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Happiness always lies distant from her own hands. She does not know why, she just knows that it does.
…Hm, no. That would be a lie (and all of the things on Earthbread, she is not a liar). She does know why she feels this strong, aching unhappiness, deep in her chest.
It’s this cramped, cold cell that has surrounded her for as long as her could fully remember.
It’s the darkness that envelops her, even when she dares open her eyes. There’s no light, just this endless blackness, leaving everything washed in the deepest, darkest ink better meant for the palest piece of parchment.
It’s the undesired company just beyond these walls, the chattering and screaming voices that never quiet and never learn, arguing about the same old things over and over again until any kind of conversation grows dry and irritating.
It’s these silver prongs that dig into her dough, stabbing through her stomach and her palms and her legs and her chest and her wings and—
She’s getting… a bit too carried away. That’s beginning to grow much too common these stash. Too many negative thoughts, and too many negative thoughts makes a Bringer of Happiness dull!
It’s not that bad… maybe. The pain that would tear at her skin and leak out hot jam until it stained every inch of her dough has long since faded, now little more than a light buzz across her dough that she’s now begun to adore. The constant arguing and talking over each other is merely a reminder that they’re all alive, alive and together like true allies, even bound and forced down by these icy chains.
Yes… that’s it. That’s exactly it. They’re alive, and all together. What else can she ask for?
...
…well, she has an actual answer to that one. One that is… particularly unpopular amongst her acquaintances. Oh, but can you really blame her? If you saw the Cookie that awaits her on the other side of this Witch-forsaken tree, you would be giddy and infatuated too! While, yes, she has only managed to capture mere fragments of a whole Cookie, she knows whomever it is, they are worth crumbling over.
Speaking of…
There’s a glass orb within her cell that she cannot quite reach— and as an extra challenge, she does not even know where that orb is, just that it is in her cell. She always makes sure to keep it close, but the next time she opens her eyes, it always happens to be somewhere else, far from her grasp. Yet another method of torture in this cursed tree.
Oh, if it weren’t for her being pinned down, she would’ve found it by now! A shame, truly. She’s been missing her precious trinket, that one item she can hold onto… and not only that, she cannot recall the last time she’s seen that Cookie, even in her dreams. If she could just find it—
“Uh oh.”
An irritating, grating voice scratches at her ears. The Angel struggles to hold back a sigh.
“Sug hasn’t talked about her ‘other half’ in two hours. Is she dead?”
“I’m still here, Shadow Milk Cookie,” the Angel responds dryly.
“Eugh!” The jester immediately wails. “Even worse! She’s alive!”
“Ha ha ha…” the Angel tugs at her impaled arms, and cringes as the metal digs deeper into her bleeding dough. “Hilarious, truly. I am almost amused.”
“Aww, thank you, sweetheart.” Their voice is coming from her bottom right. She almost wishes one of the prongs had stabbed them through their throat. “I try my best.”
“Can you try your best to keep that trap of yours shut?” This voice, deep and gruff, comes from her bottom left, further downwards. The jester gasps dramatically.
“How DARE you!” They say. “I quite like the sound of my own voice!”
“Might be the only one who does…” the Brute mumbles.
“Hey, I heard that!”
“I hoped you did. Perhaps remembering my insults will make you more eager to spar with me once we get out of here.”
“Are you STILL on that? COME ON, Spice! We both know you’ll just win!”
“At the very least you’d put up an entertaining struggle.”
The Angel tunes everything out, and lets the voices fade into casual nothingness. There is only so much bitterness She can stand before growing irritable. She needs to find that orb…
“Both of you are awfully inconsiderate.” There’s the voice of the Prophet. Oh, this is getting so much better. “The silence was delightful. Why ruin it all?”
“Oh, the statue’s finally awake! Had a nice nap?”
“You know I do not sleep, Shadow Milk Cookie.”
The Angel, in her inability to move her limbs, has resorted to using her tail. If that orb happens to be beneath her, it would make everything all the more easier. She can get out of this prison even sooner.
Heh… out of this prison... perhaps she is losing her mind a little.
“A shame, really. You’re so much nicer when you take care of yourself.”
The Prophet does not respond to that one.
“You used to be more likable back then,” the Angel oh so helpfully comments. Within seconds there’s a sudden, harsh bang of something clashing against the metal prongs. It was so sudden the Angel flinches, tail curling around her leg. Quickly, however, the rush of fear melts into a heated anger. “Why, you…!”
“Uh, rude,” the Jester huffs from their cell. “You’re soooo, sooooo lucky we’re in different cells. If we weren’t…” they snort. “Well, you wouldn’t like it. Not one bit.”
The Angel rolls her eyes. “Threatening. Truly threatening.”
“Awww,” the Jester coos, no doubt with that lousy smirk of theirs. “I try my best.”
“Ohh, so you act in aggression towards her,” the Brute complains. “But not me?”
“You’d be too into it.”
“That’s precisely the point.”
The Angel growls lowly in her throat, pulling up her upper lip. Her tail slowly uncoils from around her leg, returning to its previous mission. It searches and gropes and touches, until at last she feels something smooth— glass. A flush of warmth soothes her in an instant, her tail slowly curling around her prize until there’s no chance it slips through her grasp, before bringing it over her face.
Oh, if only she could move her arms— that would make everything so, so much easier!
Regardless, she finally has her ticket to her beloved, and that’s really all that matters in the end. The orb alights just from her touch, its glittery pink contents swirling from within, keeping her entranced with the promise of her soulmate from the Gods. If she could simply just…
“Is that light I see from the corner of my eye?”
The Angel can barely stifle her groan.
“Wow. You reeeaaally can’t go a day without her, huh? Qu-ite pathetic, I’d say!”
The Jester is quickly silenced by the multitude voices urging them to simply hush up, which the Angel is immensely grateful for. The last thing she needs is yet another (and another) argument between Them.
The orb lights up fully, finally illuminating her surroundings. The light burns her eyes, forcing her to squint, yet regardless she shoves through it. It is but a minor discomfort in the grand scheme of things.
The Angel can finally see her own limbs— still pinned, still stabbed by those Witchforsaken prongs hanging from the ceiling, still bleeding. Her motochiton is soaked through with blue jam (both fresh and dry), she’s gotten so used to the strange feeling she doesn’t even notice.
Her eyes redirect back to the glass ball. Running the tip of her tail across the surface, letting the glittering light dance in her gaze. It twirls and flows and swirls until its very center darkens, the crimson flooding outwards until it consumes every inch of glass. The vision becomes clearer in an instant.
There it is— half of her power, made physical in a precious heart-shaped jewel, colored a generous reddish-pink, every curve of it gentle and soft. Just like the rolls of its holder…
…Oh, but that is not what she’s yearning to see (mostly). She would much rather see the face of its new wielder, the one she has been craving to memorize with every speck of sugar in her dough. Unfortunately, this ball has been rather bothersome at times, showing her nothing but the jewel at the center of her soulmate’s shield, forever unmoving. Just like she is.
The Angel waits for the image to change. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it shows her her soulmate, working hard out in the field (…just as she always does. Sigh. Taking the power of passion to the extreme, it seems), or merely chatting and laughing with her friends. Sometimes it doesn’t show anything at all, beyond the pretty jewel that connects her soul to hers.
If she’s lucky, she’ll get to see her in her full glory again. It’s the least of what can be given to her, for dealing with all of this nonsense that basically equates to nothing. And she can be patient…
Very, very patient.
The others have begun to whisper amongst themselves, the light coming from within the Angel’s cell already confirmation that it’ll be a useless effort to taunt Her.
She waits, and waits, and waits, and waits. The image doesn’t change. Still, she remains hopeful.
Just a bit longer, that’s all she needs. Just a glimpse of her other half, even something short and little…
The Soul Jam doesn’t move. Even tapping at its surface doesn’t change a thing. If the Goddess didn’t know any better, she would’ve assumed it was mocking her.
The Angel feels the sharpest edge of disappointment. She sighs and sets the ball on her chest, making sure it can’t slip away, before letting her tail stretch properly.
Oh, it’s fine… all fine, really. She can always check later. She will check later. Just for the shortest glimpse to her soulmate…
“Suuugar~” The Jester calls. “Still alive in there? Knock-knock! Was the beauty of Your ‘other half’ so great your dough crumbled?”
Another thing is thrown at the bars of her cell. With the newfound light, the Angel can see that it’s one of their dolls— one that seems to resemble her. The Jester yelps as a harsh BANG against metal echoes through the stump of the tree.
“HEY! Watch where you’re whipping that thing!”
“SILENCE! Your ceaseless comments bore me.”
“Perhaps, in our endless time together, we should learn a spell to permanently sew their mouth shut.”
“Oh, c’mon now, Sunny. You’re the only one who likes the sound of my voice, admit it.”
Silence. “…I do not have to answer such a horrid accusation.”
“Mmm hmm~”
She’s not sure how much longer she can bear all of this. Their voices comfort her no longer— they serve as nothing but little gnats flying at her face, things that serve to get in the way of her one true goal. How bothersome they have all become, as irritating as the bug that holds them here in the first place.
She needs to see her soulmate. Is that too much to ask? She thinks not. It’s the tiniest, ittiest little desire… a Happiness that can be so easily fulfilled! But of course, everything has to be made so unnecessarily harder.
She just wishes she could move her limbs. If sh could fully move without issue, she’d be able to manipulate it fully, somehow. She knows she could.
Just a little more time. That’s all it’s going to take. Just a little more time, and she can see her other half again…
She’s beginning to understand why the Brute grows bored so easily. This loveless, beautiless stagnation is damning. No flowers, no deer, no statues, no anything. Just coldness and darkness and silver. Sickening, truly. How do mortal Cookies bear to live like this?
She needs sunlight, warmth. She needs to see her beautiful little plants, and shower them in the care they properly deserve. She needs to see her animals, and pet them and adore them and feed them proper until they’re round and plump. She needs something beautiful and adorable and weak to mold as she sees fit, into her perfect image— and oh, everything just reminds her of her other half, doesn’t it? Siiigh…
The glass ball rolls higher across her chest, until it taps against the edge of her chin. The Angel sighs deeply, and lifts her head just enough to press her forehead against its surface.
It was an attempt to push it back, truthfully. Nothing more. She closes her eyes for but a mere moment, and lets everything else melt away.
Everything suddenly feels warmer. Her dress feels dryer. There’s the slightest breeze that brushes past her, ruffling her hair. She swears there’s birds chirping in her ears, way off in the distance.
The Angel opens her eyes, and gasps. This is no cursed, cramped cell. This is a…
She scrambles to her feet and discovers she can move her limbs. With minimum denial, she stretches out she wings, and begins to beat them against the ground. Dust and dirt fly under the sheer force of their beats, a light breeze flying past her curls. So she does have a bit of influence here. Curious indeed.
Her feet lift off the ground, allowing her to hover for several long moments before she allows herself back on the ground. It deeply fascinates her. The realization comes a second later.
…She can move. She’s outside. She’s outside, and she can move. Actually move.
Her chest has already begun to heave with every erratic breath she takes. Her lips slowly stretch in a large, nearly manic smile.
She’s free. She’s really, really free.
Stumbling over her own hooves, the Angel finally puts in the effort of checking her surroundings. She’s… outside, it seems. Nowhere she can identify specifically, but the trees and plants look much gentler than they did in her home continent.
…The home of her other half, perhaps? Oh, her soulmate truly is so, so kind, releasing her from that horrid torment!
Where is she? The Angel wants to memorize her, to fully commit her to memory as she deserves to be, and thank her for such kindhearted generosity.
The only thing nearby is a pile of burnt sticks and rocks, with dirt having been kicked on top of it. Cut up logs have been rolled near it, just close enough to feel the flames, but not close enough to catch on fire. Intriguing, but nothing of her concern.
The Angel nears one of the logs, and presses her hands to its surface. She finds only a ghostly touch— she does not feel the roughness of the bark, only that she feels… something. Nothing specific, just something. Perhaps a side-effect of being numbed for so long… regardless, it is entirely unimportant. She must see her other half.
Something tugs at her to walk past the simple campfire, and deeper into the forest. She follows it almost mindlessly, never bothering to truly ingest the details of her environment, simply hyper focused on finding this Cookie the Witches had declared worthy enough of succeeding her.
She doesn’t pay attention to how long it takes. Being trapped beneath the tree leaves every single second and minute indistinguishable from the next, and so she remains unaware if this trek has taken only moments, or hours. Eventually, however, she comes close enough to feel a constant buzz at her head— it’s coming from her Soul Jam, flashing a vibrant pink, rejoicing at… something.
She learns why very quickly. There’s laughter in the far distance. Joyful laughter. Curious… she hasn’t heard such sound since before the Silver Tree.
It urges her closer, until at last she peeks between the shrubs. Distantly, she sees a familiar clash of reds and pinks, colors she had only seen through glass. Blurry, and nearly indescribable. Looking up, towards the Cookie’s head, the Goddess feels her breath hitch.
Her soulmate (or, at the very least, she believes to be her soulmate, if this intense clenching in her chest is anything to go by) is beautiful, even more beautiful than she had ever anticipated. The prideful stature, the muscles, the heavy armor— oh, and the way she styles her hair into buns, the sound of her laughter as it echoes through the trees, the—
The shield.
The warm buzz cools to something particularly distasteful. She has nothing against it, really, but it just looks so… worn out and used. The edges are chipped and uneven. It’s like it can shatter at any moment! How long has this poor Cookie been working, for her most prized possession to look like that?
The Angel feels herself moving closer, and closer. The Cookie her other half is chatting with is little more than just a hazy, indistinguishable blur. She can see something glimmering at the very center of that shield— her eyes grow wider as she catches its soft, curved shape. An item she has only seen through foggy glass, a shape she has begun to feel growing distaste for.
The Soul Jam. That wretched, cursed Soul Jam of Passion.
It was unlit just a moment before, yet the moment she rests her eyes on it, it begins to blink rapidly, mimicking the same shade of pink that her own soul jam emits. It grows so bothersome it tears her other half’s gaze away, towards the odd behavior of her power force.
“Hollyberry Cookie?” The other Cookie asks, their voice distant and muffled in the Angel’s ears. She doesn’t particularly care— all that matters here is her. “Is… something wrong?”
Hollyberry Cookie… the Angel pauses, just for a second, letting the name weigh down on her tongue. A pretty name for a pretty Cookie.
“I don’t believe so,” Her other half says (her voice is so much clearer now… truly a blessing), lifting up her shield. She eyes the jewel at the center curiously. “It’s… I’ve never seen it behave this way before. Strange.”
The Angel’s face feels warm. Can they see her? She doesn’t think so. She hasn’t bothered to keep quiet, and they haven’t bothered to turn around once.
Her hands practically tremble as she reaches out, looking to grip at Hollyberry Cookie’s bicep— just for her to move away at the very last second, forcing herself to touch the shield instead. Her claws scrape across that jewel, and the very moment she blinks, she’s back beneath the cold silver prongs.
The constant buzzing in her limbs returns. The coldness prickles at her skin, and her monochiton sticks to her dough. And even with the snapping realization that she had not, in fact, been freed, and overwhelming, burning sense of dread that should be paired with such an realization, only one thing kept repeating itself in her mind.
“Hollyberry Cookie…”
“Hm? What?” The Jester mumbles from their cell. “We’re just saying names now?”
The Angel blinks. “…What?” she mutters. “No, I was-“
”Okay, then, I’ll play your game— Melted Cheese Cookie.” There’s a distant bang from another cell. The Angel squeezes her eyes shut. Why must she be forced to be here instead, instead of with her soulmate? “Spice, you next!”
“Smoking Paprika Cookie! Flour?”
“…Golden Winds Cookie. Salt?”
His voice is the farthest away, on the other side of the tree. “I am not entertaining this game.”
For once, the Angel can be grateful for his constant, exceptionally bitter attitude.
The Jester, on the other hand, fully disagrees. “Eugh! You’re always such a bore!”
The Angel sighs deeply, exhausted within seconds. “No, no, no!” She says. “That’s her name! The Cookie who has my Soul Jam!”
“Oh.” The Jester sighs dejectedly. “Sug, I thought we were over this.”
“I saw her!” The Angel argues with a snarl. “I saw her with my very own eyes!”
“Uhh, have we forgotten that I’M the only one with kinda-sorta access to the outer world?” The Jester huffs. “No need to lie. Leave that to me.”
“I’m not lying,” she insists. “I saw her. I saw her. She was— she was there, with another Cookie.”
“Somebody’s developing into quite the dreamer, heh.”
“Perhaps another side effect of our imprisonment. She’s growing more delusional with every second…”
“No doubt about it. She’s so deep into it she’s making up names for her now!”
The Angel snarls, “IT WAS NOT A-“ she forces herself to keep her mouth shut, taking a deep breath to soothe the pounding of her heart. “Whatever…”
It wasn’t a dream. She knows it wasn’t a dream. She saw her, she really did. …Didn’t she?
…Of course sh did! She wouldn’t create an entire Cookie just to fill in such a simple-minded desire. She knows she didn’t, because there is no conceivable way her imagination could ever create a Cookie as beautiful as that one.
Her soulmate… Her other half… Hollyberry Cookie.
Truly a pretty name for a pretty Cookie.
She’s learned how to see her again. And with every passing day, she yearns to see her more and more often, a dirty little habit that only seems to grow more addicting with every second.
And what can stop her, truly? Not those Faeries, not the friends her other half constantly lugs around, and certainly not the inconveniences she happens to share a cell with.
And there is nothing to do here, really, besides argue with her… old colleagues over and over again. And with how long they’ve been trapped here, it grows old very quickly. She’d rather do something much more entertaining.
She’s learned so many little things about her other half! Especially the things she wouldn’t dare share with another Cookie— not even her own friends. It’s lovely, really, having all these delicious secrets to keep all to herself.
Pressing her Soul Jam against that same glass ball and closing her eyes, everything melts to a soothing, pleasant warmth. There’s something soft and silky beneath her, and even with the lack of texture, She can tell she in Hollyberry Cookie’s bedroom. She’s already memorized it. The smell of it overcomes her lungs, that sweet berry scent always overcome with a bite of juice, a scent so addicting the Angel could grow drunk off of a mere whiff.
Stretching her limbs with a light groan, her tail flicks lazily as she finally opens her eyes. Indeed, she’s in Hollyberry Cookie’s bedroom— with a distinct lack of Hollyberry Cookie. She almost pouts. Where is her other half? That was the entire point of this expedition.
The Angel doesn’t dwell on it too much, however, merely redirecting Her attention as to where her beloved’s shield might be. With so many unnoticed visits paid to her other half, she’s learnt exactly what it takes to bring her back to that cursed tree— and it just so happens to be the Soul Jam of Passion. As long as she does not touch it, she can spend as much time with her beloved as she wants.
Officially claiming no signs of the Soul Jam, she allows herself to flop onto the bed. The material buzzes pleasantly against her dough, offering her a miniature massage before Her other half finally returns. It’s such a nice, pleasant feeling, that everything else melts into a fuzzy, indistinguishable mess. The darkness behind her eyelids entertains her, a nice touch that tugs her in deep enough for the sound of the door opening is deaf in her ears. Her eyes promptly snap open the moment she hears it snap shut.
“Hollyberry Cookie!” She cries with utter delight, already sitting up. And, as usual, her other half has no reaction as she moves towards the wardrobe and undoes the ties holding up her buns. The disappointment stings less the more she visits. “Sweet thing~ won’t you come to bed already? I missed you terribly… you usually arrive earlier.”
Again, no response, because she cannot hear her. No matter. One day, They shall meet face-to-face. The mere thought makes her face feel warm, a mushiness sinking into her brain. The mere thought of Hollyberry Cookie finally acknowledging her, talking with her, running into her arms the moment she returns from whatever silly expedition she goes on… her legs kick in sheer glee.
One day… one day indeed.
Hollyberry Cookie has already begun taking off her clothes, and in a flustered blunder, the Angel covers her eyes with her wings. Her face feels warm as she listens to the distant ruffling of clothing, and the tired sighs her dearest releases every time something clings to her dough. There’s that little urge to peek and take a proper look at her soulmate’s back (she imagines how toned it would be, where the scars would be placed, just to construct the imagine in her own mind), but of course, such action would be disgraceful. The Angel would never ruin Hollyberry Cookie’s trust like that.
Without meaning to, her tail began to thump against the sheets, growing excited at the mere idea of seeing her other half’s dough fully exposed one day. A tempting future, truly, but that is exactly what it is: a future. Certainly not now, when she is but a mere shadow clinging to the scraps this heavenly body decides to offer her.
She doesn’t pull them away until she hears footsteps moving towards the bed. It’s only until then where she can release a breath of relief, and allow herself to gaze upon the divine beauty of her dearest soulmate. Her eyes immediately drift to Hollyberry Cookie’s choice of nightwear for tonight: a rosy pink nightgown, with different berry patterns scattered across the silk. It shows her age— the Angel simply adores it. It fully exposes her arms, allowing those muscles to bulge out, the scars etched deep into them shifting with every little movement. It’s almost hypnotic.
“You always amaze me with your beauty, darling,” the Angel coos as Hollyberry Cookie finally comes to bed, raising up the sheets and snuggling up underneath. She rests her cheek on the pillow, and slides her arm beneath it. Every little thing she does is adorable, the Angel notices. “Won’t you allow me a moment with you? …Please?”
She doesn’t really need approval in this particular state. She can do as she pleases simply because she remains nothing but an invisible breeze in Hollyberry Cookie’s, yet it feels more appropriate to ask anyways. Less selfish, somehow. The last thing the Goddess wants is to make her soulmate uncomfortable.
When no response comes (and therefore, no rejection), the Angel crawls beneath the sheets alongside her beloved. Her tail flicks, the tip wagging back and forth, before she presses her cheek against Hollyberry Cookie’s and nuzzles against it.
Just the two of them, alone, pressed dough-to-dough (kind of?). Hollyberry Cookie feels so much more warm and complete compared to everything else, the Angel can’t help but cling to her.
Hollyberry Cookie is already loose in her arms, and yet she simply cannot resist bringing herself even closer, until there’s the slightest possibility their can mix their doughs together. The Angel ducks her head beneath Hollyberry Cookie’s chin, and wraps every possible limb around her. Her arms, her legs, her wings, her tail— every little thing, just to bring herself even closer to her. Another little habit she’s grown addicted to, just for the chance to be whole again.
Hollyberry Cookie feels so warm. Not the burning, uncontrollable warmth the Brute radiates, no, but something much more controlled— like being at home, sitting before a fireplace. Perhaps she would knit, or crochet. Perhaps she’d be holding a mug of juice. When was the last time she had felt so at home? Certainly not with…
The Angel swallows thickly. Certainly not with them.
For the first time in a long time, the Angel feels… at ease. Complete, even if she isn’t seen. Perhaps she is merely easy to please— all she needs is her presence, her closeness, and suddenly she’s Happier than she had ever felt before. Hollyberry Cookie can put her this at ease simply with her mere presence… not her voice, or her flare, or her little habits the Angel wishes she could change. No, all it takes is her presence, and her presence alone.
The Angel wonders, lazily, if Hollyberry Cookie would feel the same, if only their roles were reversed. Perhaps. Perhaps not. She does not know— not yet, more specifically. She’s much too exhausted to let the thoughts linger.
With a deep, revering sigh, the Angel presses her forehead to Hollyberry Cookie’s collarbones, and settles for the illusion that she’s wanted here, a beloved partner slumbering in her love’s arms. And with the way Hollyberry Cookie positioned herself, with the angle of her arms and the tilt of her chin, it almost felt intentional, reciprocated. A nasty little delusion the Angel will cling to when she closes her eyes, and inevitably wakes up in that cold, cramped cell without her soulmate.
They truly are meant for each other.