Chapter Text
As many would know, Eternal Sugar Cookie is the sin of Sloth. All-encompassing laziness that inhibits your drive to do anything meaningful in favour of indulgence in unchallenging trivialities.
If one were to notice, teeth is a recurring theme in Eternal Sugar’s Garden of Delights. Sugar, which is high in abundance thanks to Eternal Sugar, isn’t all that good for teeth, as it steadily disintegrate the protective enamel, then the bone the teeth are made of, and then finally to their roots.
A truly lazy person wouldn’t brush their teeth if it meant having to leave behind their sweets, or they may even forego keeping themselves clean altogether, which brings me to the idea I had in mind.
Eternal Sugar Cookie is, on the surface, a welcoming figure. However, she makes no direct effort to make her Garden’s inhabitants truly feel like they’re in a safe place. In that regard, she is lazy.
And a lazy person wouldn’t care to clean themselves, but gingerbread’s don’t need to do that, don’t they?
Well, what if Eternal Sugar, who has an endless supply of sweet in her body, as her name implies, get a bit of MOLD on her hand? Or hair? Or wherever the mold first touched her radiant body?
It would definitely start spreading. However, it would be a very slow process, given that too much sugar inhibits the growth of mold. Despite being a suitable medium for mold, too much of it dries them out.
Jam, however, is both a wet AND sugary medium. Mold can definitely spread fast on that kind of stuff. And the rivers in Eternal Sugar’s false Eden ARE made of jam…
The thought speaks for itself. And going back to what I said about lazy people not cleaning themselves, if Eternal Sugar Cookie got a bit of mold on her body, she probably wouldn’t clean it off, given her overpowering obsession over Hollyberry Cookie.
Cleaning takes effort. Obsessing does not.
The process will be slow, subtle, and possibly agonising. And eventually, at some point in the future…
Eternal Sugar Cookie can no longer be classified as a Cookie. Just a fluffy, damp mockery of one.
Her body, once radiant pink, is now decorated with a mosaic of black, green and white spots.
If one would ever think of touching her, they’d feel just how fluffy she’s become. How unnervingly soft she is.
Just like the dough that was used to make her. Only more infectious.
Whatever jam was inside her has now been reduced to awful black sludge, the likes of which is expelled from time to time thanks to her nausea. This is a perfectly fine response to feeling your whole body writhe and pulse with a million little lives, as well as realising the notion that your original body has been completely superseded by something that isn’t you, and yet they’re the sole reason you’re still animate.