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They both sat at a little table on the ladies little terrace. Drinking tea Pure Vanilla prepared.
“You came here to kill me.”
“I did.”
“And yet I live.”
“You do.”
The lady raised an eyebrow. “Why? You lot aren’t known for your patience.”
Pure Vanilla took a sip of his tea, his fingers cupping the ceramic almost like he was searching for the tea’s warmth to save him from the fresh spring air.
His fingers circled the sun design, it wasn’t a perfect circle but the priest didn’t allow the Blueberry Maiden to help him ‘It adds character’. The lady still thought it a stupid reason. But she didn’t see fit to waste her time in chastising an old, stubborn man.
She too took her time, savoring the first warm drops of tea on her tongue. Silently she confessed to herself that he really did know his way around a kettle.
“I’d win, you know. You aren’t strong enough to defeat me.” She took her time crossing her legs, her sharp blue nails played with the lowest layer of lace on her dress. Immaculate and devoid of dust and dirt despite her hut being full of different plants and pots, dirt was as natural in her home as was air and yet here she stood, pristine, untouchable.
“Maybe not, but I don’t think you want to kill me.”
“Please, do not flatter yourself.” All he gave her in response was a soft warm smile. “My kind doesn't do weakness.”
“Which kind? The one you pretend to be?” He pointed to this hut in the middle of a small town, to the inside containing all her apothecary equipment “Or the fae?”
The sip of her usual favorite blend of blueberries, apple and hibiscus got stuck in her throat. Unable to swallow or breath from shock, a violent spasm blossomed low in her chest until it bloomed into a full coughing fit.
By the little smile she could see on Pure Vanillas face this was surely intentional. While being mostly blind and having to carry that cumbersome staff she knew he could discern shape pretty well. How impolite, how mischievous to wait as she was taking her sip to spew such daring words. She would have been impressed if this mischief didn’t result in her being short of air.
Truly she didn’t need much air but after the habit of breathing became a new normal her dough didn’t want to go without it on such short notice. Her face had gained a subtle purple coloration mostly visible on her ears, how embarrassing, she hadn’t needed to cough, excluding snarky exaggerated coughing, in over a century.
Once the words registered, the pleasant melted from her face. What had once been almost sincere was now ice cold. Her visage resembled a frozen river, her eyes carried no warmth.
“So the curious cat uncovered a dead body did she? And now what? She goes and brings the owner?” Her nails were now breaking apart the table. The old wood gave a last few weak thunks as the nails continued to be pulled out and stabbed in a rhythmic pattern.
“No.”
She was going to kill him. There was no way. Was he taunting her? Playing with fire would be safer then wherever game this priest had decided to jump head-first into.
After one long sip of tea Pure Vanilla continued. “I think the cat realized the dead body isn’t harming anyone and buried it back up.”
A loud and fake laugh escaped the ladies lips. “Please, that would be treason.”
While Pure Vanilla had been living in this village for almost three months now and hadn’t attempted to stop her research or experiments, apothecaries were prosecuted in these lands no matter what kind. He hadn't.
And now she wasn’t about to confirm what they both knew to be the truth but even suspecting someone of having interacted with the fae much less being one was a death penalty from the church. A mere priest had no authority, a blind sheep ready to follow orders no matter what.
She knew if word had gotten out this little quiet town would have been swarmed with soldiers, everyone evacuated while the little sheep, merely soft wooled fools compared to her, did their best to subdue that which they didn’t understand. In the end they would all die.
And yet it was still treason to keep such information away from the higher ups.
“Why would that be?”
“You fool, you have to report everything and I mean everything.” He’d already told him not to underestimate the knowledge she had over the church and he wouldn't dare do the same mistake again. Yet this little back and forth was grating on her nerves. How can be he so nonchalant? How can he stand there, the sun rays of early morning cascading down his long golden hair and look completely unbothered and at peace with the world.
“So the archbishop or the saint is that it?”
“Why are you asking me?” His pale blond eyebrow raise and that patient look in his eyes told her he was going to wait for an answer and unfortunately the fae wanted to see where this circus performance was headed “They are the highest authority.”
“All is good then.”
Blueberry maiden looked at him as if he had just grown a second head right in front of her. Disbelief and barely contained manic amusement were cascading down her smaller frame. Her hair maintained its perfect appearance, dark blue strands with white bangs, and yet she could feel the concealed eyes hiding in her locks also attempting to contain their laughter.
“The archbishop is a month's worth of travel away, no need of sending a report just to inform him of the decision I have taken.” His delicate hand came to rest over hers, stopping the frantic scratches she was leaving against the wood and sparing the poor table “I witnessed everything so no point making a report to myself is there?”
“You?”
“Me.”
This had stunned the lady, her words avoided her. There is a piece of the puzzle she was missing and the gentle caresses against her hand weren’t helping her remain focused.
Her brilliant mind felt so close to the answer but the pieces weren’t collecting. Be it for a lack of information or simply something she didn’t allow herself to believe.
“Why don’t we do a proper introduction my lady?” there was something almost hopeful in his eyes. A little blooming spark of hope. She could extinguish this flame, one simple word, a refusal from her lips and this wouldn’t go any further.
And yet her mind itched to get to the bottom of this, a hundred theories were running around in her mind and here she could have the answer. This was an exchange and maybe if she played her cards right she could get more out of it then she gave.
“Alright. Don’t faint.” and with a flourish of magic and ice, shards so fine they glittered against the run rais only to melt and become fabric on his robes, his disguise and dress melted away. What had once been good study fabric turned luxurious and his form changed to his usual male one.
“Shadow Milk Cookie, The Lord of the Unseelie Winter Fairies.” and his appearance matched that title perfectly, a cape made of frost ever moving and yet static, his suit a dark blue almost black with white and light blue accents. His waist was corseted, snowflakes and milkcrows embroidered in between the boning and delicate silver silk holding it together at the back.
His chest was exposed by a diamond shaped window, the blue skin covered by translucent fabric. This diamond theme continued on his costume, one of his legs was adorned with the design, three identically sized diamonds cascaded down his leg. The last one was hallways down his lower leg once the diamond ended the fabric parted to give way to pure white ruffled lace.
His sleeve opened at the hallways mark on his arms and yet the fabric continued to be held together by silver chains.
His face was more defined now, sharp features gaining more definition. He was perfectly symmetrical, a fact that gave most humans who gazed upon him an immediate feeling of wrongness. His mismatched eyes were accentuated by eyeliner that could cut stone and dark pigments. His ears were now sharp and long, pierced and adored with silver in many locations.
His hair, an eldritch mass of moving and condensed shadows, his eyes unconcealed, they dug into the soul of the cookie before thim.
Pure Vanilla was mesmerised, his eyes didn’t know where to rest. He felt blessed by the breathtaking sight. He surely forgot how to breathe at this point, his cheeks were gaining a golden color at an alarming rate.
While the attire had changed Shadow Milk resumed his earlier position. He pretended to be disinterested, what could Pure Vanilla show in comparison to this?
“Go on, little mortal. Entertain.”
Shadow Milk panicked for but a second, his hands coming up to protect his eyes, a defensive stance. He perceived the blinding light as a direct attack until instead of searing pain all he got was gentle warmness. It was as if the very sun currently almost fully awoken from slumber came to give him a personal hello.
The being before him was nothing short of regal. Flowing pure white fabric with golden accents, holy scriptures flowing, created from his very magic. Shadow Milk doesn't know how the other had hidden his magical signature so well but now it was clear as day, no denying that this was the Saint. Grace and light oozed out of him. His hair was now an ocean of golden waves, cascading down his shoulders and reflecting the sunlight. The saint seemed to glow with vitality, with life.
Looking at the other, the fae couldn’t help but notice the contrast, two beings, one of shadows and one of light having a semi-picnic together. How depressing.
A clouded expression overtook his visage. Now what? Their game was over. He had been playing. While it was very unlikely the Saint could truly defeat him, damage would be caused, he would be shunned from the village, forced to retreat back to his realm. The almost stabbing pain in his chest was unexpected.
The saint must have noticed his inner turmoil.
“Hey, I can’t read your thoughts, blue bird." What a silly nickname, what a joke. This was enough to shock Shadow Milk’s system back into gear, his face now a shade darker. Despite there only being a table in between the two of them Pure Vanilla reached his hand, grounding, not pushing and definitely not with enough strength to truly hold a being of his calibre down.
“It’s nice to meet you. Even if the circumstances could have been better.”
Those words brought back memories, they were the very first one Pure Vanilla had ever said to him back when he rescued the fool. Only a half blind man would attempt to climb the treacherous mountains surrounding this village while a snow storm was ongoing. Maybe Shadow Milk should have let him die in that cave.
This somehow melted away the oppression feeling that had started to constrict his chest. He could somehow breathe better when golden locks cascaded down to the floor, coming close to touching his locks. His hair gave a little tug, asking him if it could go and play with the gold like strands. He looked at his own hair enraged, betrayed, how could a part of him give in so easily.
But once Pure Vanilla leaned in, caressing his strands unaffected by the odd appearance, by the freezing cold Shadow Milk was always exuding, everything seemed to melt. If the light had been warm Pure Vanilla himself was scolding hot in the best ways possible.
Reason and logic abandoned him abandoned in a warm summer breeze. They stood fabric against fabric, warmth and cold mixing together. The scent of frost and vanilla mixed under the terrasse as a slow, thin rain started in the valley.
Pure Vanilla's voice was background noise as Shadow Milk for the first time in centuries felt relaxed enough to just exist. The weight of his secret was picked up, wrapped in a blanket and thrown into the breeze by gentle hands.
The saint promised they would still go to Black Sapphire's performance together next month. Shadow Milks still remembered being drenched in rain, his locks barely contained by a heavy dark cloak. But Pure Vanilla hadn’t been dissuaded, he had followed her until the venue and even bought a ticket. While the spot had been fully booked, courtesy of hosting one of the best entertainers in all the land, his little sob story of accompanying his friend and not wanting to inconvenience the staff got him a spot at her table. Curse her for having reserved an entire table for herself and not having shot down the staff's little theorie that the two were dating in time.
And yet the saint also spoke about his duties, how he would need to return to them but he would still visit whenever possible. Shadow Milk squeezed him harder. In this moment he didn’t care if he looked weak or pathetic, something was blooming in his chest, a parasitic need, an unfamiliar softness. He buried his face in the man’s pure white robes and inhaled pure vanilla. His lungs now felt coated in warmth.
“So your little leg injury could have been healed in seconds?” There was no snark, no cruelty in those words. For the first time Shadow Milk felt like being gentle, a mischievous but kind hearted sort of teasing, something he had engaged with Pure Vanilla before.
The healer just smiled sheepishly.