Chapter Text
Exhausting is what it is, really.
Six. Days. The forest is dim, leaves rustling in the darkness. The thick canopy blots out the silver moon, shadows embracing the cold woods. It’s quiet. Silent. Except for the slight ruffling of foliage as something moves through the forest. Prickles of baked briar stretch across the forest floor, frosted thorns sharp as a blade. The cake roll branches creak in the ominous breeze, and small groups of yeast spores burrow in the earth, the small luminescence of their glowing green bodies the only light in the shadows of these woods. Licorice vines twist around the damp soil, choking some little frosted weeds that are a deep green, peppermint flowers wilting in lack of sunlight.
I float just inches across the overgrown floor, the darkness a cold embrace. My blue and teal eyes blink slowly, lidded from exhaustion and lack of sleep. When had I last slept…? I’m not sure. My powers have been weaker since…the incident at the Spire, and the only place I could barely manage to open a portal to was the Ghost Yeast Forest. My ideas of places to go were dwindling quickly. The only place that would theoretically work is the Garden of Delights, though that’s miles away and my portals couldn’t take me even halfway there, considering it’s on the other side of Beast Yeast. And if I decided to go there, I’d have to make a convincing disguise. Hmm… I tap against a tree as I think, pausing on a branch that wavers slightly. I can’t reuse any disguises my other half knows of… An idea floats into my mind. Perhaps my Lady in Azure disguise could work… I pause, thinking through this plan. It fits the overall aesthetic of the garden, might be able to trick Eternal Sugar ?....no, I’m the only cookie she knows that’s this shade of blue with these eyes…hmm.
The idea could work, if I were to transform soon enough, although I would have to…eugh, I’d have to walk. It’s been…some time, to say the least. I’ve grown used to floating, so that probably wouldn’t feel amazing. Especially after all that time trapped in that horrible tree…
The past few days have been eventful, in an uneventful way, of sorts. I’ve been traveling away from my poor, crumbled Spire, ever since…that happened. Ugh. Sleep isn’t necessary, luckily. The Witches made it so us Virtues were immortal, at least our spirits were. Sleeping and eating weren’t required to stay healthy, even if they made my friends and I feel rather unwell. We survived. We always did. I suppose, in the end, that became more of a curse in itself.
In the tree, our spirits striving for escape, trapped for thousands of years with no food, water, nothing. We all lived, as much as we could, that is, but every day still felt like crumbling.
Sometimes I can still just barely taste it. Death. It’s acrid. Overpowering, some days. Like when you can just barely recall the taste of something, without it being there. One of the many fascinating forms Deceit can take.
Illusions have always been my specialty.
Lately I’ve been feeling less…powerful, I suppose. The moon is in a crescent, so theoretically, my powers should be stronger, considering they rely mainly on Dark Moon magic, but lately they haven’t been so. It’s taken more effort than it’s supposed to, on the simplest of spells. And only one theory adds up, despite how barely strung together any evidence is, it’s the only one that’s made sense. My other half, Pure Vanilla, must have stolen it. I don’t know how. If I’d known, everything that’s happened in the last few months would have certainly been…easier.
In a way, it’s almost ironic.
I sigh theatrically, continuing my drift through the Ghost Yeast Forest. I’m close to a river that could take me to the Garden, though it goes past my spire, and I’m not sure if he’s still there. Although to perfect my disguise, I need the perfect props, meaning a raft that would fit the character of my disguise. So that would either have to be an illusion, or an actual raft. Which I’m not sure I could build on my own, since Dark Enchantress intentionally made our bodies weaker and more fragile. I’m not sure why, though I have some theories. Illusions it is.
The icy breeze brushes past my dough, and a shiver goes down my spine as I attempt to spin out my magic in order to make an illusion. The air is cold as I float forward, fog beginning to seep into the dimly lit forest, a sign that I’m close to the river. The sound of rushing milk in the distance causes me to glance in that direction, almost to the river.
I remember this path. Everything is just as it was eons ago. Mostly. Except for the brush of overgrowth, the rearrangements of plants, the impacts of seasons changing time and time again, it remains recognizable. Which really says something about how fascinating Beast Yeast is. It’s quite interesting, how both everything changes, yet nothing at all simultaneously.
I always hated this path.
My magic spins out like puppet strings, power pulsing through my jam, and a searing sting of agony tears through my Soul Jam and into my dough as I gasp, faltering midair and beginning to descend. Time seems to slow as I quickly right myself, just before the river comes into view. I take a deep, shuddering breath.
I had known that the…incident…in the spire had weakened my powers, but this extent was new. Almost as if…no. Soul Jams can’t magnetize others’ powers, right? Surely not…I settle on a cake roll log, frosted leaves crunching, just before the shore of the river, shivering.
How oh-so…anticlimactic. This isn’t part of the script…
I would know if that’s how it worked. I was once the Fount of Knowledge, so theoretically I should know, unless this is new information. Though to be fair, when I was the Fount of Knowledge, I wasn’t working with just half a Soul Jam, and the Witches didn’t tell me those could be split.
There’s a lot the witches didn’t tell me. I was allowed to know everything but myself, in their sick and twisted minds. I feel my mouth curl into an unamused scowl.
The cold breeze brushed against my dough, as I gazed out at the rippling waters, coated in a thick fog to the point that the other side of the river was practically nonexistent. Sitting down, I reach my hand to my eye shakily, inspecting the dough for anything wrong, wondering if I should report this to Dark Enchantress next time I pass by the laboratorium. Though it seems that whatever’s wrong goes much deeper than merely this fragile body the cookies at the laboratorium gifted me.
Nothing seems wrong with my hand, albeit slightly cold from the weather, and I use it to unclasp my Soul Jam from its usual location around my throat. The light seemed almost…different, than usual, the pulse of magic energy seemingly slower. My expression twists into a scowl. Did that little gnat…no, that can’t work, could it? I rack through the possibilities in my head, and this is the only one that seemed to make the most sense.
If only it did.
I wouldn’t be in this mess.
Maybe I would even have my body back, instead of this pathetic excuse for a vessel.
I wonder if any of my colleagues are having the same issues…although whom would I ask? Mystic Flour? Burning Spice? Eternal Sugar? Silent Salt? None of them particularly…enjoy my presence. Burning Spice would just ignore me, because he hates how talkative I am. Mystic Flour would also be ignorant and the only things she would say would be about how this is meaningless and go on about her whole apathy thing. And Silent Salt… I shake my head quickly, as if to clear my head, and continue brainstorming. Although the one to tolerate it the best would probably be Eternal Sugar. I wonder if she’s still mad about her sugar angels that I turned into clowns…or the ones that I made dance on burning coals…or maybe the time I told Cookies that her paradise was at the bottom of a cliff, and they all fell and crumbled…
Although she probably still is upset at me, she’s my best option. It’s not like Dark Enchantress would be any help. Still not sure if it’s worth the try. Though perhaps I need a better…disguise. Perhaps this time my magic will work? Surely…
My eyes close, tense with effort, as I attempt to weave the magic from my Soul Jam out to shapeshift into a more inconspicuous form. Threads spool around me, and my strands of icy blue hair among the deeper blue grow rapidly, other hair shortening until it’s only visible if the lighter hair is pulled to the side. My pale blue hair falls just barely past my waist, mark on my eye fading until it’s barely visible. A deep blue cloak wraps around my neck, ruffles disappearing and Soul Jam hidden by the fabric, a matching bow tied loosely on my hair. The ruffles on my sleeves move to my shoulders, sleeves fading to a white, usual black outfit shaping into a medieval-esque dress, blue diamond patterns becoming patterns on the dress.
I blink, falling to the ground as I awkwardly attempt walking to the river to check my reflection, stumbling slightly, considering I haven’t walked in…a very long time. I lean against a cake roll log, shaking slightly from the effort of walking and magic, gazing into the water. A different cookie stares back at me. The design is rushed, messy, panicked, and I could have done better, but this will have to work. As long as no one pays close attention, no one will know I am Shadow Milk, the Beast of Deceit.
I can still taste the sting of pain, just barely. Ever so faint, yet present.
Nothing seems to add up. This doesn’t make sense.
The rushing of water suddenly seems muted, a light ringing in my ears as I stumble back, darkness clouding in my vision. I blink, shuddering as black clouds my sight, falling to the ground as sight and sound fade to nothing, vision no more than a distant dream as it all goes dark.
And it’s peaceful, for a minute droplet of time. Almost.
And then it’s nothing.
. . .
A voice shouts, sounding from the distance. It’s faint, bare. I can barely make out the words between the muffled shouts and the ringing in my ears. I still can’t make out anything, sheer darkness coating my vision, the strength to open my eyelids gone, failed.
The sequence of syllables almost sounds like my name, from far away, but I can’t tell for sure. All I can know is cold and dark, the strength to move drained from my body, as something picks me up from the moist soil shrouded in fog, there is nothing I can do but hope it’s someone that can’t see through my tricks, can’t tell who I am. My body dangles limply from what I can only assume is a cookie’s arms, as I’m carried somewhere.
And I feel myself slipping, out of reality, into total darkness, deeper than a dream but not yet a nightmare, just the sheer embrace of nothing as I fall unconscious.
This goes back and forth for a while. Consciousness, distantly, at least, then not. And at some point, it stops.
. . .
Warmth. That’s the first sensation I feel. Something soft that I am lying on, the sensation familiar but ancient and forgotten, something that I only knew from before I was imprisoned in that…that .... I tense, quickly distracting myself as I realize I can move. Though still drowsy, as what would typically be an easy motion takes such effort, I feel around and realize I’m on a mattress of some sort, with a fluffy blanket. Wh…where am I?
This isn’t anything I could find in the Spire, or in any of my comrades' domains, meaning I am thoroughly and utterly lost, in the hands of something unfamiliar, that I don’t know.
With a wince, I slowly open my eyes, regretting it almost instantly as light floods in. It’s nothing bright, but it sure feels that way after I’ve seen nothing but darkness for the past…how long has it been? After I readjust to the lighting, I take in the room around me.
Candles flicker on a bedside table, carved from cake roll wood in a light tan, the bed I’m on a soft yellow. A stained pale pink, blue, and yellow window lets in a little moonlight, covered by a wafflecone-patterned curtain that’s half-drawn.
The quaint air of the room is sickening. And oddly familiar, in a way I can’t place. Like it’s from a dream, or…watching someone’s memories.
The walls are a deep brown, with some shelves and a closet, a locked deep yellow door with a figure leaning against it…
I’m inside the Vanilla Kingdom. And Pure Vanilla’s leaning on the door, nonchalant and placid as always.
With a jolt, I sit up, almost falling back, a dizzy feeling in my stomach as I readjust my position with a wince, gaze narrowing. My disguise is gone, frosty blue hair back to my regular deep blue and black hair with ghostly eyes mirroring my emotions, which at the moment, is rage.
“You…” I hiss, gritting my teeth. I give him a cold stare, trying to send ice through his veins. I think I failed, to my regrets. Pure Vanilla quickly paces over beside the bed, a concerned gaze in his pastel yellow-and-blue eyes, blonde hair askew, wafflecone hat nowhere to be seen.
“Are you okay? I found you in the Ghost Yeast Forest, unconscious and–” The Cookie starts, edging forward to study my gaze with worry clear in his gaze, flinching back as I glare at him. Has this fool already forgotten about the whole thing in the Spire?
How does he act so calm? Does he know who I am?
“Am I okay? Am I okay? Am I okay?! You TRAPPED me in your PATHETIC KINGDOM, after BETRAYING ME!! WHAT DO YOU THINK?!” My gaze is piercing, tone louder and more upset. I shove away the fluffy yellow blanket, watching it fall to the ground with a light thud. I move to stand, before doubling back as a pained sound escapes my throat, a jolt of agony slicing through my veins.
Pure Vanilla leans forward, catching me before I fall to the ground, and I flinch away, leaning against a pillow instead. “Leave me alone,” I mutter, cold in my voice. I let out a small huff, readjusting my position so I’m leaning away from Pure Vanilla.
“I can’t yet. I need to make sure you’re alright.” His voice is calm and I hate it. Hate how it’s comforting and…gentle. “If I may, what…happened? In the forest?” I’m about to snap back a sharp retort, before I realize I don’t know the answer. How pathetic. The cookie of knowledge, dumbfounded to a simple question. What happened? What…happened?
“Oh, so first you kidnap me and you’re forcing me to waste my voice on answers to useless questions?” I snap, trying to hide my pause, my confusion. It clearly isn’t bought, as Pure Vanilla blinks at me, unimpressed, still waiting patiently for an answer.
“Shadow Milk…” Pure Vanilla stares at me, still waiting for a genuine answer. I grip the sides of the mattress, refusing to meet his gaze as I am quiet, thinking of a response, glaring at the candle as a little flame dances for no one.
“You want an answer? I’m sure you do. You just want the truth. And I cannot give that to you,” I respond after a moment, tone sharp, a stark contrast to the soft of the room. Pure Vanilla lets out an exasperated huff, sighing as he comes to understand that I know no better than him whatever, by the Witches is going on. My gaze narrows, carefully watching my other half, dilated pupils observing his every move.
“Hm.” The cookie makes a thoughtful pause, gazing into seemingly nowhere with his pastel blue and yellow eyes, white winged eyelashes fluttering slightly as he thinks. “Perhaps we can figure out the truth, then.” My vivid teal and blue eyes narrow slightly, letting out a small huff of exasperation.
“We? There’s no we. I don’t want to be stuck in your stuffy kingdom. Besides. Vanilla Kingdom? Really? Points for originality. I should applaud you.” My voice is sarcastic, cold. I stand up, blinking away the darkness freckled across my vision and narrowing my gaze. “You want to know the truth? You not only stole my Soul Jam, but my powers have been weaker than in the Spire. How ironic.” Pure Vanilla’s gaze widens, patience replaced with concern, constellations of worry in the blue and yellow.
“Shadow Milk…I didn’t steal your powers. I–” I cut him off with a hiss.
“Hah! Embracing deceit after all this time, and all it took was an itty bitty piece of my power, huh?” I stand up, hiding the discomfort it takes to move, advancing slightly towards Pure Vanilla.
“After all, everything about me is small to you, huh? Small half of my Soul Jam, small amount of power, small pathetic cookie, worth your small amount of time.” The ghostly blue eyes adorning my hair blink, visually frustrated, though one seems teary, which I tuck behind my back with a pointed glare.
The king reaches out, holding his hand out for me, just like he had done that night in the Spire, after betraying me. “Shadow Milk…please, at least listen to what I have to say.” I pause, no excuses against it coming up instantly, so instead of a snarky retort, a frustrated huff escapes my throat.
“I clearly hurt you in the Spire, and I apologize. Let me fix what I did wrong, or at least try. This isn’t a game, and you’re not small to me. I doubt I stole your powers, but I can research it for you.” I open my mouth with a retort sizzling on my tongue, but Pure Vanilla reaches out a finger and places it on my lips, causing me to stutter slightly.
“My only request is that you stay in my kingdom, so I can at least help with your pains. Although…” Pure Vanilla pauses, glancing at my flustered and rageful expression. “I doubt you would even be able to leave, in your state.” I let out a muffled huff, shoving Pure Vanilla away, causing the king to stumble slightly as he catches himself.
I pause to think, contemplating his options. Annoyingly, Pure Vanilla is right, and I can’t go anywhere else. No other choice comes to mind, to my annoyance. Ugh. Fine. I’ll just…deceive him, by pretending I care about him, staying with him, and maybe I’ll get a chance to get back my Soul Jam, or at least absorb back my powers. Or however by the Witches that works.
“...fine.” Pure Vanilla seems surprised at the answer, the emotion briefly flitting across his placidly gentle expression. “But you have to remember, I am not a fragile cookie you need to take care of. I’m perfectly fine on my own.” Pure Vanilla gives me a slightly amused look.
“Hm. If you say so,” Pure Vanilla replies. The voice is slightly skeptical, almost in a sarcastic way, with a cheery tone to it. Before I can come up with a sharp retort, the doorknob turns, and with the blink of an eye, the king is gone, whisked away by that overly bright yellow door. Some remodeling will have to be done, I think to myself, though I remain still, a mix of agitation and confusion swirling around in my mind.
A few hours pass, in relative silence, except for the occasional footsteps outside the door, the occasional clatter of items being moved, and the sound of falling rain tapping against the pane-glass windows, the darkness of night making the rain seem almost invisible. Almost.
I huff, shattering one of the pristine jars containing the cream candles, which my other half had blown out earlier, so to no avail did they burn. The room is an absolute mess, but it’s hidden by the darkness of the room, not a single light source left to illuminate the chaos but the stars, which are visible due to the curtains being torn away from the windows. Shards of glass sprinkled the room, dimly visible, each shard a menacing presence, sharp curves of glass just enough to draw jam.
The originally pale yellow walls and ceilings are now an inky black, from when I had found an inkwell supply, which is now empty. The weird gravitational status of the Vanilla Kingdom’s location floating in the sky causes it to be…odd, to say the least. It isn’t enough to lift a cookie, but the hum of light magic causes the glass shards to float around the ceiling, high enough to not hurt anyone, but high enough to be capable if falling down. I’ve figured out floating again, but none of my other powers are strong enough to do anything else.
Without pain, that is. Floating still hurts, but I’m getting used to it.
I stand in a corner, looking at my pathetic attempt to recreate some of the chaos of the Spire, or at least break the formerly cheerful air of the room. It’s only then that I wobble awkwardly to the bed, lying down and subconsciously tugging at the blankets to cover my frigid dough. Tucking in the sheets for the Master of Deceit! How…
Pitiful.
…
It’s been about five days since I arrived in this pathetic kingdom. It’s quaint, in a nauseating sort of way. I’ve kept all the curtains down for darkness, only moving them for the dim light of the moon. I’ve managed to scare away any unsuspecting cookies from attempting to enter this room. And somehow, I’ve managed to avoid Pure Vanilla this entire time. Aside from him offering food or medicine when he enters, I’ve pushed him away with a glare each time. Although he hasn’t seen the room in all its newfound chaotic glory.
Slowly, with every bland conversation and his pathetic attempts to socialize with me, or comfort me, or whatever he’s doing, I’ve slowly been slipping back into my usual persona. The less aggressive and more teasing, or bantering one, the mask I’ve grown used to. It only slips when my emotions are too strong to contain. Such as my unbridled rage at Pure Vanilla. Which I’ve grown better at hiding. That way, he’ll think we’re friends, and he’ll be more vulnerable for me to get back my Soul Jam.
Soul Jam. Remember what you’re here for, Shadow Milk.
Just as I am about to test if the window will break too, since the door is locked, a knock is heard, before the twist of a doorknob, and my other half is standing there, expression not surprised, not upset, though not happy either. Just the same serene air as usual.
“I see you’ve done some…remodeling.” Pure Vanilla comments dryly, stepping around a glass shard that didn’t quite make it to the ceiling. I narrow my eyes at the king with a raised eyebrow. I bite back any witty retorts, gaze narrowing. It’s sickening, in a way, to remain this silent. I’m the once Fount of Knowledge, the Master of Deceit, holding back my oh-so precious and valuable words.
For the sake of convenience, of all things. It’s the only way I would.
“That’s what happens when you trap me in this stuffy room with practically nothing interesting.” I snap back, then pause for a moment. “Although, I suppose that description could also describe your oh-so bland kingdom.” Pure Vanilla sighs, clearly unmoved by my antics.
“Shadow Milk. I know you don’t like being here. I know you think it’s terrible. But until you’re well enough and we figure this out, you don’t necessarily have anywhere else that would work better. Is there anything you need from me to make this easier for you?” Pure Vanilla’s tone is gentle, yet firm, in a way that makes it difficult to be upset with him. Difficult for most cookies, that is, but not including me.
“Well…” I drawl, tapping a finger to my chin before floating closer to the king. “Free range of the kingdom, for one. Don’t you think locking me in this oh-so small room might bring up a few memories from the Silver Tree, hm?” It’s a half-truth, but half of one is still enough to convince Pure Vanilla. On cue, the king pauses, concern flashing through his gaze.
“My apologies. I can give you free roam of the palace, but not the kingdom.” Pure Vanilla states, not giving me any space to interrupt. “I’m concerned you might distress the cookies of the kingdom, so until I’m sure, I’d ask for you to stay here.” I blink at him, unamused.
“Oh, please. Me? Distressing cookies?” I respond, a little dramatic flair in my voice. The king’s gaze does not change, and I let out a huff of annoyance. “Fine. But I can do whatever I please. You have no control over me.”
“Alright. As long as no cookies are injured, you can have free roam of the palace. You may not destroy anything. As long as no harm is caused, you’re free to go around.” Pure Vanilla’s voice is patient as he listens for my response.
“Hmm…alright!” I float on my back, arms crossed as one gestures to the room uninterestedly. “Although destruction is more of Burny’s thing, you don’t have to tell me that. You’re so so so so silly, oh silly vanilly.” Pure Vanilla’s eyebrow raises in amusement at the very clear destruction that has happened in this room, and maybe also at the nickname.
“Hmm…okay then.” The king turns to leave the room, the door closing behind him, but unlocked this time.
I wonder how much chaos I can get away with… I float around on my back, absentmindedly tapping at a piece of glass before hovering over to the door, turning right side up and lightly shoving the door, ignoring how the magic pulsing through my veins also begins to bring a throb of pain.
The halls are carpeted with a purple rug, stained glass windows of yellow, blue, and pink, with other rooms. Presumably, this is supposed to be the floor with guest rooms, a large spiraling staircase at the end of the wafer-patterned hall. I drift away down the stairs, finding myself at a larger hallway with several rooms, one appearing to be the kitchen, one the meeting hall, one the ballroom, even though parties are rarely held, and a few others I don’t remember. Large portraits sit on the walls, a few depicting Pure Vanilla.
With a flick of my wrist, I use the magic I can muster to tilt one ever so slightly sideways, just enough to bother you, but if you fix it, then leave, it will tilt again. One of the greatest forms of evil. I float through the halls, my shadow trailing behind me, before I notice voices coming from outside a window that peers into the garden.
Who, other than me, would be awake at this hour? I float forward, glancing back and forth before swinging open the window as quietly as I can, gliding out and into the garden as various floral scents breeze around me.
A voice sounds from nearby, and I quickly duck behind a row of bushes, following them while hovering close to the ground, pausing when the voice sounds close, and peering forward and slightly up. The ghostly eyes in my hair blink softly, as I tuck back the strands of blue and black, close to the ground. The scent of petricore and flowers is overwhelming, floral smells spiraling around me from a variety of flowers and vegetables and fruits.The darkness of the night causes the little moonflowers bloom. The luminescence of the flowers just barely illuminates the face of a very familiar cookie, along with a strange light blue light coming from near them.
I can’t tell much else about the environment, considering the dim lighting, although with my knowledge gathered from watching a variety of Pure Vanilla’s memories, I can tell that this is the garden.
Speaking of him, Pure Vanilla is sitting on a stone bench, a light blue hologram featuring a cookie I can’t make out from here, and I squint a little at the figure. “...figuring out-...research about it-...” The hologram’s voice sounds so familiar, in a way I cannot place. What’s Nilly talking about now? Something involving research, apparently. The nickname flies into my mind instinctively, as I’m just realizing that I used it. Hm. Nilly. Much faster than saying something about false innocence and then a flavor. Rolls off the tongue better.
I feel myself zoning out as the hologram drones on about something, fidgeting absentmindedly with a small vanilla orchid.
I lean forward as I hear Pure Vanilla’s voice again, the leaves rustling as I freeze, Pure Vanilla glancing back before turning around again to the hologram. “Thanks, White Lily! You can contact me or I’ll contact you if either of us find anything else on the topic.” I stiffen instantly at the name, gritting my teeth as my gaze narrows.
Of course the Cookie he decides to talk to about our little dilemma is that half-a-Cookie gnat.
“Of course. I’ll see if I can find anything in the Faerie Kingdom library,” the voice replies, and the two wave, before the hologram fades. Pure Vanilla stretches with an audible sigh, muttering something to himself about how excited he was to finally research something new and unexplored in a tired tone. I’m seething behind the bushes, hair wavy and spooling around me, ghostly eyes filled with rage.
What is he planning?! Does he want to seal me back in that…that… The king turns around, searching for the source of the sound. I duck back, patting down my somewhat sentient hair out of view as best I can. But of course, the flash of blue is all Pure Vanilla needs to notice I’m here.
“Shadow Milk?” Pure Vanilla calls out, stepping towards the bush, about to peer down, when I swiftly dart away, dashing into the window at a speed I’m not used to. A jolt of pain shoots through my veins at the overexertion of my power, but I steady myself, shaking my head. I glance around, searching for the most efficient way to wreak havoc, when I notice the kitchen door is open.
Floating in, I notice the smooth, tiled red floors, racks of various ingredients and baking tools, and I instantly head for the pantry. A variety of shelves and racks line the walls, fridges, freezers, and ovens everywhere in sight.
The only colors visible are metallic silver, strawberry vanilla red, and the contents of ingredients assorted throughout the kitchen. It only takes seconds to come up with a devious trick that’s certainly going to make the next baked goods from the Vanilla Kingdom…interesting.
Hiding a giggle, I switch the labels of sugar and salt, sprinkling a little salt into the other ingredients, including some flour and some cinnamon. Ehehe…ehe…no one will know until it’s too late. I snap the pantry door closed and begin heading towards the exit.
A small licorice rat darts across the floor, carrying a little danish pastry in its mouth. Before I can note anything else about the creature’s habits, it darts away underneath one of the shining silver kitchen shelves and out of sight.
As quickly as I entered, I float out, before almost colliding with the king himself. I float back, raising an eyebrow at him. “Geez, Nilly, watch where you’re going. You’re not the only cookie that walks these halls, y’know.” My tone is slightly sarcastic, and Pure Vanilla pauses, glancing up at me before the kitchen behind me, a mildly concerned expression playing across his face.
How did he get here so fast? I could’ve sworn, with the layout of the Kingdom, it would’ve taken him at least five more minutes…how odd. Must be from the power he stole from me.
“...What did you do…?” Pure Vanilla inquires suspiciously, raising an eyebrow at me and the very obvious fact that I was just in the kitchen, based on the swung open strawberry-red door. I pause, blinking innocently at the king. He also might be suspicious because of how late at night I am out.
He’s not the only one suspicious of how late someone’s been wandering around the halls.
“Oh, me? How would I do anything? It’s not like my stolen powers are back yet, so there’s not much I can do,” I respond, floating on my back and extending my arm to gesture vaguely around the halls. Pure Vanilla pauses, giving me the are you so sure about that? Hm? look. I roll my eyes. “C’mon Nilly, I didn’t do anything,” I add with a scoff.
“If you say so…” Pure Vanilla responds dubiously, clearly disbelieving that I would do nothing chaotic. I begin to drift away, down the hall when I hear an annoyed groan and the sound of a picture frame falling.
A small giggle escapes my lips as I float up the spiral staircase, purple carpets contrasting the yellow wafer pattern of the walls, re-entering the room I’ve been placed in, closing the door before collapsing onto the bed with a sound of annoyance.
I lift up the side up my arm, noticing a gash in my dough causing jam to bleed through my clothing. I throw the blanket over it and myself, the soft blanket still not enough to erase the shivering, the cold seeping through my dough. I groan. Maybe I shouldn’t use my magic as much tomorrow… I think to myself, as a throb of pain shoots up my arm as I wince.
The cold is close to unbearable, considering I had just gotten used to the temperatures outside of the Silver Tree. Does Pure Vanilla know how horrible this room is? First the cheery decorations, then this bad temperature. I tsk, shaking my head. I close my eyes, an attempt to sleep before whatever horrors tomorrow has in mind for me. Darkness encases my thoughts, my only escape from the situation I’m in. It’s peaceful, really, I think, before sleep brings me into the dream world and out of the Vanilla Kingdom.