Chapter Text
Truthless Recluse gasped as the pain in his abdomen sent him doubling over. He staggered into a tree and groaned as a shock of agonizing pain rippled through his dough.He grabbed the excess fabric of his robe and pulled it around to his front, as if that would smother the pain. He grit his teeth and panted heavily, then looked over his shoulder.
He was still alone.
Good.
Heart thudding in his chest, Truthless Recluse took the time to lean on the tree and lift his foot. He struggled with the zipper on his boot and cried when it got stuck, but he managed to yank his foot free. He put his barefoot back down, shocks of pain raced up his leg.
Truthless Recluse bit his lip, then let it go, then bit it again and harder, before lifting his other foot and yanking that shoe off as well.
He sighed as his feet hit the bare earth.
It’d been so long since he was free.
His hands fell to his sides, and while he wanted to do nothing more than bask in the afternoon sun, he knew he needed to make it back to the remains of the Vanilla Kingdom before it was too late.
Before he discovered he was gone.
Panting heavily, Truthless Recluse pushed himself off the tree and kept running. Free from his heels, Truthless Recluse could run faster, and when the next searing twist of pain struck him, he kept running. He groaned and grit his teeth through the pain, but he kept running.
He had to.
He had to.
He wasn't entirely sure how far out his spell had put him, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be found out. If he wasn't already.
What had he said?
“This entire Spire is part of my dough.”
It was meant to be comforting. Truthless Recluse didn't feel comforted.
Another bolt of pain squeezed his abdomen, tears burned his eyes and he gasped for air.
Maybe he already knew Truthless Recluse was gone, maybe he was already caught, and now his freedom was just a toy that would be taken away. Why else would that book with that spell have called to him?
Truthless Recluse kept running.
He did have to stop, eventually, as he came upon a familiar river.
The Sour Dressing River.
Now, normally, cookies would use boats to cross the river as it was known to be very wide and very deep. Even if the current was not strong, it just was not something most cookies risked.
Truthless Recluse did not have that kind of luxury. Nor did he have the time to find it.
He rolled up the oversized robe and tied off the excess fabric as much as he could before sitting on the river's edge and slipping down the riverbank until his toes could no longer touch the slick bottom. Truthless Recluse was a short cookie, so even the shallow parts of the river were a struggle for him to cross. His head just barely bobbed along the surface as he struck his feet out behind him and paddled as fast and as hard as he could go with his arms.
He swallowed a few mouthfuls of the sour river water, but he kept moving forward.
He hoped with the river hiding his tracks, he could maybe taste freedom for just a little longer.
He knew it was hopeless. He’d be found sooner rather than later. It was inevitable.
But he had to try.
He had to.
Truthless Recluse reached the other side and threw both his arms up on the riverbank. Shaking, he pulled himself, soggy dough, soaked robes, and all out of the river.
He crawled forward until his arms nearly gave out, and he collapsed onto his side.
His lungs burned and his dough throbbed with waves of pain.
Still…
He wasn't safe yet. (Maybe he’d never be safe again).
He had to keep moving.
Truthless Recluse struggled to push himself up, he looked down at the soaked robes and couldn't help but feel the fire of defiance burn comfortingly in his chest.
The robes were ruined, no doubt about it. Soaking wet, dripping in sour dressing liquid, stretched and rumpled, muddy and scuffed.
He couldn't help but smile.
With his strength renewed, Truthless Recluse staggered to his feet. He took a few deep breaths, whispering a small pep talk to himself before he took off running again.
He came to the remnants of the Vanilla Kingdom, the city fallen from the sky upon his descent into madness. His once proud and idyllic kingdom was now nothing more than a pile of rubble, a lone peak of crumbling waffle cone structures in the Raisin Deadlands.
Truthless Recluse could have cried seeing his home. The state of decay was not what tugged at his heartstrings, rather he cried due to the bittersweet scent in the air and the memory of what it had once been…
What he had once been.
Who he had once been.
But it wasn't the time for tears.
Truthless Recluse got to work. He reached into the shadows of the world, drawing on dark moon magic to summon his dark orchid staff to his hands. As soon as he pulled his staff out of the darkness he slammed the end into the ground.
Dual lines shot out in opposite directions from the tip of the staff.
The lines circled around the peak, runes of protection, bounty, and concealment burned into the ground and floated into the air.
The seal came together on top of the peak with a small -pop-
Barely audible over the ringing in his ears, but Truthless Recluse heard it nonetheless. He collapsed to his knees, supported only by his staff.
He wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline, the river water he’d consumed earlier, or his body betraying him as usual, but he hunched over and threw up everything in his system.
The bile burned his throat, and caused him to tear up again, but Truthless Recluse didn't care.
He had escaped.
He’d done it!
Truthless Recluse let his head hang after the last spur of vomit pushed out of him. And he wept.
No.
He sobbed.
Loud, painful, Earthbread shattering sobs. The kind of sobbing that left snot and drool dripping from his face. The kind of sobbing that made his dough too hot to touch, and left him shivering. His heart rattled with every scream that ripped from his throat.
Had there been anyone left in his kingdom, they surely would have heard him.
The years of agony he’d endured, both as a prisoner of his mind and as a doll to him poured out of him.
And, as if the world was mourning and rejoicing with him, the sky cracked open and a downpour of soaking cold rain washed away all of his vomit, snot, drool, and tears.
Truthless Recluse panted heavily, his throat scratchy from the abuse he’d just put it through.
Priorities.
He had to get out of the rain.
Truthless Recluse picked himself up and turned to find shelter when a gust of wind nearly knocked him over.
“RECLUSE!”
His heart pounded in his chest. He turned on his heel (loving the feel of the mud on his dough) and just barely staggered back as The Fount of Knowledge slammed into the shield around his kingdom.
“Wh-what are you doing here, little one?” The Fount tilted his head, starlit curls impossibly dry despite the rain.
Truthless Recluse gripped his staff tighter.
The Fount pawed at the shield, his eyes scanning over something only he could see.
He couldn’t get through.
Truthless Recluse took half a step back.
The Fount’s eyes were on him.
He froze.
The rain was so cold on his dough he was shocked it hadn’t frozen into sleet or hail.
“Wh-wheeeerrrre are you going, little one?” His pupils were slits, as if in his anger he’d deformed himself into some kind of feral animal.
When neither moved or said a word, The Fount tilted his head to an in-cookie degree and tried to smile. “Come here, my doll.” His voice was so small despite his beastly stature. He could hardly be heard over the sound of the rain.
Truthless Recluse’s stomach churned. He didn’t move.
He wouldn’t…
He couldn’t.
Sensing his lost grip, The Fount pounded his fist on the shield, “Come here, now!”
He began to shake his head and he glared at The Fount through his wet hair.
The Fount let out an animalistic scream, “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?! GET! BACK! HERE! NOW!” Each word was emphasized with a double punch to his shield.
Truthless Recluse squeezed his eyes shut. He continued to shake his head. Such a tiny movement, but it made his vision swim and his knees buckled. His heart was hammering in his throat and more bile threatened to spill out of him.
“Doll?” The Fount’s claws scrambled for purchase on the shield, “Doll, please, l-let me in. Y-You need me, Doll.” He continued to whisper and beg for him to let the shield down, to let him in, to step back out, to go back.
Truthless Recluse took a staggering step back and opened his eyes.
The Fount was still impossibly dry despite the rain. His shield glowed a brilliant blue and black light wherever The Fount touched it.
But The Fount could not get through.
He continued to ramble though, “A-and look at your feet, love. You’re filthy. P-please. Just come here a-and I’ll be sure to take care of you. Anything you need, Doll…just p-please…come here.”
Truthless Recluse took another step back.
The Fount’s breath fogged against the shield. He seethed through his teeth, “Come. Here.”
Truthless Recluse’s resolve did not falter. He squared his shoulders and shook his head.
“YOU CANNOT STAY IN THERE FOREVER, PURE VANILLA!”
He flinched at the use of his true name, but otherwise he did not react.
“You’ll have to come out eventually!” The Fount growled, “You will come home, or so help me, Witches, I will drag you back, kicking and SCREAMING IF I MUST!!” He launched himself at the shield, screaming and clawing at the air, but the shield (mercifully) held. Water splashed off the shield every time The Fount pounded his fists against it.
Truthless Recluse would not give in to his threats.
He couldn’t.
Not when freedom was so close.
He tried to hide his wince as a sharp pain wrapped around his abdomen and crept up his spine to settle on his shoulders, but The Fount saw.
Of course he saw.
“You cannot possibly think you can stay here, Doll.” The Fount hissed, “You have to come home. Now.”
Truthless Recluse panted through his nose and shook his head, water droplets flinging themselves free from his hair.
He wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
“Who will take care of you like this? Who will ensure you are safe? Fed? Warm?”
He would. He could take care of himself.
The Fount was starting to sound desperate, but Truthless Recluse knew it was an act. Something to get his guard down. It wouldn’t work.
Then, as if realizing he’d truly lost control, The Fount let out another road and slashed at the shield, “PURE VANILLA COOKIE YOU CANNOT KEEP MY CHILD FROM ME!! COME HERE, NOW!”
He did not move.
Light and dark magic exploded across the shield, the runes protecting him shimmered brightly, but held firm.
And so did he.
The Fount panted as the dust settled and he saw no change. Snarling, he growled, “Fine. Stay in there. Rot for all I care.” Then he broke into a maniacal grin, “But the second you step out of your little hidey hole,” He swept his arms out, gesturing to all of Earthbread, “You. Will be. Mine.”
Truthless Recluse took a shaky breath, heart trembling in his chest. He hated the tears that threatened to spill over and refused to let them fall in front of The Fount.
The Fount chuckled, then he giggled, and finally he threw his head backwards and laughed a dark and malicious laugh. “And if you even think,” He threw his head forward and pressed it to the shield, “For one second, that I will not try to take back what is mine, then your stupid, pretty, little mind is more broken than your or I could have ever conceived!”
He would not fall for the bait.
The Fount stared at him through half-lidded eyes and purred, “I’ll be back for you soon, Doll. Trust.” And just as suddenly as he arrived, he vanished.
Truthless Recluse let go of the breath he’d been holding and collapsed to his knees. Immediately, his free hand went to his swollen belly.
His purpose, his world, his reason for escaping.
For living.
“It’s okay,” He whispered, “We’re safe now…” He glanced up at the sky. The storm showed no signs of letting up any time soon.
He was alone.
Utterly and completely alone.
A wrecked king in a wrecked kingdom.
He swallowed, his mouth and throat painfully dry and corrected himself.
“For now.”