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A door swung open with a crack, hitting the wall hard enough to startle the stillness of the night. Pitaya Dragon Cookie stormed out, their steps quick and uneven, their whole posture radiating frustration, an irritated scowl painted their face. They didn’t bother to look back as they shoved the door shut behind them, the impact echoing a little too loudly.
They shouldn’t be acting like this, irritated by something so simple as jealousy. They shouldn’t let their emotions get to them, they’re not supposed to be affected by these childish emotions.
Pitaya Dragon Cookie dropped onto the nearest bench, wings twitching with barely concealed agitation while their tail wagged in rhythm with equally as much anger. The distant, muffled laughter and warm conversation spilling from the ballroom grated against their ears.
It all sounded too bright, too close, too much.
It was so pathetic, all of those puny cookies reeked of berry juice and unbearable happiness.
They dug their hands into their hair, fingers tangling at the roots as if trying to steady themselves, to stop the heat bubbling under their skin. The night air was cool, but it did nothing to soothe the prickling edge rising in their chest. Something about that room, about the way everyone seemed so content, it was all so frustrating.
“Ssssso… pathetic.” The red dragon hissed. “Alwaysss following her around like a losssst puppy, doesss she have nothing better to do?!” They scoffed, baring their teeth. The words came out sharp, snapping through clenched fangs. Their claws dug into their knees, the pressure grounding but not enough. Of course she loved her, anyone with eyes could see it. The way she looked at her like she hung the stars herself, the way she’s always attached to her side like velcro.
Then, came those thoughts.The ones that crept in slow, like smoke through the cracks. The ones that knew exactly where to sink their teeth. They didn’t speak loud, they didn't have to. Just a whisper was enough to completely ruin their resolve. What if she didn’t need them anymore? What if someone else made her feel safer? What if they were too much, too angry, too loud? What if she stopped talking to them altogether? Would it be better if they just left the kingdom all together? The spiral came fast, faster than they could stop it. Pitaya Dragon Cookie hated those thoughts. Hated how quickly they sank their claws in. Hated how easy it was to believe them. They gripped their knees tighter, wings curling in, chest tight with something they didn’t want to name.
“Puny cookiessss…” They said, their voice barely above a mutter. But beneath that sharp edge, something fragile trembled just under the surface. Their breath hitched, shallow and quick, like the air itself was slipping through their fingers. The garden around them blurred, shadows stretching and twisting, closing in without warning. Their heart hammered, pounding so loud it threatened to drown out the quiet night. Each beat pushed the heat higher, burning behind their ribs, squeezing tighter with every shallow inhale. Their hands shook where they gripped their knees, fingers twitching as if trying to claw the fear away. The night air, once cool, now felt thin and heavy, like it was closing in too fast, too tight.
They swallowed hard, the lump in their throat nearly choking them. If they let go for even a second, if they stopped fighting it, the flood would come. The tears they’d been holding back, sharp and bitter, would spill.
And they weren’t sure they could stop them this time.
They couldn’t let anyone see them vulnerable like this, they couldn’t be vulnerable at all. They were a dragon, they weren’t supposed to be so vulnerable, so weak. What was wrong with them?
Just barely, they registered a voice. They couldn’t tell who, they didn’t care. They wanted to ignore it, ignore everything, everyone. They just wanted this disgusting feeling in the pit of their stomach to go away.
It twisted and coiled like something rotten, heavy and nauseating, like their insides were trying to crawl out of their skin. It made them feel sick, wrong, like they didn’t belong in their own body. Like they weren’t real. Everything around them felt too far away and too close all at once; distorted, blurry, unreal. They felt untethered, like they were floating outside themselves, watching a stranger fall apart.
Then, faintly, they felt a hand brush against their back.
When did they start crying? When did they start pulling at their hair, small clumps of it entangled with their fingers? When did they end up on the ground? When did their breathing get so fast it made their head spin? Why did it feel like their core was shaking, like something deep in them had cracked wide open and let the panic spill out? Weren’t they supposed to suppress this? Weren’t they supposed to be stronger than this?
They were trembling. Uncontrollably, violently, and it only made everything worse. Every twitch of their muscles annoyed them, like even their own body was betraying them now.
They hated that they didn’t know. Hated how lost they felt.
Something burned in their chest; frustration, shame, helplessness, all boiling over. They wanted to scream at whoever was touching them, to shove them away, to bare their teeth and lash out. But they couldn’t.
They couldn’t even open their eyes.
“Sweetheart…”
The sweet, silky voice cut through the panic like a sharpened blade. Everything went blank for a moment. That one word, too gentle, too soft, hit something deep, and Pitaya froze.
Hands moved to theirs, carefully, slowly. Their fingers were still tangled in their hair with an iron grip, nails caught on strands and skin. They hadn’t even realized. At first, they resisted. Body tense, trembling, still locked in that fog. But the hands didn’t push. They guided, patiently. Steadily. And the voice... that voice kept whispering something warm, something grounding, something that felt just barely out of reach.
Eventually, they let go. Not just of their hair, but of whatever tight coil they’d been holding inside. Their hands dropped into the waiting ones, still shaking, tears still flowing, breathing still erratic and unsteady.
The panic didn’t vanish. It still clung to their ribs, still burned behind their eyes, but it dulled, just enough. Just enough to notice who it was trying to bring them back to reality, just enough to realize how exhausted they were. Everything ached. Their body, their chest, their head. The tears wouldn’t stop, silent and hot, rolling down their face like they’d sprung from somewhere too deep to dry, burning against their skin like lava.
“Taya, honey?” Finally, they looked up at her through the blur of their tears, their entire body shaking with their audible and gut wrenching sobs.
And there she was.
Witches, she was beautiful, even they could admit that. It made their stomach twist. They hated it. They hated how soft she looked in the moonlight, how the glow caught in her pink curls, how her eyes never held anything cruel in them. She had perfect skin, delicate wings, a halo like she was born to be adored. Of course Hollyberry Cookie loved her. How could she not? How could anyone not?
How could Pitaya ever hope to be chosen when they weren’t anything like that?
How could Pitaya ever dare to believe they could compete with her, when all they were was a brute, an ugly creature of despair and pain, a monster that only ever brought hurt. They felt nauseous, they felt like throwing up.
What is wrong with them?
Why are they like this? So weak, so vulnerable, so pathetically easy to break? It was disgusting. They were disgusting.
“Come back to me, dear.” There it was again, that sweet voice, the one that tasted like tea with honey and equal parts poison. She rubbed their hands gently, as if she wasn’t holding a trembling disaster in her palms. “Why don’t we try something?”
Through the sobs, sharp, hiccuping breaths they couldn’t control, they managed, just barely, “Wh-What…?”
She smiled.
She smiled like she was proud of them. Like that one broken little word meant something. Like they weren’t a complete wreck in front of her.
Proud of what? That they could still speak? That they hadn’t completely fallen apart? It made them want to curl up and disappear. They were so, so unbelievably pathetic. That filthy smile that was meant to comfort them only served to make them feel more queasy.
“Can you open your eyes for me?”
They hadn’t even realized they’d closed them again. Maybe it was after that sickeningly sweet smile she gave them, so gentle it made their skin crawl, like she was looking at something delicate instead of a fearsome dragon. Reluctantly, they forced their eyes open.
“Perfect,” she said, still with that maddening softness. “Now… Can you tell me five things you can see?”
Pitaya blinked, eyes struggling to focus. Everything felt far away, like they weren’t really sitting there. Like they were watching from somewhere above their own body. Five things. What a stupid question. Why did it feel so hard?
“I… I ssssee…” They swallowed, their throat raw, like they’d been screaming. Maybe they had.
Their gaze dragged across the garden like it was stuck in mud. What had gotten into them? Why are they giving into this so easily? “The, um… The fountain.” Their voice cracked. “The bench, and th-.. the grasssss. The… treessss…”
Their hand twitched in hers. “You.”
That last word came out so small. It barely sounded like them. And when they said it, their eyes flicked up to meet hers for just a second before they dropped again, ashamed. Angered. Disgusted, again. Always disgusted.
It didn’t help. Seeing her up close like this only made everything hurt more. Her glow, her calm, her kindness . It felt like a mirror held up to everything Pitaya wasn’t, it was like rubbing salt in their already infected wounds.
They looked away again quickly, tears threatening to rise all over. Their claws dug into the fabric of their own pants like they could hold themself together through pressure alone. “I… I don’t know why I’m like thisss,” they muttered, voice so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the wind.
But she heard it. Of course she did.
“My dear…” She whispered it like it meant something. Like it was tender. Like it didn’t scrape down their spine.
Her hand moved to their hair, stroking gently, fingers threading through the messy strands like they were something precious. And they leaned into it. Without thinking. Just like that.
Why did they do that?
They hated her. They should hate her.
But every time she touched them like this, and every time she looked at them like they weren’t a monster, it cracked something open inside. They hated that too. They hated how easily they folded under her hand, how their body betrayed them every time she got close.
Because it wasn’t her they wanted.
It was Hollyberry Cookie.
And she had her. Eternal Sugar Cookie.
Of course she did. Of course they were in love. How could Hollyberry not fall for someone like her? All gentle curls and soft light, with a voice like velvet and a heart so full of compassion it made Pitaya feel sick. There was no winning against that. There was no space for something like them in that kind of love. Not when they were all sharp edges and wildfire and too many ugly feelings they couldn’t bury fast enough.
So why did she still care?
“Now,” she said, thumb brushing against their scaley temple, grounding them like it was the easiest thing in the world, “how about four things you can feel?”
They didn’t answer right away. They didn’t want to. They couldn’t. Their throat felt full of ash.
“The grassss,” they murmured, barely louder than a breath. “Under my kneesss.”
She hummed again, patient. Always patient.
“My handsss,” they added, eyes flicking down. “They won’t sssstop… shaking.”
She didn’t try to make it better. Didn’t tell them to calm down, she just waited.
“…Your hand.” It slipped out before they could stop it. Their voice broke a little on the word, like it meant more than they wanted it to. It did.
“And-...” they faltered. “Thisss… pit. In my stomach. Like I’m full of glasses.. that’sss ssstabbing me from the inssside.”
They dug their claws into the dirt, the pressure biting into their fingers. “I hate it. I hate feeling like thisss. I hate all of it, I want to be normal.”
And still, she stayed.
Still, she held them.
She didn’t flinch, nor said anything pitying, she just rested her hand against theirs and stayed close, steady and warm.
“And three things you can hear?”
Her voice was low, careful. The kind of softness that didn’t demand anything, just offered space. Her hand moved slowly across their back, warm and steady, like it belonged there. Like they belonged.
They swallowed, trying to focus. The world still felt unreal. Distant. But the noise started to bleed back in.
“…The wind,” they muttered. Their voice sounded strange and vague in their own ears, distant. “Leavesss…”
The next one took longer. They stared down at the ground, feeling themselves begin to slip again before quickly regaining, claws still clenched into the fabric of her sleeve.
“The bench,” they whispered. “It creaksss…”
And then, quitely, almost without meaning to, “You.”
The word came out soft, unexpected, like a breath escaping before they could hold it back, and somehow it wasn’t suffocating. It was… grounding.
Their throat tightened. They looked away again.
“I don’t know if that… countsss,” they mumbled, more to themself than her.
But she didn’t correct them. She didn’t say a word, she just kept rubbing their back, fingers brushing their spine like she knew exactly where it hurt most.
And Pitaya let their head fall forward, forehead pressing against her shoulder again, too drained to fight the warmth settling there.
“You’re doing so very well,” she whispered, her voice soft and steady, carrying a kindness that felt almost impossible after everything in the ballroom. After the outburst, after the shame and the anger, why was she still so gentle? Why did she still care?
“We’re almost done,” she said, her fingers still tracing slow circles on their back, “Now I need you to tell me two things you can smell.”
Pitaya’s breath hitched. Smell felt sharper, closer, more immediate, like it could pull them back or drag them deeper into themselves. They closed their eyes for a moment, trying to catch anything.
“The ssscent of your perfume,” they murmured, voice trembling. It was warm, sweet… something intimate that wrapped around them like a soft shield.
“And… the flowersss,” they added, surprised at the softness of the thought, very unlike them. The delicate bloom of garden petals carried on the night air, subtle and pure.
Their eyes fluttered open, meeting hers for a fragile moment. She smiled, gentle and steady, and Pitaya swallowed hard, feeling the tightness inside shift, even if just a little.
“Last one,” she said softly, voice like a lifeline in the dark, “tell me one thing you can taste.”
Pitaya’s tongue flicked against the sharp sting inside their mouth, the raw, metallic bite where they’d been chewing too hard on their tongue. Copper. Blood. A bitter, burning tang that clung to the back of their throat.
They hesitated, swallowing hard, the taste thick and unwelcome.
“Blood,” they finally whispered, voice rough and small. “I… bit my tongue.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just stayed there, steady and sure.
“Are you feeling better?” Her voice slipped out like a gentle tide, soft and steady, wrapping around them without pressure or expectation.
And, surprisingly, they did. It was strange, almost laughable, really. The very thing that had sent them tumbling into that dark spiral, the sharp and gnawing ache of jealousy and self-loathing, was now the only thing pulling them back. Her presence, her quiet kindness, was a lifeline tangled in the chaos.
“Yeah…” Pitaya Dragon Cookie muttered, voice rough and small, like a secret barely spoken. They kept their eyes lowered, afraid that if they looked up, the fragile calm might shatter like glass.
The night air felt less heavy now, less like it was closing in. Their wings, still trembling faintly, eased a little.
“Would you like to talk about what happened...?” Her voice was gentle, careful—like she was offering a lifeline but didn’t want to push.
Pitaya’s chest rose and fell unevenly. Their eyes stayed low, voice barely more than a rasp. “No… not yet...”
They swallowed hard, the weight of everything still pressing down heavy. Words felt like too much, but she didn’t rush them. Her hand stayed steady on their shoulder, a quiet promise to stay.
“Oh, that’s alright, my dear,” she said quietly, her voice steady and warm. “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to open up.”
Pitaya didn’t say anything, only leaning a little closer, resting their head against her shoulder as they felt their adrenaline rush wear off, letting the silence speak what words couldn’t.
The garden around them hummed softly, the scent of flowers drifting in the night air, the rustle of leaves whispering like a lullaby. The distant sounds of the ballroom faded into the background, left behind like a world they weren’t ready to face again.
They stayed there together, wrapped in quiet and calm, far from the noise and bright lights that had overwhelmed them, Eternal Sugar Cookie’s hand resting against Pitaya Dragon Cookie’s head, raking through their hair gently.
After a long pause, she murmured, “When you’re ready to see her, Hollyberry’s been quite worried about you.”
Pitaya’s breath hitched, a flicker of something they couldn’t name stirring beneath the surface. They stayed still, the reminder of Hollyberry Cookie’s worry for them being comforting.
No rush. No pressure. Just waiting.
And for once, that was enough.