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If Shadow Milk thinks back, and really thinks back, the first time he ever saw it was when Candy Apple was still disguised as Apple Faerie. She was guiding the heroes down the dirt path towards the Spire of Deceit, chattering nonsense to keep them occupied and pushing the pace to deliver them faster. Gingerbrave was leading the group, with Strawberry next to him. Wizard and Pure Vanilla were walking behind, both silent despite the numerous questions Apple Faerie asked.
And that was when it first happened. Apple Faerie tripped, too busy looking behind at the group to see stray tree roots in front of her. It wasn’t that hard, she just barely brushed against the ground—but she still yelped in pain, stumbling and peering down at her knee, bits of jam bleeding out.
And Pure Vanilla stumbled as well. On seemingly air, which Shadow Milk had chalked up to him just being clumsy, but it had been more than that. Pure Vanilla tripped when he saw Apple Faerie fall, and his knees locked. He didn’t look down or anything, only going to help Apple Faerie, white magic attempting to staunch the small wound. She had pushed him off, claiming she was fine, she didn’t need healing, it was only a small scrape.
And so, they carried off to the spire. Apple Faerie normal, Pure Vanilla normal. Shadow Milk had thrown his illusion away and prepared for the start of the show. Everything was normal.
He was only half-looking when the group encountered the wounded soldier puppet. He had sent it as a warning of some sorts, not a test, but just as a hello! He’s watching out of the corner of his eyes, despite the ones in his hair drawn to the mirrors like kids to candy.
The soldier calls out, weak cries filling the space. Apple Faerie pretends to look horrified. The rest of the group actually looks horrified. Jam spills from the soldier’s face, dripping down his neck and onto the dirt below. It’s a sight to behold, and a negative one at that. Only barely scraping the barrel of Shadow Milk’s gruesome tricks though.
But Pure Vanilla falters. His breath hitches and before he catches it, his hand flits up to touch his face. He shoves it down though, his staff shutting its eye as he kneels next to the soldier and offers his words. He doesn’t use his magic, and he also doesn’t make eye contact. Nothing special though. There was nothing that Shadow Milk sensed as wrong when Pure Vanilla grit his teeth, his shoulders tensed, and his words scattered as he comforted the soldier.
The group continued, Apple Faerie muttering as they walked further into Shadow Milk’s territory. Nothing amiss.
When Shadow Milk finally saw it firsthand, finally realized that something was wrong, was when he had thrown Gingerbrave and Co. off the Spire of Deceit. They tumbled down (and to his disappointment, were saved later), as Shadow Milk laughed and laughed. He turned, about to relish in the horror on Pure Vanilla’s face—when he was met with white. Pale as Mystic Flour, Pure Vanilla clutched his sides, dug fingers where his ribcage was, and stared straight ahead. If Shadow Milk didn’t know any better, he would’ve said it looked like the hero himself had been thrown off the spire.
Ridiculous. Shadow Milk didn’t allow him any respite, tugging him along to fulfill the harder aspects of his plan. Once they had left the top of the spire, Pure Vanilla—despite being anguished at his friends’ supposed deaths—was back to normal. Not pale, not haunted, not clutching his chest and sides. Shadow Milk gave it a thought, shook it off, and went on with his plans.
It didn’t happen much after that, but only because any damage being dealt with was to Pure Vanilla. In fact, Shadow Milk (who had only given it, like, two more thoughts), had begun to think it was all a joke. Some elaborate plan set up to make him lower his guard, believe that Pure Vanilla was weaker than he actually was… and it might’ve been working. But, of course, it had to happen again.
Shadow Milk doesn’t mean to lash out, especially not at his family—minions. Evil minions. But the time at the spire had worn on his nerves, and he was fidgety, spiking out all over the place as his magic ricocheted off the many walls.
Black Sapphire was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shadow Milk had heard the annoying chittering of Gingerbrave and Co. which only meant that they had survived the fall (somehow) and were still determined to rescue their ‘friend’. Ugh.
He had been stalking around, beyond upset at many things, not to mention how the Truthless Recluse always declined any invites for games, when Black Sapphire had walked into the room.
He said something about tarot cards, Gingerbrave and Co. and how they were in the spire, whining about Candy Apple... when Shadow Milk struck. The staff that he had made for Black Sapphire whipped out of his hands, flew into Shadow Milk’s, and he side-slammed it straight into Black Sapphire.
Black Sapphire gasped, air knocked out of him as he crumpled to the ground, wheezing out a ‘sorry’.
And behind the two of them, the Truthless Recluse fell as well. The sharp cry echoed in the spire, and Shadow Milk whipped his head around. What? He was confused, angry, worried. Black Sapphire poked his head up, still clutching his midsection where his staff had hit him. The Truthless Recluse made eye contact with Shadow Milk, dimmed yellow and blue, before his staff and eyes slammed shut, and he fled the room.
Shadow Milk hovered there, confused. Black Sapphire was silent for the entire exchange, having caught his breath. No words were spoken to the spire’s air, until Black Sapphire mumbled another apology, and left.
The anger had drained from Shadow Milk like blood from a wound.
The Truthless Recluse didn’t confide in him, or even talk to him, and Pure Vanilla was too proud to say anything. Even after the fallout of their battle, and his begrudging compliance with the Cookie Kingdom’s authority, (only until he regained power!), he tried to seek out answers. The Fount of Knowledge was dead and buried, but he still needed to know. Wanted to figure out the reasons behind those... displays.
It happened less in the kingdom, partly because nobody got hurt often, and because Pure Vanilla’s staff needed fixing to adjust his vision... but when it did happen, Shadow Milk took notes.
It was only bad when Pure Vanilla was looking at the harmed person. Whether it was his staff, or his actual eyes, he would react in the way the person got hurt. A scraped arm, a bloody nose, jam spilling down knees. He would react in small ways, or large ways, depending on the injury. Sometimes he’d misplace it, someone would wince and grab their stomach, and Pure Vanilla would react near his chest instead. That was only when using his actual eyes—and Shadow Milk knew just how bad his vision was.
But he needed more evidence than that! Half-drawn theories that make no sense when tied together... anyone could write it off as just an unhealthy way of coping when seeing someone else in pain. Pure Vanilla was a healer, after all. But Shadow Milk knew it was more—it had to be more. Simply because it puzzled him to no end.
He had to conduct more trials. Which meant asking people. Which meant asking the Gingergang. Ugh.
—
Wizard Cookie eyes him with such an intensity that if looks could kill, Shadow Milk would be dead.
“You want information. And why exactly would I give you anything?” he says, tipping his head low to peer up at Shadow Milk through the brim of his hat.
“Well, because I’m asking nicely?” Shadow Milk tries with a wide grin. He gets no applause.
“No. I’m still sore over the times that you almost killed us! ‘Times!’ Plural!” Wizard protests loudly. “And no amount of puppeting or fake apologizing is gonna get me spilling our secrets!”
Shadow Milk whistles, cutting him off. “It’s about Pure Vanilla~” he sing-songs, and smirks when Wizard’s gaze snaps back to him.
“You want information...” Wizard trails off, narrowing his eyes. Shadow Milk can see the cogs turning in his silly little head, “on Pure Vanilla? Why?”
“Why?” Shadow Milk echoes, and not just for fun. Why? Why does he want information? “I’m curious! Developing new ways to steal his Soul Jam, fun things to torture him with, any potential illnesses I could abuse…” A truth in a sea of lies. Not that Shadow Milk would admit that the others were lies. Who knows! Maybe he’s a virtue of Truth now.
“Bold of you to believe you’d even get within an inch of the Soul Jam,” Wizard grumbles, but he doesn’t outright reject Shadow Milk. Again. “And I’m not giving away any information on how to ‘torture’ him, you sadistic beast! Especially not on his hyper--” Wizard cuts off, already realizing his mistake. “Ooooh. Witches.”
“Hyper-what, my little friend!” Shadow Milk jumps at the slip, peering down and over Wizard. What could he have been saying? Not hyperextension, that wouldn’t make any sense... Pure Vanilla isn’t very hyperactive, he doesn’t have hyperkalemia... (As far as Shadow Milk is aware).
“Nothing, beast.” Wizard turns away from him, the tips of his ears red from embarrassment.
“Awh, c’mon, don’t give me that!” He twirls around Wizard, always keeping at least a head above him. “I’m redeemed now, if you had forgotten! And you wouldn’t deny a friend some simple knowledge?”
Wizard doesn’t even spare him a glance, keeping his face forward and set in a stern expression. Shadow Milk’s grin drops, but he’s quick to shake it off. If he wasn’t going to get anything more out of Wizard, then he’d just go after someone new! (And, well, even if there was still a part of him that knew ways to get the cookie to talk… Candy Apple was making friends with the group– slowly, but surely).
By the time Wizard looks back, Shadow Milk is gone, spiraling into thin air as he travels through his Other Realm.
—
His next target is Black Raisin, and though he mentally compares it to prying information from a dead squirrel, it's better than having to confront Gingerbrave. Or, Witches above, Pure Vanilla himself.
He finds her in a tree, for an unknown reason, looking a mix of watchful and content as she allows a couple of crows to land on her shoulders. Shadow Milk slides out of the shadows, causing her to whip around, the crows squawking in protest.
“Shadow Milk,” she addresses him calmly, and steadies, letting the crows land back on her shoulder, though looking quite disgruntled. There’s not an ounce of trust in her tone, but there’s also no fear– two things Shadow Milk would usually like to have when confronting someone. Oh well.
“Black Raisin! Has it been a while? I think it has,” he responds brightly, not once letting the wide smile leave his face.
“What do you want. Haven’t you learned to go bother someone else?” She regards him with a raised eyebrow.
Shadow Milk scoffs. “You’re my lead! First up on the suspect board, number one to question!” He shoves the fact he went to Wizard first down below. “I want information, answers! All normal stuff—like how Pure Vanilla is! A little birdy told me that he was quite sick, and not the kind of illness that Strawberry seems to get every season.”
“You know... if you asked for his Soul Jam, he’d probably just give it to you,” she said simply, before sighing—mumbling something about ‘playing nice’. “Vanilla’s fine, he spends the days in the gardens or meetings, he sleeps too early or way too late... and he’s not sick, last time I checked.”
Hesitation! Ah, he was on to something. “Yes, I know all that, but really, you must be at least somewhat worried?” He claps a hand to his chest. “I know I am.”
“What are you playing at?” Black Raisin asks, more harsh than usual. “If he hasn’t told you anything, then it’s none of your business. Ask him, not me.”
“I–” Shadow Milk shuts his mouth with a click, and stares pointedly at her. A fair answer, and a good point at that. “Where would he be?”
Black Raisin looks up at that, a second of surprise playing on her face before she schools it back to neutral. “His room, probably. The Republic’s meeting was over an hour ago.”
Ugggghhhh. He’s got no choice but to ask. A conversation that he’s dreading, but it can’t be avoided. His ego won’t let him leave this mystery alone. Shadow Milk offers a wave before plunging into his Other Realm. Black Raisin’s sigh echoes as he leaves.
—
Pure Vanilla’s in his room—which is at least easier than tracking him down all throughout the castle. For a cookie that’s mostly blind, he is shockingly good at getting around places he knows.
Shadow Milk contemplates going out of the shadows in the room and frightening him... but what good would that do for information? He suspends the thought, leaving it for later—it certainly would’ve been funny—and opts to use the door instead. The Beast of Deceit, knocking on a door. How far he has fallen.
Pure Vanilla answers it anyways, sweeping the door open. He’s not changed much—not that Shadow Milk had been keeping track, but it had been a while—his hair is still unnaturally long, the star pontil is still eight-pointed, his staff has been swapped back to the vanilla orchid, though it looks much more gilded than it did before. It’s eye widens at Shadow Milk’s presence and Pure Vanilla almost gasps.
“Shadow Milk! What are you doing here?” he asks, pausing with a guilty look. “Come inside, please, what’s bothering you?”
Of course, his first instinct is that Shadow Milk has a problem. Is the Beast really that troublesome? Or bothersome? Yeah, probably, and it’s not wrong that he doesn’t have a problem. “Uh. Thanks.”
The door is shut behind him, but Shadow Milk doesn’t make an advance into the room. It’s all too bright and happy and warm—and giving Shadow Milk a massive headache. “Nilly,” he starts, drawling out the name to recapture Pure Vanilla’s attention, “you really ought to tell me more things, especially after what we’ve gone through!”
The orchid eyes him with much more expression than Pure Vanilla would ever, and Shadow Milk withholds a laugh at its audacity. He continues, undisturbed, and a little sharper than before. “What’s your deal with others getting hurt? You do this weird thing, like you’re the one getting injured! Care to supply any details?” He squints his eyes at the blond. “You’re not sick, are you?”
Silence. And not the good kind. Shadow Milk clenches his hands into fists and debates on making a dramatic exit. (Read: fleeing.) It’s an unnerving feeling, silence while in the presence of someone who is the most considerate and polite cookie he’s ever met. And Shadow Milk doesn’t get easily unnerved.
Pure Vanilla’s staff finally shuts it’s eye, and he lays it against the table. He steps towards Shadow Milk, who resists the urge to fidget nervously, and when Pure Vanilla is almost unbearably close—he opens his eyes.
Soft yellow and blue are what Shadow Milk sees, and he knows from the proximity that Pure Vanilla can clearly see him. Well. This escalated. Quite quickly.
He couldn’t back down though. “I’m just asking. Not like I’m gonna weaponize anything,” he admits, and there’s enough truth in there to suffocate. (Nevermind the fact that all the air from his lungs is being stolen by Pure Vanilla, and every exhale is met with an inhale).
“Oh. No—it's not really a big deal.” Pure Vanilla takes a small step back, looking slightly shocked. “I just, you mentioned it’s easier to talk when you can see my eyes. And I can make better eye contact like this.” He gestures to the minimal space between them.
Shadow Milk purses his lips. Makes sense, and he did mention it once or twice in the spire... but that’s not an answer. Pure Vanilla can probably tell that he’s waiting, or maybe it’s obvious. Shadow Milk was never patient.
“Hyperempathy.”
“Hyper--! Wait, what.” Shadow Milk glares at Pure Vanilla for the lack of explanation. He scours his mind and disappointedly comes up blank. Nothing. Witches, it must be a new term, how unfortunate. A chance to learn though. And ‘empathy’ is very Pure Vanilla-esque.
“It’s rare in this century and probably was never truly diagnosed in yours...” he begins softly and captures Shadow Milk’s attention with the hesitancy. “What might seem like a curse to scholars, is that I have the capability to feel the pain of others. Anyone I see, or sometimes hear, my own body and mind reflect that pain.”
“So, if I ripped off someone’s arm,” Shadow Milk ignores the appalled look from the blond, he’s not letting this slip by, “then you would feel like your own was being ripped off?”
“Yes, though I’d rather you not entertain that possibility,” Pure Vanilla says, a slight grimace to his features.
Shadow Milk wonders. He wonders about a lot of things, but mostly how he didn’t notice it. He noticed enough to spring the whole investigation, sure, but not enough to really crack into the iceberg. “And you’ve lived with that for a while?”
Pure Vanilla nods, a slow roll of his head. “Since I can remember, but it was smaller when I was younger. Of course, I didn’t know the extent until I became a healer.”
A healer—he was a healer! Shadow Milk mentally whacks himself on the head for forgetting that. And then he does a double-take, because healers experience people in pain all the time. It was part of their job, but if Pure Vanilla felt such pain as his own... “Isn’t that... not a good choice for a life?” He barks a short laugh, remembering his whole facade again. “Couldn’t you have been anything else?”
The blond looks at Shadow Milk, and it’s those rare times that he can’t quite tell the emotions behind heterochromatic eyes. “There’s only two options to completely deal with hyperempathy.”
“Those are?”
“Become a healer to help fix any wounds.” Pure Vanilla pauses. “Or become a killer to alleviate yourself from others’ pain.”
Shadow Milk resists the oh, and only blinks at Pure Vanilla. He feels it though, silence draping itself over the room like a blanket. Not awkward or tense, but present all the same. “Interesting.”
A wave of Pure Vanilla’s hand and the curtain over a window is thrown open, letting light– that had been previously absent, he realizes– into the room once more. Shadow Milk can finally breathe normally as the blond takes a few steps back, enough to hold the act of respectful space between the two. “Pardon, I’ve not had to explain it in a while, and I’m afraid that was… rather poor.”
Shadow Milk shrugs, a lazy roll of his shoulders as he allows himself to levitate just slightly again. “Apology accepted– and plus, you’ve aided a scholar in his humble efforts!” A hand of confetti materializes, and he gleefully drops it over Pure Vanilla. “Congrats.”
The healer blinks at him, long and slow before raising a hand to cover a small smile and laugh. “Sha–”
There’s a sense of glee that fills Shadow Milk at that, not anything like he felt at the spire, when he was torturing and playing with everyone’s memories and emotions… it’s even more surreal than then. Visceral, and it makes him want to laugh. “Woah, is the king of the Vanilla Kingdom actually laughing? Oh, the act!”
“Shadow Milk,” Pure Vanilla chastises, leaning into his staff and gazing up at the Beast. He’s still wearing the smile, and Shadow Milk feels a soft swell of pride at that. Maybe Eternal Sugar was on to something with the whole ‘oh, I love my other-half so much!’ thing. Love is a strong word, but having him close? Being able to feel his heartbeat through the Soul Jam?
“Nilla?” he chirps back, playfully, and though he knows that he’s not supposed to be stooping this low, or dropping the ‘beast’ facade– oh, he doesn’t care. Nobody’s even here to see it, and the knowledge that he still holds enough power to slaughter everyone in the Cookie Kingdom was enough comfort for him.
Pure Vanilla refocuses, brushing strands of hair from his face and glancing down in contemplation. “Does it not bother you?”
“Bother?” He raises an eyebrow in confusion. (Comically raised, of course, just to see the smile once again grace Pure Vanilla’s features).
“It’s a liability. To some,” Pure Vanilla clarifies. “Hyperempathy. And not that I haven’t learned to work around it, but I’d prefer to hear your thoughts. And concerns, if you have any…?”
If he– what foolishness. Shadow Milk scoffs, reaching out to touch Pure Vanilla’s shoulders, relishing the small gasp and questioning look. He ignores it, sliding his hands down, draping over folds in his clothes, embroidered gold highlights, and adjusting his Soul Jam’s brooch when he reaches it.
“Knowing that I could immobilize you with a simple illusion,” he starts, tracing a claw around the gem itself, and feeling his own pulse in recognition, “is nothing different than knowing I could take this from you right now.”
Pure Vanilla, to his credit, is not scared. He’s not been scared for a while, and Shadow Milk finds that incredibly charming. “You could.”
“I could,” he agrees, gripping the brooch tighter. He could now, he could’ve then, but even without Eternal Sugar’s incessant blubbering on other-halves, he had found something worthwhile in the thief. “Should I?”
“Please don’t,” is all Pure Vanilla says, but he doesn’t even move to force Shadow Milk away. He stands, pliant yet watchful, and allows the access point to his soul to get tugged around like a toy.
Shadow Milk releases the brooch with a twist, claws just skimming the surface of the gem, and he (pridefully) doesn’t let the shiver that wracks his body show. “Ah, I’m too good for this world! I wouldn’t want to deprive the gnats of their parental-figure, after all.”
The comment goes unquestioned, though if it were any other time, he was sure that Pure Vanilla would protest to that. “I would be terribly lonely without you.”
“Pssh.” He mentally swears in a small panic. “You have a whole gaggle of friends; you’d be just fine! But– I am flattered.” He lazily grins.
A quick glance is thrown to the open window, and Pure Vanilla extends a hand to Shadow Milk, looking expectant. “Come to the garden with me?”
“And watch you take care of plants?” Shadow Milk pretends to consider the offer. It’s a no-brainer, something he could’ve done in his sleep. “I’ll be kind enough to keep you company.”
And how anyone on the Earthbread could resist such a delighted smile, Shadow Milk is grateful. Never grateful for the Witches, and all their wrongdoings, but at least grateful to them for making someone so beautiful– so radiant– have his Soul Jam. If compared to Eternal Sugar’s or Burning Spice’s other-halves, they all fell flat. Really, despite any flaws or cracks, he was certain that Pure Vanilla still outshone them all.