Work Text:
The Spire's oddities are something the Truthless Recluse has simply grown used to. Ostensibly it's a building, but every now and then it moves and creaks as if it were a living thing.
("It's cute!" says a distant softer, kinder part of himself, "like a big pet!"
He crushes it down. That part of him drowned in the river.)
Despite this, the Spire doesn't usually bother the Recluse specifically. It saves grand shows of sentience for its master, and, occasionally, for those two impish little underlings the Recluse sometimes sees running through the halls.
It interacting with him is highly unusual.
So why now, of all times? He hadn't even been doing anything—he'd been asleep, for Witches' sake! And yet he was rudely awoken by seemingly nobody except the room itself.
"What do you want?" He calls, on the off chance it understands language. It probably does, right? He's seen Shadow Milk talk to it before…
…granted, Shadow Milk seems the type to talk to anyone and anything, regardless of whether he'll get a response.
The headboard and blankets tilt slightly, as if urging him to his feet. The shadows break from their places, pointing themselves towards the door.
The Recluse sighs and gets up. He figures it's probably unwise to upset the place you live in.
He makes his way down the long, winding hall. He hasn't seen this area before, but the Spire is just as fickle as its master and often changes floorplans seemingly on a whim. He decides to just trust that it will lead him in the right direction—whatever that is.
The door the Recluse eventually finds himself in front of is grand, and swings open for him on its own before he even has a chance to look for the doorknob.
He's not really sure what he expects when he peers inside—something horrific, probably. An awful, theatric show, involving some sort of puppetry. That seems to be this place's trademark. But he finds none of those things. Instead, all that he sees is…
…a child?!
Yes, definitely a child, though not the child he's used to seeing run around the Spire—the pinkish little girl with apples on the back of her head.
This child is small and light blue, with fluffy off-white hair. It doesn't seem to notice his presence, instead tossing and turning unhappily. Despite himself, the Recluse walks over anyway, pressing his palm to the child's back with just enough pressure.
It blinks up at him with watery, mismatched eyes, one teal and one cerulean. It looks like Shadow Milk.
He brushes the thought off. Everything looks like Shadow Milk here. The fool must not be able to get enough of his own visage. Maybe narcissi should be the flowers blooming at the tower's base instead of milkcrowns.
But then with a start he picks up on the soft yet ominous thrum of the Souljam of Deceit.
Sometimes the Recluse can notice it, sometimes he can't, but when he can it's always a guaranteed indicator that Shadow Milk is near. Is this yet another trick? A tactic to get his guard down? It doesn't seem like Shadow Milk's typical modus operandi to make himself small and vulnerable like this…
His musings are interrupted by small Shadow Milk settling against him, his head lolling against the Recluse's chest with a soft thump!
If he didn't know better, he'd almost call the sight of the sleepy, tiny Beast cute.
But he does know better. He knows this is no sweet, sleepy child. This is a Beast, and should be treated as such.
And yet…and yet the Recluse finds himself unable to do anything more than gently card his fingers through small Shadow Milk's soft curls and shush him carefully when he fusses. He glances up at the room, which seems to be watching him anxiously.
Whatever. Life here does go easier when you participate in Shadow Milk's games. He can play along, just for tonight.
("Look at you, silly Nilly, going soft again?" he can hear the Beast jeering in his mind, "Maybe we should dunk you back in the river!")
("Shut up," he tells it.)
Unlike his usual self, small Shadow Milk doesn't seem particularly prone to chatting, so the two of them sit together in silence, the Recluse's gentle humming the only sound filling the air.
The little Beast is easily lulled into a more restful sleep, and the Recluse begins to feel his own eyes grow heavy not long after. He gives another glance to the building, which also seems to have relaxed, and isn't expressing pure tenseness and anxiety anymore.
He sighs, flopping back on the bed. Small Shadow Milk whimpers slightly, but goes back to sleeping contentedly the moment he snuggles up to the Recluse again.
If this is a trap after all, he'll have deserved whatever his punishment is for walking into the lion's den so easily. But, for tonight, they can have softness and peace. For tonight, they can snuggle and sleep and forget who they are.
Consequences will come, but they'll do so in the nebulous future. And the Recluse, will for tonight, simply live in the present.
When he wakes the next morning, he's back in his own bed, and for a moment he thinks that he dreamt it all, that none of it was true. Truth has no place in the Spire, after all.
But when he sees Shadow Milk, how the Beast acts and treats him, how awkward he seems, the Recluse knows for certain it was real. He can never be sure how much of that night Shadow Milk remembers, but he remembers enough, clearly.
And if it happened again, and again then…well, that was their secret.
He'd already grown used to the Spire's oddities. It was about time he grew used to those of its master.