Chapter Text
A throbbing pain in his beautiful face. Crumbs falling to his clammy hands. A voice.
“... You do not have to be alone anymore. I am right here.”
The light, so blindingly dazzling, in the form of a cookie and a king- or, in better terms, a cookie and a king, taking a form of light- extending his hand towards another, reaching, pulling.
The other has no words.
“Let me be your friend.”
“... Friend…?”
The other, the jester, the shadow… Shadow Milk Cookie stares down this light of compassion in utter disbelief and, quite frankly, awe. He can feel the pull in his soul jam, yearning for him to reach out his hand to meet the light. It was warm… inviting… loving. But as quickly as that feeling comes, the wicked sense of anger and hate bubbles up and spills over, causing his body to tremble in his weakness as his voice cries out.
“You fool! You know nothing! YOU ARE NOTHING!” his angry, seething shouts are almost washed away by the pulsing sound of the light around the other cookie. The smell of vanilla washes over him, wherever the light touches.
Similar to the light, the scent is warm… inviting… compassionate. Too forgiving to accept. It must all be a lie. Of course, how could he not see? The light, the cookie in front of him, Pure Vanilla Cookie… does not yearn to be his friend, but to destroy him. Surely, that is his true intent… truly…?
He feels weak. No, a beast such as he shouldn’t fall weak to just a scent, a light, a warmth, forgiveness… love.
A hand touches his shoulder. Shadow Milk can only whip his head up to glare into Pure Vanilla’s blue and gold eyes before his expression falters. He’s… smiling. Pure Vanilla, in all his power and previous hatred of Shadow Milk is smiling, warmly. He is even more beautiful than Shadow Milk’s own creation, the one that almost granted him the other half of his soul jam. Shadow Milk is breathless. Shadow Milk, for once, is speechless.
No script, no stage… no words.
He flinches as he feels two hands reach up to cup his face. He lashes out at Pure Vanilla, gnashing and growling. “Who do you think you are?! I can crumble you right where you stand!” His voice, ever steady and angry, booms out over the din of the humming. Shadow Milk is trembling in his anger… and something else.
Pure Vanilla just smiles. “But you won’t.”
“I WILL. YOU’LL SEE, YOU PATHETIC, USELESS, WORTHLESS GNAT!”
Shadow Milk lunges forward, jaw opening to attack-
Before he’s blinded in a flash of golden light.
And then it’s dark. Amusingly, darker than the land of the Spire.
Unsettlingly darker.
He can only hear the rush of his pulse in his ears, feel the pounding of his heart and the warmth on his dough. He urges to scream, to shout, to tear the darkness from his eyes and tear Pure Vanilla apart. He seethes, he boils. A chill of hatred bursts in his soul jam. But he can make no noise. Or move a muscle. He can only exist there in the darkness of what might seem oblivion as his mind runs rampant.
This cookie, this… this cookie! How dare he lay hands on the Beast of Deceit! Shadow Milk will show him- he’ll crumble Pure Vanilla under his boot!
And to think, as Shadow Milk thinks this, a pang of unease and… reluctance flows through him. Impossible! He can’t go feeling guilty now! Not when he was so close to getting what was rightfully his.
The darkness exists for a long time. Frankly, Shadow Milk has no concept of time in his immortality. It’s even worse when he can’t see the sun rising or falling, or look at a clock. The only thing reminding him of any passage of time is the lingering, growing ache in his dough. Pain such as this, so persistent, so steady… Shadow Milk is perplexed by the feeling. Most pain that he’s ever felt had been fleeting, instantly soothed with his Dark Magic.
It feels like another eternity before Shadow Milk is suddenly, without warning, dragged out of the darkness. His eyes are closed, but even the light outside his eyelids makes his head pound. Another pain, not being soothed. He can hear things now. Faint rustling, the sound of someone walking around, and the distinct tap of something hitting the floor repeatedly. To Shadow Milk’s dismay, it’s a great effort to open his eyes and a greater effort to squint in the light as his headache worsens.
He can make out a light on the ceiling. The wall above him is a gentle cream color. He can faintly pick up the scent of vanilla, and cinnamon. How sickeningly sweet. He feels the plush beneath his body and head, and something soft covering his body. He realizes he’s in bed, thinks of the smell and color.
He’s in the Pure Vanilla Kingdom, judging on these things. Which means… Shadow Milk jolts up, only to be hit with a wave of dizziness as he slumps back over.
“Goodness- you’re awake! Don’t move too much,” says a voice that hurries to the side of the bed. The tapping sound gets closer… and Shadow Milk recognizes the nauseatingly kind voice and immediately recoils.
Pure Vanilla Cookie looks back at him, his gentle gaze kind and a bit worried. “You’ve been in a coma for twelve days, Shadow Milk. Please, don’t move too much.”
Shadow Milk, in his moment of rage, tries to summon his magic. “You pest! You think you’re so clever!” His voice comes out rapsy with disuse. “I’ll crumble you, here and now!”
But no power comes to his hands. No warmth comes from and through his soul jam. His hands even tremble… What is happening? Where is his power?
He clutches Pure Vanilla’s collar. “YOU!! What have you done?!”
A pause. Then Pure Vanilla places his hands over the other’s.
“You’re still disoriented, Shadow Milk Cookie. You must rest.”
“I will not rest until I find out what you DID TO MY MAGIC!”
He suddenly needs to catch his breath. How pathetic, this body can’t even handle a shout. He sits there a moment longer before speaking. “What have you done..?”
Pure Vanilla heaves a heavy sigh, looking away. “I want you to rest before I say anything more, but, it would pain me to leave you in distress.” He thinks for a long moment before turning his gaze back to Shadow Milk.
“Your Soul Jam is broken, Shadow Milk Cookie. Beyond repair, I fear… this is why you wield none of your usual, natural power. All magic that was in your Soul Jam was lost when it cracked, and even the extent of my own power couldn’t fix it. I decided to save you instead of your Soul Jam when I defeated you.”
Shadow Milk, in utter disbelief, sneers. “And why would I need help saving?! I could have easily saved myself and my magic!”
Pure Vanilla’s expression just sours even further into guilt. “I had dealt a nasty blow to your head, and along with your other injuries, you began to crumble. You were too hurt to even summon the magic to heal yourself. I’m sorry, Shadow Milk… I regret that I didn’t save all of you.”
And Shadow Milk sits there. He’s angry- he can tell it’s showing on his face by the way Pure Vanilla looks back at him with unease. He urges to tear his face off, wring his neck- but his arms feel heavy as it is, weakly gripping Pure Vanilla’s robe.
“And what am I supposed to do now, huh, Nilly?” He says, making sure to be extra mocking when he says his little nickname. “Sit here like a good little cookie while you trap me here?!”
Pure Vanilla only smiles and shakes his head. “You’re welcome to leave whenever you like, Shadow Milk. I just don’t advise it. You’re still weak, and I’m sure you’d realize that if you tried to walk.”
Shadow Milk weakly pushes Pure Vanilla away as he moves his legs off the bed. “You’re in for it when I get up- and that’s no lie,” Shadow Milk snarls as he goes to get up-
And is promptly met with his face on the floor.
He sits up, arms shaking. “What the- why can’t I fly?!”
“Flying was a part of your magic. It’s gone with the rest of it. Along with that, with your disuse of your legs in favor of hovering, your muscles have atrophied in that area.”
Now Shadow Milk feels dumb. He must be too exhausted to make these connections. How pathetic. Can’t use magic, can’t walk, and can’t think. He might as well be fresh out of the oven.
He freezes when Pure Vanilla comes forward, crouching down next to him and meeting his gaze. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon gets stronger- of course he smells like that. It makes Shadow Milk sick. He tries to scoot away.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
“Helping you back into bed, right?”
“I don’t need your help!”
“Alright, then.”
Pure Vanilla waits patiently for Shadow Milk to move, to get back into bed without the help he refused. Shadow Milk begins to crawl, but then feels quite humiliated. His ears burn a dark blue as he stills, breathing hard yet again from the exertion. He’s so, so angry.
And so, so exhausted already.
Pure Vanilla silently picks up Shadow Milk- just for a quick second to put him back in bed. Shadow Milk seethes, but he can’t say much besides, “You… I’ll… kill….” Each word is separated by a labored breath.
Pure Vanilla just takes a step back. “You need medicine. I’ll get it from the nurses, since you probably don’t want other cookies here.”
“I don’t… want you here… either…”
Pure Vanilla just smiles, as always, before turning and leaving the room.
Shadow Milk lies there, finally catching his breath. He reaches up to touch the shell of the brooch on his chest… but it’s just the cool metal framing, no soul jam. So Pure Vanilla was right, his soul jam was obliterated. Since that is true, how is he alive right now, breathing and thinking and feeling? Something doesn’t add up.
Shadow Milk is pondering this when Pure Vanilla returns with a cup of medicine in his hand. He can smell it from his place on the bed- putrid, to put it simply. He plugs his nose, holding back a gag.
“Whab is thab?!” He says, his voice congested from blocking his nose. Pure Vanilla strides over, cup in one hand and staff in the other.
“Medicine, to help you gain your strength back. Lean forward a bit, won’t you?”
He hardly has the strength to fight back. Every movement is exhausting and a bit painful, the steady aching he felt in his sleep ever more present as he sits up. Pure Vanilla props his staff on the side of the bed so he has a free hand to adjust Shadow Milk’s pillows. Shadow Milk heaves a heavy sigh. He still feels angry, but it’s more of frustration now as the other cookie lifts the cup of green sludge to his lips.
He presses his lips sealed, shaking his head while looking Pure Vanilla in the eye. Pure Vanilla’s smile wavers.
“Shadow Milk… you’re being quite childish now. If you don’t drink this, you won’t get the chance to try to walk again, do you hear me?” His voice is kind, yet laden with a sternness that causes Shadow Milk to part his lips just enough for the cup to rest there and pour the medicine in.
It tastes so strongly of herbs and chemicals that Shadow Milk almost instantly spits it out. But, of course, he wants his ability to walk by himself without falling or getting winded back. So he gulps down every drop, almost vomiting as it settles. He gladly drinks the water that Pure Vanilla then brings to his lips, finishing with a sigh.
“Jeez, Vanilly! Trying to poison me now? I’m a little hurt, I must say!” Shadow Milk says, trying to play off his earlier disgust and discomfort.
“The healers made it specifically for you when I requested something for all the ailments you experience now- prolonged fatigue, muscle weakness, brain fog, the like. You forget I’m a healer myself.”
Shadow Milk just scowls at the other’s unseeing gaze. “Still, they could have made it more appetizing! I almost chucked it back up three times!”
“Thank you for that… delightful image.”
“No problemo, Nilly.”
A silence settles over them as Pure Vanilla sets the cups on the side table. The only sounds are the rustling of clothes, the clinking of dishes, soft footfalls on carpet, and the slight breeze swaying the curtains. The silence between them almost becomes uncomfortable until Shadow Milk speaks.
“Why am I still alive?”
“… pardon?”
“Without my soul jam. How am I still alive?”
Pure Vanilla ponders a moment. “If I remember correctly, I asked my dear friend Cheese Danish Cookie that exact question. They are quite up to date with the science of soul jams.”
A pause.
“… and? So what did they say? You’re really keeping me on edge here.”
“They said it was only a theory, but perhaps you’re still alive because your soul jam was only half, mine being the other. Both with both of our essences. Which would mean that even if one is.. dead.. the other lives and is now connected directly to both of us, if that makes sense. So as long as mine is intact..”
Pure Vanilla touches his own bright blue brooch. It hums warmly under his hand.
“We will both live.”