Chapter Text
The air had a burnt smell to it, it wasn't as crisp at they thought it would be this high up. The battle that took place here, while long ago, still had scars in the ruins of this kingdom. Buildings left in shambles, homes once filled with warmth and cookies. Vines kept unchecked has now taken over, filling every small crevice and wall it can find.
In this once prosperous kingdom, stood a person, a face shadowed by a hood. They moved slowly, a small walk among ruins, every second staring at a new area, every second changing their thoughts.
Tattered banners were waved by the wind, with a now forgotten symbol weaved through them. Broken tiles everywhere the hooded figure walked, sometimes breaking as they walked on top of them. Walls were lined with an insignia that repeated throughout the kingdom.
They didn't stop moving until they were in front of a statue, it's sweet materials withered by time. The statue's hands were up in the air, reaching towards the sky, as if guiding others to a better place. Clothes were shaped to be flowing by the wind, the illusion of the fabrics billowing behind them, as this person was going against the wind, as they moved forward.
The cookie's hands itched to touch it, to follow the soft curves, it was a craftsmanship made with love, with care, with admiration.
Carefully, the cookie started to climb the base of the pale statue. It was a ruin after all, there was no harm at getting a closer look at it. They stood in front of it, face to face to this stranger likeness.
Their eyes stopped at the the mark on the statues forehead, carefully letting their tan fingertips trace the star like symbol. It wasn't like the pattern on their head, but it was a sight they hadn't seen on another cookie before.
A birthmark, one imprinted on their head for everyone to see. It was special, an adornment by the witches.
The cookie's hands moved down the cold statues face, thumbs carefully rubbing circles beneath it's closed eyes, which have been carved with long lashes, something so unnecessary, yet carefully added. The hair on the statue parted down the middle, framing it's face. Which had a peaceful expression, only weighed down by the heavy hat on it's head, ingrained with the pattern of waffles.
This person is most likely gone, like this fabled kingdom around it, crumbled under the weight of a battle that no one remembers.
They closed their eyes as they leaned forward, softly touching their foreheads together, marks connecting with a chilling touch. Carved underneath their feet, was the name Pure Vanilla.
Just who was this cookie? Was he once here among this town, did he start it, did he save it, did the citizens care about him enough to immortalize him in a statue, in art? The sculpture wasn't small, it was life size after all, but it wasn't grandiose, not overly glamorous.
The cookie held themselves there as their chapped lips started to move, "In the name of the Dough, the Oven, and the Witches, may they grant you peace for all your hard work."
They were parched, it was long journey without enough to drink, their crackling voice being the only noise heard other than the breeze whistling around them. "May they grant you mercy, may they give you eternal rest, may your final moment's been restful, may your life be completed as you departed, may you have no regrets."
They leaned away, heavy eyes looking at a serene dead face, feeling too vulnerable at the small moment with this stranger, this cold and unfeeling statue. They let their emotions fade away as they left the statue behind. Quickly, they hurried up to the castle that towered over them, trying to ignore the heavy presence of the figure behind them.
…
The castle was chilly, the only thing comforting was the dusty carpet beneath them. Still, they walk forward, their shoes clattering against floors with the same insignia on the outside buildings, the statue, the bases of pillars, it was inescapable.
It was important.
The figure continued, swiftly passing more statues of that cookie, of the so called Pure Vanilla. They carried on with their head down, ignoring their heavy heart.
That is until they were stopped by the view of stained sugar glass, of five works of art that spanned to the ceiling.
They passed the other four works of glass made in green, indigo, pink, and gold. Light blue rays of light passed though the glass, illuminating, painting the room in a myriad of colors, settling in a as many corners as possible.
It was radiant.
There he was, there in the middle.
The warmth of the light staved away the chilliness of the room, and what a sight it was. The cookie took off their hood, revealing dark brown hair. Their arms were covered by goosebumps, their shoulders relaxed, their knees locking into place.
They were enveloped by the sky blue color, shards of glass gleamed alongside each other, each passing second changing how the light passes through, how it twinkles and shines. Not only did it radiate color, warmth, and power, it radiated a holiness that they've never seen before, only spoken and written in fading words.
Is that what it means to be loved?
It was the most captivating sight they've seen. How many hours did it take, how many people made this, how many people loved him? How many cuts did they receive for him, how much blood was spilled for him?
Did he deserve it all? The statues, the walls with his insignia, the art, the whole kingdom. He did. Didn't he? Why else would people like him do all this for him, gather for him, cherish him.
Perhaps it took them a while to leave, too astounded, too enamored, too stunned. The cookie with the fork symbol on their forehead, forced their eyes away. They shouldn't be distracted, couldn't be here for too long.
They were here for multiple reasons, the Vanilla Kingdom was a grand story that was passed down among many. When they saw the visage of the floating kingdom they were entranced, it was unlike they've ever seen before. The records it must have, the stories it must hold, and yet all they've seen is the ghost of a man that was here before.
There was no time to waste, they didn't allow themselves to settle down, focused on finding any records of the Witches, any mention of their creators.
Once they found the library, a place covered in dust, dirt and ashes, they looked around to find books or papers of interest. They collected anything from A Religious History of the Vanilla Kingdom to The Misunderstoods' Faith. And if there was a papers about the king in the pile, it was purely for curiosities sake.
They found a small corner with a chair that was illuminated by the sun outside, they cleaned the dust off of it before sitting down and opening the first book with care.
A self-imposed duty, but not any less sacred as a result. Their eyes followed along words written on pages, thoughts shared by people who also revered the witches, and the ones that outcast them as fanatics. Arguments held in newspapers and research papers, if there was only one witch or multiple, speculations if their creators lived with them, reasons on why cookies held different flavors.
Still, after all those readings, their mind drifted to the statue, to the man. They've seen small pieces of information scattered here and there, the king of the Vanilla Kingdom, a hero, a healer. They can only sympathize with the man's plight, healing the sick, seeking the truth. All honorable things.
The cookie tapped the latest book they had read as they parsed their thoughts together, stringing along the multitude of information they've learned today.
"No matter," they muttered, slowly getting back to yellowed pages, trying to escape the way the man slowly indenting in their mind.
…
Perhaps hours drifted away before they finally got up and decided to wander around, eyes searching for answers in every corner. The cookie's thoughts were swirling in their mind, paging through new ideas and theories. They let their feet take them anywhere, anyplace but the stained glass.
Eventually, they stumbled across a hall lined door, yet none were as ornamental as the one near the end. The columns were engraved with sprawling designs, it's very color was even warmer, as if it was retouched right before the castle was emptied. It carried that same insignia repeated all over the castle, engraved on the door.
The cookie's hand lingered on the cold door knob, wondering if it was truly necessary to enter this room. Maybe it would be a nice place to rest, to sleep there and not alongside old bookshelves that could fall at any moment. Perhaps this was a certain cookie's room, marked with his importance.
With a deep breath, they opened the door. Trying not to inhale the dust in the room, they stepping in, ignoring the feeling of intrusion they had just even opening the door. Their eyes were graced with a comforting room, if one can ignore the layer of dust on every surface, it would feel safe and even lived in.
With as much silence as possible, they searched through piles of papers that were settled on a desk. Papers with lines regarding a Dark Enchantress, of the need of forces and healers, letters penned specifically for the eyes of Pure Vanilla. Wishing for his healings, for the cures for miracles that sound difficult for him to even accurately understand. A healer, someone who so effortlessly helps other cookies with harsh injuries to simple colds.
Their breathe hitches at the thought, what a ability that would be. They think of the ease it would be, to better help the people in need. Their hands go through pages and prints, chasing imprints of edged withing the grooves of paper. Minutes felt like seconds during that time, seeking more and more.
After a while they found a journal, not pristine, not pretty, but loved and worn, speaking of years and years of silent night etching words on to paper. There on the first page, marking the book as the one and only Pure Vanilla's property. They skim through, yet they only found imprints of dots laid across pages, braille, instead of ink like the first page.
They didn't know braille, not a single thing was legible for them in this journal, yet it's heavy weight in their hand tempted them with knowledge. Carefully, they cleaned the mess they left behind, leaving it cleaner than it was before they arrived.
The book was quietly added to their bag of materials, being the heaviest there by far. With a swiftness, they hurried back to the library, not willing to leave this mystery behind.
Corridors of books passed by their eyes, surveying each title, until they find the book which would allow them to finally understand. They grabbed the book, the path to Pure Vanilla's mind, and immediately sat down on the floor. Finding the journal and laying them both side by side, translating letter by letter. And so it began a dive into the mind of Pure Vanilla.
It was mundane, it was rather normal for the man that is seeped in every corner of the walls, and yet that normality was small bit of warmth to them. And so they continue through pages, letters almost being memorized by the time the consciousness faded, as words speaking of small sickness' and the spells to cure them, warm day's spent with friends, small worries only written here were printed in to their mind.