vanilla, my eyes searching his face for any sign of reproach or disappointment.

Instead, I found only steady kindness—a quiet reminder that I didn’t have to bear the weight of my past alone.
My thoughts, usually so scattered and destructive, began to settle. Perhaps I wasn’t as lost as I’d believed.

“I…” I started again, then paused, unsure how much I was willing to share. The silence stretched, filled with both hesitance and hope.

He waited patiently. “You can tell me anything,” he said softly, his eyes earnest.

I took a deep breath, the air tasting both bitter and sweet. “I’m tired,” I finally confessed, the words tumbling out with a heaviness that made my heart ache. “I’m tired of running.

I’m tired of the memories, the shame…
of being defined by everything I’ve done. I… I want to be more than that, but I’m scared. Scared that if I let the light in, it’ll burn away the parts of me that I’ve clung to for so long.”

Pure Vanilla’s hand tightened gently on my shoulder, as if anchoring me in that moment. “You’re still you,” he repeated softly.

“And you’re more than your past. Not what you fear, not the darkness that has haunted you, but the person you are becoming—the person who can choose hope, who can choose to accept kindness even when it feels foreign.”

I closed my eyes against the intensity of his words.
In that moment, surrounded by the soft chorus of dawn, I felt a spark—a fragile, tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, I could learn to be more than the monster I’d always been told I was.

It wasn’t a complete transformation—not by any means—but it was a start.

And for the first time, as I looked back at Pure Vanilla, I realized that maybe my future didn’t have to be written in darkness after all.

⸻

I stayed there on the bench a while longer, the new day painting my world in gentle hues of possibility.

I didn’t know what steps I’d take next, or how long it would take for the wounds to truly begin to heal, but I knew one thing:
I wasn’t alone in this journey. Pure Vanilla’s belief in me was a light that might one day be enough to guide me through even the darkest corners of my past.

And maybe, just maybe, I was beginning to believe it too.

~~~~~~~

I woke before the first light of day, my skin still damp with the night’s dew and the weight of all that had come before. The kingdom outside was silent, holding its breath in the gentle hush of early morning. For so many years, I had lived in darkness—both in the world and in myself. But now, as I stepped from the confines of my small chamber and into the cool corridors of the palace, something had shifted.

It wasn’t sudden—a dramatic metamorphosis worthy of legends—but a slow, imperceptible unbinding of the chains I had forged around my heart. Pure Vanilla Cookie’s quiet insistence on believing in me had worked like a balm, softening the edges of pain I had long deemed immutable. I had learned, painfully and often reluctantly, that I was more than the monster that the world had once feared.

I walked along the familiar halls in reflective silence. Memories of past nights—the uncertainty, the frightened glances from others, the tension of having to act as a creature defined solely by others’ fears—drifted through my mind like shadows trying to hide from the coming dawn. Yet those memories were now tempered by something new: acceptance.

Outside, the palace gardens had already awakened. The dew glistened on emerald leaves, and birdcalls broke through the silence with gentle bursts of life. I found myself drawn to that natural beauty, as if the very light and scent of the morning were inviting me to step out of the shadows. I paused at the familiar bench where, many nights ago, I had sat with Pure Vanilla in reluctant company. Today, however, it felt different; the bench was not just a place of refuge, but a symbol of a new beginning.

I sat down, letting the cool wood ground my thoughts. I closed my eyes and remembered the tender moments—when Vanilla’s hand had brushed mine, when his voice had whispered that I was more than my past. I had once believed that my path was already paved in bitterness, a road with no turning back. But now I wondered if I had a choice. What if I could embrace the vulnerability, let the light in, without sacrificing what made me unique?

The soft patter of footsteps stirred me, and I opened my eyes to see Pure Vanilla approaching at a measured pace. His steady gaze, warm and unwavering, carried the same hopeful light he’d always had. For the first time, his smile wasn’t one I doubted; I saw in it a promise, a silent reassurance that I was not destined to remain alone in my torment.

“Good morning, Shadow Milk,” he said, his voice gentle, as if greeting an old friend he had missed for far too long.

I hesitated for a moment before returning a small, tentative smile. “Good morning,” I replied, and in that brief exchange, I could feel the distance between the old me and what I might become beginning to narrow.

We walked slowly together through the garden paths. The morning had grown brighter, filled with the laughter of a few early risers and the sweet aroma of blooming roses. The world seemed to shimmer with possibility. I knew the journey ahead wouldn’t be easy—my past was scarred with regret and self-imposed exile—but as I glanced at Pure Vanilla’s steady, compassionate gaze, I felt an unfamiliar warmth stirring inside me.

“Do you remember the first time I saw you?” he asked softly as we strolled beneath a canopy of blossoming trees. “I thought you were a myth—a creature of legend, something to fear. But then I looked closer, and I saw… you.”

I scowled at first, a defensive habit born of years spent hiding. “And what did you see?” I asked, my voice low, almost reluctant.

He paused, searching my eyes as if trying to read the hidden truths I never voiced. “I saw someone who had endured too much pain, someone who wasn’t defined solely by darkness. I saw potential, resilience, a heart that—if allowed to heal—could love without fear.”

I felt my throat tighten at his words. For so long, I had believed that I was nothing more than a relentless force of destruction, incapable of tenderness or forgiveness. Yet here he was, offering me a chance—no, insisting—that I could be more. His words echoed in me long after we had walked in silence, mingling with my own long-forgotten hopes.

We arrived at a small overlook that provided a breathtaking view of the kingdom. The fields beyond the palace were already bathed in a brilliant glow, and the distant spires of the city stood like silent sentinels to a world that was moving forward without me. It was overwhelming—and strangely beautiful.

Pure Vanilla turned to face me, his eyes earnest. “I know the past still haunts you, that sometimes the shame and the memories feel too heavy to bear. But I promise you this: you don’t have to carry it alone. Every step you take forward, no matter how small, is a victory. And I’ll be here, every step of the way.”

In that moment, something within me shifted. The familiar shroud of self-doubt began to loosen, replaced by a fragile sensation of hope. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to allow that possibility to grow, even if only a little.

“I… I’m tired,” I confessed softly, more to myself than to him. “Tired of being what everyone expects of me. Tired of being defined by my failures.”

He reached out, his hand warm and steady as it rested lightly on my shoulder. “You are more than your mistakes,” he said. “You’re a survivor. And I believe that you can become something beautiful—if you let yourself.”

I stared into his eyes then, searching for any hint of insincerity, but I found only genuine care. My heart pounded as I realized, with a mixture of terror and longing, that I was ready to try. Ready to let go of the chains that had bound me for so long.

The light of the new day seemed to fill the space between us, and for a long moment, all that mattered was that I was no longer alone in my darkness. The garden around us pulsed with life—each bloom, each ray of sunlight, was a reminder that even from the deepest shadows, growth was possible.

With a shaking breath, I took a step forward—a symbolic gesture, a promise I was making to myself. “Maybe…I can be more,” I whispered, barely audible against the soft rustle of the wind.

Pure Vanilla smiled then—a slow, gentle smile that lit up his entire face. “That’s all I ask,” he murmured. “That you try. That you let yourself believe in a future where you aren’t bound by all the pain of your past.”

The moment felt sacred, fragile, yet filled with the weight of possibility. I knew the road ahead would be fraught with challenges. Old habits could die hard, and the whispers of who I once was might still haunt the darkest corners of my mind. But as I looked over the expanse of the kingdom bathed in golden light—and as I felt Pure Vanilla’s unwavering support—I dared to hope that I could one day cast off the labels and the fear that had defined me.

The past would always be a part of me, I knew that much. But so too would the future—bright, uncertain, and waiting to be written with each new step I took. And as Pure Vanilla and I stood there together, the promise of a new day unfurled before me like the first bloom of spring.

I wasn’t alone. I never had been alone in the truest sense. And perhaps, in time, I could learn to see myself not as the monster of old, but as someone capable of change, growth, and perhaps—one day—joy.

⸻

The final light of dawn illuminated my path as I stepped forward, each footfall a quiet act of defiance against a past that had too long defined me. And in that light, I found hope—a hope that I might finally, truly, belong.