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The fall was brutal.
If Blueberry Milk had known his little white lies would eventually lead to this, he never would’ve said anything. He never would have even considered lying! Not for this. Never for this. No amount of attention or recognition, even if it had been years of isolation would be enough to make it worth this. Curled up on the floor, cold tiles pressing against warm skin, flowy white and gold robes fallen around him like snow.
It had all begun when Flour had given him that look. That stupid, subtle look of almost pity as he recounted yet another empty lecture. It was laced with something else… like a disappointment he couldn’t quite name, but he hadn’t understood at the time. Milk had just been left to ponder, consider the implications of disappointment and pity coming from a dear friend. So he had invited them all to a tea party, just like old times! Milk would get out his nice china and they could sit underneath the silver willow outside his spire! Yes, yes! That would be wonderful!
But they had never arrived.
Spice? Too busy.
Flour? She had enlightenment to chase.
Salt? Issue with their territory.
Sugar? Hadn’t even replied.
But it was okay, he still had his lectures! His speeches, his audiences, his students! Even alone, he could still fulfil his role as the Fount of Knowledge!
But even they had stopped coming.
It had begun as a white lie. A small fabrication of honesty, barely even a lie! …But it had begun a spiral. A lie, urging people to investigate the depths of his humble spire caused him to consider, just perhaps, the possibility of dishonesty to prompt his friends to visit! So he had begun to lie.
Spice? Rumour has it, Spice wasn’t as strong as he claimed… Could he even truly defend his kingdom? Who knew!
Flour? Her cocoon held treasure. Hm? Who had they heard it from? Well, no one could be too sure, but perhaps they should investigate…
Salt? Well, you didn’t hear it from them, but they had been awfully quiet at the moment… Rumour has it, they knew secrets they dared not share with their citizens…
Sugar? Someone told them, Sugar had been awfully lazy as of late! Her kingdom? An overgrown mess! Her? Nowhere to be seen…
And it had worked! They had shown up! Granted, they hadn’t written… The suddenness of it all took him by surprise! His spire was a mess, dusty and cluttered, but the space for tea still stood! It still sat under the willow, branches dropping slightly more than usual, but it was still a beautiful spot!
Splintered wood and large wounds was all that had remained.
Spice wasn’t one to hold back. He had thrown Milk into the bark at the slight hint of a lie to cover up tracks, and now all that remained of the willow tree was a jam-stained split trunk, chips scattered below. Milk hadn’t had a chance to react. He’d tried defending himself, but his friends were too angry to care. Too caught up in their own worlds that they dared not truly witness Milk’s loneliness.
And so he had fallen.
Blueberry Milk dug his nails into his skin, fighting the urge to cry out in unbearable agony. His dough felt as if it were on fire, his body tensing and shaking as if he’d been sliced through with a spice-coated blade. His eyes were squeezed shut so tight, it was hurting, and he could just barely feel tears falling down light blue dough.
Milk’s hair fell in waves around him as the first transformation took place. The colour, silvery blue and shimmering like the night sky, was slowly shifting to a deeper, richer blue, lined with black, and yet keeping a strand of white. His eyes shifted too, turning from that brilliant blue and gold to a malicious cyan and deep azure. His robes fell from his shoulders as his outfit twisted and turned into that of a jesters, solidifying his role as the fool. The entertainer. The joker.
But the colours were the easy part. Milk couldn’t contain his yell as eyes begun to thread themselves through his newly coloured hair, opening carefully and weakly like an infant. Milk didn’t dare focus on them. He didn’t dare consider how inhuman he was. He simply tried to go numb, ignoring the world around him as if he was safe and sound in one of his lecture halls, giving a speech to an avid group of people.
Milk’s hair twisted into thick, inky tendrils, lashing out as nails turned to claws, and teeth were forced to become fangs. Two smaller eyes opened beneath Milk’s cyan one, and the mark on his forehead, once being a symbol of honesty and truth, burned its way into becoming a branding of deceit over his eye. A constant reminder of what he was now.
Even as the transformation came to an end, the agony continued until Milk had been left quietly begging to whoever could hear for help. He didn’t care that he was pathetic, he didn’t care that no one was listening, he just cared that he was a monster now, no longer the Sage of Truth, Fount of Knowledge. Only the Beast of Deceit remained.
When it was finally over, Milk opened his eyes carefully, sitting up with some difficulty. The first major difference he noticed was how many eyes he had. He was so conscious of them all… It was intimidating to suddenly be able to see so much! It felt as if, if he looked just a little closer, he’d see the secrets he was looking for, the secrets he craved so badly— But a piercing headache cut him off.
As he got to his feet, he noticed the sudden increase in height, from average, being the smallest of his group, to suddenly being so freakishly tall. An examination of what he could see without a mirror revealed his claws, his new outfit, and… His new Soul Jam colour. Deep blue, just like the rest of him. It felt fitting. Deceit was where he belonged now, with claws and fangs just like a real monster.
Adjusting… would be a struggle. Milk knew it would be, but he didn’t dwell on that now. He instead decided on rest, taking his shaky form to a plush bed as his spire shifted around him. He was no longer Blueberry Milk, and his home knew that. No, he was Shadow Milk now, master of the Spire of Deceit. No one could stop him now.