Archive of Our Own ^beta

The path to the Spire still bears the tracks from the last time Pure Vanilla had been here. Although today, he travels alone. There’s no need to drag those poor children along, not this time. No whispers of magic in the air, no gleeful blue eyes peering through the gaps in the tree line; only rays of the sun’s soft blue light poking through the leaves, weaving through the canopy, and spilling over the remains of where the great Spire of Deceit had stood.

It had been brilliant. Residing within its walls had certainly not brought Pure Vanilla any joy, but even he could not deny its artistry. It was a proud, tall building that had served to make any cookie that approached its doors feel unbearably small. Perhaps that was why Shadow Milk had been so insistent on changing shape, so as to not appear frail next to his own creation. 

Shimmering golden dust still drifts through the air aimlessly, and Pure Vanilla waves his hand to clear the magic swirling around his head. It should not bother him so; it is his own creation, and yet he shoos it away anyhow, finally poking his head through the sparse array of branches that block his blurry view of the Spire’s remains. The jagged, broken pillars strangely suspend one another, branching up into the sky like the shattered bones of some broken beast. The scene is no different than his last retreat, save for the missing shards of sugar glass that had washed down the Skim Milk River. 

It is no mystery where the glass comes from- it was the first thing Pure Vanilla had noticed upon the Spire’s fall. When Shadow Milk’s magic had choked and guttered out, the first adornments of the Spire to break were the portraits. Walls and walls of the same smiling blue cookie wearing different features, shattered and warped beyond recognition as they crumpled to the river below.

But he is not here to look for old portraits. He’s not sure where to begin with finding what he seeks, but he may as well try, and hope against hope that it hadn’t fallen into the river already. So, he sets his hands upon his hips, and slowly turns his gaze over the remains, waiting for… he isn’t sure. It isn’t as if his soul jam will suddenly help him understand, help him peer through all the wreckage to find it, but… 

A noise cuts through the fog surrounding his mind. It’s quiet at first- so quiet he at first thinks he’s imagining it, but then it grows louder. Splashing, just downstream, and when he tilts his head and staff in the direction of the noise, he sees it. A cookie- a woman, it looks like, with white hair spilling down her back, and a basket full of berries. One berry is grasped in her palm, and she’s rinsing its deep blue flesh in the milky river below. 

She wears a… somewhat outdated gown in a deep azure, and he initially wonders if this forest is inexplicably attractive to all cookies who are absurdly blue. Then, he studies her a moment longer, and it clicks.

“Shadow Milk Cookie?” He blurts, and though she is many meters away, the cookie jolts, head swiveling to face the intruder. Her sharp features are briefly pulled into an ugly look, before her expression is carefully starched and ironed into careful indifference.

She pushes herself up off her knees, one dainty hand brushing off the sullied end of her gown. Her legs wobble slightly as she rises- Pure Vanilla didn’t know if he had ever seen him walk before. Nonetheless, she turns to face him, raising a brow. “Do I know you?” She asks blandly, her voice tight in a way that suggests she wishes she didn’t.

“Ah,” Pure Vanilla blinks at her, then over at the crumbled Spire, then back to her. “I’m afraid I’ve grown accustomed to your disguises by now, Sh–”

“I don’t know who that is,” she insists again, rolling her eyes as she drops the berry into the basket held at her hip. “Don’t you know it’s rather rude to call a lady- especially one as dignified as myself- by the wrong name? I had thought a gentleman would know better!"

Pure Vanilla frowns. “I should think it would be rude to call any cookie by the wrong name.”

The lady in azure scoffs, moving across the clearing on unsteady legs. “Particularly rude when it is me, though.” A moment passes, and Pure Vanilla opens his mouth to ask her name. She must have gathered that he intended to ask a question, because she clears her throat and asks instead, “What brings you out here? Say, I hear most cookies with…” her lips twitch, “any sense stay out of these parts.”

Pure Vanilla studies her– him? Her? Witches, what did it matter?- and cocks his head to the side. “I see. Are you acquainted with the previous residents of this spire?” He nods back towards the ruins behind himself, and her expression tightens. “There are three of them, but I’m…” He purses his lips. “I’m unsure of the location of… two of them.”

“Well, they clearly can’t live here. Any sensible cookie would be searching for a new home,” she says, examining her nails. “You aren’t curious about the third?”

“Oh, no, I am,” He shakes his head, and his fingers subconsciously begin to toy with the brooch pinning his soul jam to his collar. “You see, I was hoping I could find him here. He’s a friend of mine, and I do have quite a lot to discuss with him.”

Her lip curls in disgust. “Perhaps he isn’t intent on speaking with you,” she warns. 

Pure Vanilla gives a soft chuckle, nodding. “Perhaps not. Still, I’ll continue to seek him nonetheless.” He carefully tugs his bag off his shoulder, then drops it upon the grass. He sits down, legs crossed beneath himself, and smiles up at her. “And you? What brings you back here?”

“Back?”

“Ah.” He has to resist the urge to sigh. He had known he would have to play along with some amount of mischief, but he had not predicted that Shadow Milk would fake ignorance to this level. “My apologies. What brings you out here?” 

She gives a pleased smile, then, and lowers herself to the soil across from him. “Ah, I’m only traveling.” She lifts the basket in her grasp. “See, I’ve just visited the garden of a dear friend of mine- really, such a dreamer, you two would just adore each other. Anywho-” She jostles the berries within the basket. “She oh-so-kindly gifted these to me! Isn’t that just grand?” 

Something about the way her grin widens tells Pure Vanilla that this is decidedly not grand, but he keeps that thought to himself. “Berries?” He asks, resting his staff over his lap. “I don’t think I recognize that variety. Is that native to Beast-Yeast? Crispia’s flora is rather different- I’m still unused to the wildlife I’ve seen here…”

The lady in azure sighs dramatically, fanning herself with her hand. “Witches, you tourists,” she murmurs. “They’re native, but you won’t find them everywhere. See, they’re a very special cultivar.” A beat, then she grins wickedly, as unsubtle as ever. “You ought to try one. Who knows? Maybe they’ll help you.”

“Help me?” Pure Vanilla purses his lips. “I do not know. I would not wish to lose focus on my task.”

“The cookie you’re looking for clearly isn’t here,” she insists. 

“I know,” he rubs the back of his neck, “but he was not the only reason I returned. You see, he made me something, back when I was visiting. However, in my… exit, I lost track of it.” He frowns deeply. “I would not wish to seem ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful?” She barks out a laugh. “I’d say you’re far past that point.” Her grin falters, and she lowers the basket. “...What are you looking for, anyhow?”

“Well,” he clasps his hands together, brightening, “you see, he’s quite the talented artist, and he was particularly fond of crafting dolls. He sewed one of me, and I wish to find it. I do hate to lose track of gifts- I’ve even had to make a treasury only for presents, since my reunion with my dear friend Golden Cheese Cookie.” He chuckles, tucking a piece of hair back behind his ear. “At this rate, though, I may have to have another room built only to contain her generosity.”

She gives him an unimpressed look. “And yet you soldier on,” she deadpans. She tucks her dress under her knees, then raises a brow at him. “How do you expect to find one doll in–” She waves vaguely to the ruins of the spire, “-this?”

“Time.” He shrugs. “Time that I can fortunately afford to spare. That, or asking Shadow Milk Cookie himself. I have the feeling he would know where it ended up.”

“You might have to wait a while. I get the feeling your ‘friend’-” She grits her teeth, then continues, “-might be occupied.”

“That is alright.” Pure Vanilla opens up his bag, rustling through it as he speaks. “I will wait, then. Are you hungry?” He lifts a folded-up paper container of dried meat jellies. “The royal chef prepared these for me, but I’ve found my appetite lacking since starting my journey. Perhaps you would make better use of them than I.”

Her smile falters, and her shoulders slump. Mismatched blue eyes lock onto the bag, then back to Pure Vanilla’s face, before they narrow sharply. “Sure,” she says cautiously, “If you’ll try one of these. They’re a delicacy, I’ll tell you.” She lifts a freshly rinsed berry from the basket.

“But I…” He trails off. It would not be wise to decline a gift from Shadow Milk Cookie- not now, at least. Not now, when their relationship is tense enough. So, he smiles politely and extends the bag out. “Well, I suppose I can try one.” He plucks the berry from her hand, watching her jaw fall agape.

She stares back at him, eyes wide and her lips parted, then tilts her head down to peer into the paper bag. Then, her gaze returns to Pure Vanilla, just as he lifts the berry to his mouth, and–

She slaps it sharply out of his hand. He grunts in surprise, his mouth falling open. “Wh– Shadow M-”

“I changed my mind.” She stands, nudging the berry down the riverbank with her shoe until it splashes harmlessly into the milk river below. “I don’t like savory jellies.” Even as she complains, she stuffs the bag into the side of her basket.

“But-”

“Good day,” she spins around, and her dress smacks him sharply across the face. He watches her hurry off, bewildered. She still cannot seem to grasp walking. 

By the time Pure Vanilla has recovered, it is as if she had never been there at all. All that remains is a bruised azure berry, bobbing steadily down the river and out of sight. Searching the area eventually leads him to the conclusion that he’s had all the conservation he can tonight. Later, when he filters through the debris, he spends hours searching for the doll— but when the sun sets and he nearly nicks himself on a shard of glass, he surrenders for the night.

His camp is at the halfway point between Faeriewood and the Spire, just off the riverbank itself. His accompanying soldiers had been reluctant at first to allow him on his own, but at the insistence of his safety, they’d kept quiet. Their relief that night is palpable- they exchange drinks and meat jellies roasted over the fire, all of which he discreetly tucks away to toss to the cream wolves at camp. 

He carefully tucks a packet of star jellies into his bag that night before bed. He has not eaten them in quite some time, despite them always filling his bags- but he remembers them being fairly sweet. Perhaps at least someone will appreciate them. When he returns to the spire the next day, he has only just settled onto his knees at the edge of the wreckage when he hears the clearing of a throat behind him. He jolts to attention, then spins around, eyes wide. 

“Ah! Shadow Milk Cookie, I-“ His smile fades. “What are you wearing?” 

Before him hovers Shadow Milk Cookie, clad from head to toe in gold and smiling sunnily at him. “What do you mean?” He asks innocently. “Why, I’ve always looked like this! Ever since I-“ He snickers, folding one leg over the other midair and lifting his hands to make quotation marks, “-saw the light. Of truth, of course!” 

For a breath, Pure Vanilla can only stare- before he finally cocks his head to the side and says, “Pardon?” 

Shadow Milk’s smile falters, and he rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on,” he drawls. “I knew you weren’t the brightest, but come on. Shouldn’t you be happy to see me like this?” He grins once more, giving a wide flourish of his arms. “Just as foolish and content as-“ One hand sweeps forward, jabbing a finger sharply into Pure Vanilla’s chest. “You!” 

Pure Vanilla grunts, momentarily wobbling before he pushes himself to his feet with the assistance of his staff. “I… No, yes, I gathered that you were mocking me—“

“Who isn’t?” Shadow Milk cuts in. 

“— but, I was moreso questioning why you chose to do so. Surely you are not still attempting to coax me back into deceit. I have told you, your—“ He cuts off with a yelp as he’s yanked forward by the collar, lifted momentarily off the ground before Shadow Milk drops him back onto his feet, shaking off his hand as if his touch had sullied it. 

“No need!” Shadow Milk chirps. “You’re a bona fide cookie of deceit already! You sure seemed thrilled to lie to me, after all.” His eyes narrow in annoyance. “So I’m just-“ His hands smooth over the ridiculously puffy collar ruffle he always wears. “-balancing the scales here. So, say hell-ooo…” He raps his fingers along the edge of his staff in a drumroll. “…to the Sage of Truth!”

Pure Vanilla slowly looks over the oversized key Shadow Milk now wielded in place of his staff- could he be any less subtle? “I didn’t expect you to be so…” He wets his lips, choosing his words carefully, “…um, moved, by my embrace of your deceit. Not in this manner, I mean.”

“Well, I am,” Shadow Milk says matter-of-factly. “And that’s the truth! What, feeling guilty?” He coos, then clasps his hands together, lashes batting innocently. “You want to apologize for hurting my feelings?” 

“Well…” Pure Vanilla hesitates. “I suppose it wasn’t my intention to upset you with my proposal. I do apologize for that.” He watches Shadow Milk’s grin widen, then immediately twist into a scowl when Pure Vanilla opens his mouth again. “But I cannot apologize for any of my other actions that night. You hurt my friends, and you intended to hurt many more cookies, if you had your way.” He pauses, and then scrambles to continue, “But- but, Shadow Milk Cookie, it is never too late to-“

“Oh, spare me!” The other cookie groans, burying his eyes into his palms- or, trying to. He can only press his hand gently against the monocled one. “Even pretending to understand your foolish perspective is giving me such a headache! You can’t really be this naïve, can you?” 

A moment passes, then he peers down at Pure Vanilla’s frowning face through the gaps in his fingers- before breaking into a cackle. “My, my, you really can! No wonder you’re so fond of the witches- they’re the only beings with promises as empty as that head of yours!” He gently raps his fist against Pure Vanilla’s temple, and the other cookie squints distastefully, tilting his head to evade the contact. 

“I mean it,” Pure Vanilla insists stubbornly. “Friendship is very important, Shadow Milk Cookie. I think it would-“ 

“Right my wrongs?” He drawls, kicking his legs up behind himself and folding his hands under his chin. “Correct my meddling ways?”

“Well, I- I…” Pure Vanilla falters, ducking his head. It is sounding rather ridiculous, now that it is laid out like this- but he’s spent enough time unsure of himself, so he swallows and straightens back up. “It’s- it’s a very powerful thing, you see- my friends are the only reason I recovered from the grasp of deceit. Perhaps the same could assist you.” 

Shadow Milk groans deeply, then, in a blur of blue and white, lands firmly on his feet. He yanks off the hat he dons, tossing it to the floor. It jingles dejectedly as it hits the grass before it disappears in a swirl of blue mist. “I don’t know why I bother,” he spits, tearing off his monocle. It doesn’t even have a lens in, Pure Vanilla thinks distantly. “You’re a fool beyond reason! Next time, I won’t speak at all.”

“Next time?” Pure Vanilla brightens, his posture straightening. “You wish for us to speak again?”

Shadow Milk goes still as he realizes his mistake, then slowly turns his gaze to him. His head follows, and, as he usually does, he bares his teeth. “You-“ He growls, fingers flexing- before he snaps, and a portal swallows up the ground below his feet. Hundreds of eyes, and stars too faint to see, peer out of the Other-Realm at them.

“Ah-“ Pure Vanilla stumbles back so as to not be caught in its pull. “Wait- Shadow Milk Cookie, I wished to- uh- you said you liked sweets, so I brought you some—“

Shadow Milk plummets into the blackness below, wearing the same displeased look the entire time. The ground closes up after him, and Pure Vanilla is alone in the clearing once more. 

“-…star jellies.” Pure Vanilla finishes, staring at the emptiness where the jester stood a moment prior. His eyes graze the clearing briefly, searching, before he slumps. “Crumbs,” he mutters. Two days searching, and he still hasn’t found that doll. 

…Maybe tomorrow, then. It never hurts to be optimistic. He leaves the wrapped-up star jellies by the river, anyhow. 

Perhaps he is being naive, he thinks as he wraps the next meal; a berry pie, with a thick whipped mousse on top. The campgrounds' chef he received it from had said the mousse was white chocolate, but he truly does not know. It isn’t as if he intends to eat it himself, anyhow. 

When the cook had asked who he’d needed such a dish for, and suggested with waggling brows that it was for a “special somebody,” Pure Vanilla had been briefly stunned. Then, he had laughed. “No, just a friend,” he’d said, squinting his eyes sharply and leaning in to examine the pie through the holes in his vision. “Another friend has set out to Beast-Yeast lately, that is all. He wished to meet.”

A lie. He hadn’t used to tell those. Though perhaps it was for the best that he had learned- if Pure Vanilla had proudly announced his attempts at domesticating the Beast of Deceit, it would have only sent unrest through the small gathering of Vanillian soldiers. There were so few left; the least he could do was avoid placing any more burdens upon their shoulders. 

And so, he sets out alone again. He finds that he is once again the second to arrive when he sets foot into the usual clearing and sees the star jellies missing. In its place is what appears to be a cream wolf, though its bright blue coloration is… unusual. It’s facing away, but its ears are swiveled towards Pure Vanilla. 

“Ah,” Pure Vanilla blinks, “A wolf. I should have expected as much.”

The wolf turns its head, and the dozens of eyes across its fur- and the two on its face, of course- glare at him. In its maw is the checkered cloth the jellies had been wrapped in. It rises, then turns and marches towards Pure Vanilla, its nose turned up.

“Is that for me, Shadow Milk Cookie?” He asks, extending his hand cautiously. Shadow Milk had always possessed unusually sharp teeth, but Pure Vanilla finds it harder to ignore them now. 

The wolf, of course, does not answer. It noses into his palm, then unclasps its jaw from around the cloth. It falls, smeared with drool, into Pure Vanilla’s hand, and he grimaces. 

“…Thank you,” he says, dangling it between two fingers and stuffing it into the outer pocket of his bag. He wipes his hand for good measure, then settles down onto his knees to meet the canine’s eyes. It blinks at him expectantly. 

“I am surprised, I must admit,” he starts, his lips pursed. The wolf cocks its head to the side, one ear flopping downwards. “I would think you should know by now the wolf thing isn’t working. You didn’t even bother with sheep’s clothing, this time,” he muses, and he swears he sees the beast roll its eyes. “Though I suppose none of your disguises have done the trick, for me, have they?” 

The wolf huffs out an irritated- or perhaps amused- exhale through its nostrils. Pure Vanilla’s lip twitches. 

“Hmm. Well, I suppose…” He trails off, brows furrowing- before he straightens, beaming down at the wolf once more. “Ah! Yes, yes- I remember. I brought you something new,” he announces, carefully unzipping the main pocket of his bag. “I thought perhaps you could share it with your two companions when you reunite with them. I imagine they hold me in rather poor regard, so I was hoping that this-“ He places the tin into his lap, peeling off the cover, “-would amend that.”

Shadow Milk Cookie stares up at him for a moment before the wolf’s teeth bare in a grin clearly not meant for its body, and it buries its snout directly into the pie. Its eyes remain fixed on Pure Vanilla, the entire time. 

He is momentarily at a loss for words; something that Shadow Milk is clearly thrilled about. Then, he recovers. “Well,” he clears his throat, “perhaps not. I will simply have to prepare something else, then.” 

The wolf shakes its head to clear the mousse from its nose, though he notices it attempting to discreetly nudge the pie off of his lap. He pretends he doesn’t notice it trying to sneak the treat, and instead continues talking. 

“It truly would be a great help if you’d agree to help me search, Shadow Milk Cookie. I had not considered it before, but as a cookie of many forms, you would surely be a better tracker than I. I owned a jam-hound, as a boy- they were remarkable trackers! So perhaps this form-“ He reaches to pat the wolf’s head instinctively, retracting a hand when it bares its teeth, “-could be a great help.”

The wolf doesn’t lift its head from its task of stealing the pie, but the eyes along its fur are fixed on Pure Vanilla. They look unimpressed. 

Pure Vanilla smiles weakly. “Not a tempting offer, then. Typically, I would offer a treat to an animal as encouragement, but I assume that would be rather offensive in this scenario.”

The cream wolf shrugs its shoulders dismissively as it begins to gnaw at the tin.

“No?” He tilts his head playfully. “Not offensive, then? Still, I would not feel right doing such a thing. Despite the fact that you’ve already taken a gift from me,” he points out, nodding to the tin. 

The wolf glares, then settles onto its haunches. Its tail curls to cover the pie tin at its side, and Pure Vanilla laughs. 

“You don’t need to be embarrassed to accept it, you know,” he said, rising to his feet and brushing off his robes. He approaches the wolf as its ears flatten, then bends down to pick up the tin. “It was made for you. There’s no shame in eating it.” 

Wide blue eyes sear into his skull, and Pure Vanilla can’t tell if they look afraid or furious. 

He pushes further, taking a tentative step closer to the creature. “See?” He coaxes, then crouches to meet its eyes as he holds out the tin. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

“Afraid” is clearly the wrong choice to use. Before that, the creature had been slowly, hesitantly shifting closer, its tail swaying uneasily. But the moment that word leaves Pure Vanilla’s lips, the Beast’s eyes blow wide, and a low growl is all the warning he gets before the tin is ripped from his hands. Fangs scrape across his fingertips in the process, and thick strawberry jam dribbles onto the grass. 

He hisses painfully, stumbling back and gripping at his hand. “Shadow Milk Cookie-!” He exclaims, bewildered- but when he lifts his gaze to search for regret on the Beast’s face, he doesn’t find it. 

Instead, he sees the wolf pinning the tin into the grass with one paw, yanking and tearing at the pastry with all the force it can muster. It scrapes its teeth painfully against the tin with each motion, and Pure Vanilla can see it wince. But it only stops when the gift is torn to sugary shreds and lost in the grass. 

It lifts its head, teeth bared as it pants for air. Then, it shakes its head to clear its fur, grits its teeth, and turns away. 

“Wait, I-“ Pure Vanilla steps closer, his eyes wide. “I didn’t… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ 

It disappears into the bushes before he can catch up, and when he tears the foliage aside in desperate search, there’s no trace of the Beast of Deceit. 

Neither of them addresses the bandages around Pure Vanilla’s hand for the next few days. As expected, Shadow Milk’s form changes every visit. A snake, dangling from the trees, eyes glinting with amusement. A tall creature with one massive closed eye and stars dotting its hair- Pure Vanilla swears he’s seen it, but he can’t recall where. A massive, half-cookie, half-beast creature, winding through the river and grinning up at him from the riverbanks. 

But he’s never himself. He’s always just different enough for deniability, just different enough to dance around the foggy subject of his identity. Pure Vanilla doesn’t say anything, desperate to keep the peace, desperate to keep him from piling on any more masks. 

It takes him nearly two weeks to repeat forms. By that point, Pure Vanilla has swapped his bag for a sugarcane picnic basket, stuffed with a checkered blanket and whatever snacks he’s picked for the day. Today’s menu is one he put together in a rush- leftover cured meats, bread, and a covered bowl of whipped cinnamon butter. He’s humming a song from a Hollyberrian tavern when he walks into their clearing, but the tune stops short when he spots a small ball of wool curled in the clearing. 

“Ah…” He blinks, then slowly steps closer. “Shadow Milk Cookie? A lamb, this time? That’s-“ 

The lamb turns around, and a familiar canid face peers out at him from the wool cover it’s hiding beneath.

“Oh!” Pure Vanilla exclaims, before he smiles, jogging towards his companion. The basket rattles softly as he sets it upon the grass, kneeling next to the canine. “It’s you again. Not in a speaking mood today, then, are we?” 

The wolf shrugs its shoulders. 

Pure Vanilla does not bother remarking on how unusual it is for the Shadow Milk Cookie to not wish to speak. “Ah, I see. I get the same way, sometimes. Well-“ He tilts back the lid of the basket, then begins unwrapping its contents. “I do hope a fearsome carnivore like yourself can still enjoy bread. I baked it myself,” he announces, carefully spreading the blanket out on the grass. The wolf pads onto it, then curls into a ball, huddling beneath its wool coat as it gazes up at him. “Do you wish for me to remain quiet as well, then? I don’t mind.”

The wolf’s jaw clicks open as if it intends to speak, before it pauses, eyes falling down to its paws. It lifts both, turning them over and examining its claws, then nods silently, chin dropping to rest on the blanket.

“All right, then. Probably for the best,” Pure Vanilla admits. “I’m afraid I’ve been talking all day, anyhow. Perhaps some peace and quiet is what we both need,” he sighs, dropping to his knees next to the wolf.

It studies him with lidded eyes, then pointedly tears its gaze away, nose scrunching in distaste. He pretends not to notice, and removes a butter knife from the case, slathering butter over a torn-off piece of focaccia. He offers the first piece to Shadow Milk, who snags it between his teeth and swallows without chewing. 

They eat in silence. It’s so quiet, in fact, that Pure Vanilla briefly wonders if this wolf is, in fact not Shadow Milk– the beast of deceit, ringmaster of chaos, any of those marvelous identities he’d bestowed upon himself; those cookies would never let things remain this calm. But the blue wolf curled at his side does not seem to mind. 

Pure Vanilla expects to be scolded at the end of the evening- to have sharp teeth close around his arm, to have his hat yanked over his eyes long enough for Shadow Milk to slip away. But as the sun sets lower and lower over the horizon of Beast-Yeast, the meal remains lazy and quiet. Shadow Milk even rests his head just barely against Pure Vanilla’s leg. Not atop it, of course, but just enough for his fur to brush the fabric of his robe. And when Pure Vanilla attempts once more to offer his canine friend a piece of the bread, it does not stir. It only scrunches its nose, then shifts closer, moving its cheek to press against the warmth of his leg. His breath catches. Shadow Milk Cookie is sleeping.

He goes stiff all over, careful not to move so as to not wake him. He hadn’t even thought Shadow Milk slept- he hadn’t seemed to, not back at the Spire. At least not around him. He’d always been on his feet, grinning ear-to-ear and teeming with enthusiasm, even in the dead of night. He’d shake Truthless Recluse awake from strange and dizzying visions of the furious faces of cookies he didn’t recognize, then spin him into a dance or a puppet show or some other nonsense. They would dance hand-in-hand to the top of the spire, where Shadow Milk would lean in close, his lips puckered and his lashes fluttering– before he’d break into cackles and vanish in a gust of wind. Truthless Recluse would dream of nothing when he returned to bed alone.

He’d always figured those visions that haunted him were not his own, but he had never been sure. At the time, the idea of something frightening the beast of deceit had seemed incomprehensible- but now, with Shadow Milk Cookie, it didn’t feel so unusual. In fact, it felt harder to speak to him in a way that wouldn’t frighten him. 

So he does not pet the wolf’s head in his lap, nor does he gently stir him awake. Instead, he tips his body back, carefully keeping his legs still as he sprawls against the blanket in turn. 

He does not dream of nothing this time. 

Instead, when his mind grows distant and conjures up a world for him to rest within, he finds himself standing suspended up to his knees in… What is he in?

He squints through the darkness, staring down at the pale liquid his robe disappears into, and dips his fingers into the substance. Milk. Of course. 

He lifts the robe, wading through the lake and looking back and forth helplessly. Without his staff, he can only see what isn’t obscured by the foggy, scattered holes in his vision- and given how dark the room is, that is not much. So he straightens up and continues walking. 

“Shadow Milk Cookie?” He calls, his brows furrowed. Then, despite knowing better- “Are you all right?” He receives no response. A frustrated sound escapes him, and he continues walking.

There is no telling how long this dream will last, he thinks distantly. Shadow Milk has never been a cookie of brevity. Even his jokes must have a three-act-structure– it’s how a proper playwright thinks, Pure Vanilla Cookie! 

He supposes he sees some value in drawing out entertainment. Earthbread has been… unpleasant to live on, as of late. There is no harm in spending the time to simply enjoy oneself in a world full of so much loss, particularly for a cookie who has to have experienced more heartbreaks than most, what with his lifespan. But…

“You know–” he calls into the darkness, his jaw tight. “Some artists say less is more. Perhaps it may be good to challenge your former belief–” He yelps as he slams face-first into something cool and smooth. He stumbles, just barely keeping his balance enough to not fall backwards into the river, and lifts his gaze. 

Before him is a snake, beady blue eyes fixed on him as it dangles down from a tree. How had he not noticed a tree?

The snake’s eyes squint as if it’s smiling, though he’s quite sure serpents don’t possess the eye muscles to do such a thing. “You made it!” Shadow Milk chirps.

Pure Vanilla’s nose scrunches in confusion, and though he has other questions, he blurts the first one that comes to mind. “Why- why can the snake talk, but the wolf can’t?”

A soft cackle. “Maybe the wolf just didn’t want to talk to you, hmm?” He drops down from the tree fully, and Pure Vanilla extends his arms, catching the writhing creature instinctively. It winds around his neck, sprawling itself across his shoulders like a scarf. “Where’re you going?”

“I don’t know,” he says, leaning on the tree as he squints through the darkness. “I was hoping that you would tell me, Shadow Milk Cookie. Would you?”

The snake flicks its tongue out mockingly. “Nope,” he says. “Didn’t plan on it, anyway. Maybe if you say please?”

Pure Vanilla forces his expression to stay neutral. “Please?” 

“Hmm,” Shadow Milk says thoughtfully, before rolling onto his back, dangling upside down off of Pure Vanilla’s shoulders. “No, I didn’t like that. Sorry, got nothing for you, pal!”

Pure Vanilla lowers his hands back into the lake he stands in, lifts the edges of his robes, and resumes wading through it. “All right,” he concedes, grimacing as he feels the snake drape itself around his neck, coiling loosely. “I don’t suppose you’re lost as well, then?”

“No,” Shadow Milk replies, and he sounds unusually honest. “Well, I was. But that was ages ago!” He laughs, then, nudging against Pure Vanilla’s chin. “I’ve only returned to be your humble guide.”

“A guide who won’t instruct me where to go.” Pure Vanilla exhales deeply. “…Unconventional, to say the least.”

“That’d be cheating,” the serpent hisses. “I can give you some advice, though! You only have to ask. See? I’m not all bad.”

Pure Vanilla frowns. “I know you aren’t,” he says, not missing the sour look on Shadow Milk’s face. “Okay. Will you tell me where we are?”

Shadow Milk shuts his eyes. “The woods,” he mumbles. “On a picnic blanket. Right next to what’s left of my house.” He cracks one eye open to shoot a glare up at Pure Vanilla. “Thanks for that, by the way. Love what you did with the place.”

Pure Vanilla stumbles briefly over an uneven stone in the floor of the basin, then swiftly shakes his head, reorienting himself. “I see. Then, would you tell me what I am seeing?” He regains his footing.

“Somewhere I used to visit a lot.” Shadow Milk yawns, unhinging his jaw and exposing his fangs. “Old friend’s place.”

The words give Pure Vanilla pause. He doesn’t say that he doubts Shadow Milk having a friend, but he thinks the other cookie can tell anyway. “An old friend?” He echoes. “Another of the beasts?”

“Nope! No, I haven’t seen this friend in ages.” Shadow Milk’s head swivels back and forth. “But I thought you two might get along! You’re both total mood-killers, and…” He snickers. “You pull the same tricks to try and fool people into thinking you’re actually eating at mealtime. Seriously, you don’t really think I’d fall for that, do you?”

Pure Vanilla swallows, glancing away. “So he is here, then. Is that why you brought me here?” He asks, dutifully ignoring Shadow Milk’s comment. “To meet your… friend?”

“Mm-hmmm.” Shadow Milk nods. “He’s our destination. See? I did end up telling you!” The snake’s eyes squint gleefully. “Aren’t I a stellar guide?”

Pure Vanilla gave an indulgent hum of agreement. “That is one way to describe you. Though I do wish you’d given me my staff.” The snake pushes his head against Pure Vanilla’s cheek, and he tilts his head to let Shadow Milk peer ahead. “I would not have needed a guide so much then.”

“Hmm?” Shadow Milk hums lazily, tail swaying as he drops his head back down. “But then you wouldn’t need me. And the scene only works if we’re both here.”

Pure Vanilla’s lips press together, and he fixes the serpent with a look. “I would have brought you along either way. I didn’t do so because I needed you. I simply enjoy your company.”

A pause, and Shadow Milk’s head swivels to stare up at him. His eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open, the beast thoroughly defanged. Then, his eyes narrow into slits. “Nevermind,” he mutters, slithering down along Pure Vanilla’s arm to rest farther from his face. 

They continue walking. Shadow Milk’s serpent body keeps twitching anxiously, his tongue flicking out. He’s waiting for something. And he keeps inching just a bit farther down Pure Vanilla’s arm, so much so that the healer has to cradle him in his other hand to keep him from falling into the lake below for the last few minutes of their exploration. 

By the time Pure Vanilla spots the statue, he’s only a few paces from it, and he stops, face contorting in surprise. It’s so large, so towering and all-encompassing, that he wonders how he only now noticed it. He eventually concludes that Shadow Milk must have only just now decided that it could exist, and he stumbles closer. It’s a familiar face, though not one he’s ever met. 

His feet find a set of stairs, and he gives a relieved sigh. “Finally,” Pure Vanilla murmurs, hurrying up the platform. “We can rest here.”

“See?” The serpent says smugly, and Pure Vanilla pauses. 

“What?” He asks, eyes wide in the dark. 

“I told you we’d meet him,” Shadow Milk chirps, before in one swift movement, he bares his teeth and sinks them into Pure Vanilla’s dough. He yelps, and the serpent takes the opportunity to untangle himself from his arm—

— and plummet into the shallow depths below, eyes glinting with mischief all the while. 

“Shadow Milk Cookie!” He calls, stumbling and catching himself on another step. “Crumbs, I— I didn’t mean to-“ He babbles, and bends down to grasp for the snake’s body in the murky white. He grabs blindly onto the first thing he finds, but it’s no snake. Instead, his fingers intertwine with another set of fingers- warm and unmistakably belonging to another cookie. 

He nearly jumps back again, but forces himself to still. With a grunt of effort, he pulls the cookie up out of the lake, stumbling back onto the platform as they land next to him with a grunt. 

He pants for air, hair splayed around him, before he shakes his head and sits up, blinking rapidly. “Shadow Milk Cookie?” He asks, frightened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drop you- I’m sorry, are you-“ His voice fails him as he spots the figure sitting up alongside him. 

There’s a certain expression that Shadow Milk seems to constantly hold- always looking bitter, like he’s been scorned. His brows pinch together, his eyes narrow, and his smiles always show too many teeth to come from anything but the desire to scare away foes. The expression this cookie holds is bitter, but in a different way. His eyes are sunken and exhausted, pale blue lips starched and ironed into a polite smile. He is trying desperately to look attentive, and he is simply not there. 

“Pure Vanilla Cookie,” he greets, voice lacking any of the usual theatrical lilt it usually holds. “There’s no need to be sorry! I’m glad to see you.” He pushes himself to his feet, fixes his hair, and smooths down his robe, then offers a hand out to the other cookie. The stars speckling his hair shift and move restlessly as he speaks. Any time the stars cluster too closely together, they splash outwards, retreating away to the empty abyss of the rest of his hair. 

“You…” Pure Vanilla starts, then takes the hand, rising to his feet as well. He stares down at the smiling cookie before him. “Your hair,” he says slowly, unsure of where to start. 

“My hair?” Shadow Milk— or, witches, he doesn’t know— repeats. “Ah, do you dislike it?” His smile grows strained. “It’s been quite the source of envy in my other followers, so I know it can be—“

“Shadow Milk Cookie. Why do you still pretend?" Pure Vanilla interrupts and draws cautiously closer. “The Fount of Knowledge is you, of course, but from a time long passed. I’d rather speak to the cookie I already know.” 

The Fount of Knowledge stares back at him, eyes blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says plainly. “Please, come.” He turns away, and galaxies trail behind as he sits at the base of his statue. 

Pure Vanilla stares after him, then quietly follows. He sits alongside the Fount, hands in his lap. “If that is truly what you wish,” he says finally, brows furrowed in concern. “I suppose it is nice to meet you, Fount of Knowledge.”

“The sentiment is mutual,” he agrees, lifting his legs from the floor and folding them beneath himself. The Fount stares up at the endless black ceiling above. “I’d been waiting to meet you for a long time. Well- not you, specifically, um…” His nails scratch at an old scab on his knuckles. “But someone like you. You have no idea how thrilled I was to hear of someone else so dedicated to the truth,” he laughs, fixing his mismatched yellow and blue eyes upon his other half. Pure Vanilla feels strange only having one pair of eyes on him for once. 

“Right,” Pure Vanilla says softly, meeting the Fount’s gaze with lidded eyes. “I suppose it’s nice to meet another like myself. It’s frightening, sometimes. Being alone.” His eyes flick away. “Immortality is a heavy burden. How fortunate I am, then, to have another immortal so equipped to understand me, and I, him.” 

The Fount’s lips quirk upwards. “You took the words right from my mouth,” he says, shifting closer. The fabric of his robes brushes Pure Vanilla’s leg as a soft wind rustles through it, and Pure Vanilla briefly feels the wolf still curled up and resting against him in the woods. He’d almost forgotten he was still there. 

“Though there is one thing I don’t understand,” he starts, and the Fount tilts his head curiously. “Why bring me here? Why not have this conversation outside? If you truly wished for me to meet you like this, we could have done this in the waking world. I would not have minded.”

The Fount’s smile fades, and he turns his head away. Distantly, Pure Vanilla notices a faint, rhythmic drip, drip. Somewhere, a fountain continues to leak into the lake, despite having its supply long cut off. “Can’t you just play along? You’re a terrible improviser,” he grumbles, and eyes briefly peek out the star-speckled expanse of hair to glare at Pure Vanilla. 

Through the fog in his vision, Pure Vanilla sees the Fount’s features twisted in contempt. And through that, he sees Shadow Milk Cookie, desperate for another act– something to keep him wound up, something to keep him from pausing and thinking for too long. So, despite his better knowledge, he sighs and seats himself beside the prophet beneath his statue. “All right, Shadow Milk Cookie.” 

He tries to ignore the way his chest feels tight at the smile that spreads across the Fount’s face. “Good.” The Fount clears his throat. “You’re the only one who’s been here in a long time, you know.”

“Is that right?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t lie to you,” he says, and he isn’t wearing the typical grin Pure Vanilla would expect to be coupled with that sentence. He’s staring off into the lake below, eyes lidded and distant. “The last to stand here were pupils of mine, but they are long crumbled by now.” He carefully smooths his hands over his robes. “That was back when the milk lake still had a bridge, though.”

Pure Vanilla wants to ask why he could not have taken him to a version with the bridge, but he bites his tongue. “I see,” he says, gaze falling to the floor. “Then why allow me access? You didn’t seem pleased, last time I had access to your realm.”

The Fount of Knowledge toys absentmindedly with the lock clasped onto his collar. “I don’t know,” he says, then smiles. “But isn’t it nice? Not to know something?”

“It can be,” Pure Vanilla admits, “though, if you’ll forgive my skepticism, I believe you wish to know.”

“Do I, now?”

“Yes.” Pure Vanilla feels a hint of irritation emanating through the gemstone on his chest. “You were hoping I would know, and that I would share that knowledge with you. Though you’re reluctant to ask.” 

“And would you?” The Fount tilts his head to the side. “Tell me?”

Pure Vanilla lifts the edges of his robes, rising to his feet. “Certainly. Our souls are made of the same, after all- I sense that you would gather the knowledge from me one way or another, anyway.” He feels two wide eyes follow him silently. 

“You know more than any cookie- certainly any mortal, at least- has ever known. It is your purpose,” Pure Vanilla continues, and the stars in the Fount’s hair dim. “But,” he says hastily, “for all you know, I think none have ever truly known you. I would like to. Allowing me here…” He hesitates, then shakes his head and continues. He can’t afford to be unsure. “It is a test, is it not?”

“Of?” The Fount prompts, his expression devoid of any emotion. 

“Of…” A pause. “Whether or not I could… find this piece of you, correct? And… in all honesty, I probably could not have done so alone. But you guided me, Shadow Milk Cookie, and I truly am grateful.” Despite knowing better, he pushes further. “I think, despite your best wishes, you would make a wonderful friend.”

The Fount arches one eyebrow silently. 

“I-“ Pure Vanilla’s breath catches in a funny sort of way. “Unless… I apologize. Unless I’ve misunderstood your intentions. As much as I wish to understand you, I know that I have only—“

“Maybe!” The Fount chirps, rising as well as he peers up at the other cookie. “Maybe not. That’s my answer. To…” He waves a hand dismissively. “All of that.” He plasters a polite smile back onto his face. “Is that all, then?”

The fountain has stopped dripping, Pure Vanilla notices belatedly. The lake is stagnant. “I… What do you mean?”

“Well, I am the great Fount of Knowledge,” he explains, hands clasping behind his back. “None come to my domain without an answer they are seeking. Surely you have something you wish to know?” He grits out his next words through his teeth- words he’s clearly recited too many times. “How may I be of service?”

It was a trap. That much was obvious. Pure Vanilla had been the unwilling second player of too many of his games to not recognize that by now. Obvious as it was, however, Pure Vanilla takes the bait nonetheless. The last thing he wishes to do is hurt Shadow Milk, and as a jester, he is meant to entertain– he’d surely hate being ignored.

“Hmm,” Pure Vanilla hums in thought, “well, I’m not sure. I’m afraid most questions I have would be rather selfish.”

A snicker. “Selfish? Why, when has that ever bothered the oh-so-generous Fount of Knowledge? Go on.”

“Every day, I imagine,” he sighs, hands on his hips. “Fine.” 

He studies the smudged form before him, gaze flitting between the smears of blue and yellow making up the eyes of the Fount of Knowledge. He opens his mouth to ask What do you want? in desperate hopes that perhaps this will help him to understand, and instead when he exhales his words, he says:

“Why were cookies created?”

The Fount’s smile widens. 

Pure Vanilla’s brow furrows in confusion, and he steps back as the Fount approaches.

“Why did the witches create this world?” he continues, despite his hands raising to cover his mouth. These are not his words.

The lock on the Fount’s neck clicks, and his gaze flickers with a familiar teal- before he cackles, head tipping to one side. “See?” He breathes, and his head continues tilting. Pure Vanilla realizes with a lurch in his stomach that it is not stopping. Sugar crackles and dough tears as the Fount’s head twists off of his body, plummeting to the platform below with a sickening crack.

“You– I–” Pure Vanilla’s hands clap over his mouth, eyes locked with the jam-filled gaze of the Fount of Knowledge, and he stumbles backwards into the lake. He yelps as his footing slips, and he plummets into the cold water below–

–and resurfaces to a sunny day in the woods, his chest heaving, and a weight still resting on his thigh. 

He gasps for air, hands clutching at the picnic blanket below. “Shadow Milk Cookie?” he breathes, head snapping down to search for the beast he’d fallen into slumber with. Instead of fur, there’s unruly, tousled blue-black hair splayed across his lap, and a lithe form curled near his side.

“Hmm?” Shadow Milk hums without looking up, and Pure Vanilla could throttle him. But instead, he says,

“Are you all right?”

“As ever!” He chirps, then tilts his head up, chin resting atop Pure Vanilla’s side and jabbing painfully into his side. His smile splits his cheeks.

Pure Vanilla sits up, and Shadow Milk follows, tilting his head in faux-innocence. Pure Vanilla resists the urge to reach forward in preparation to catch it. “Why did you show me this?” He asks, his breathing still uneven.

“You wanted me to,” Shadow Milk shrugs, then kicks his feet out, legs splaying atop Pure Vanilla’s. “You wanted to know me, didn’t you, hmm?”

Pure Vanilla falters, his shoulders slumping. He grabs for his staff, blinking as he steadies his vision. “That happened to you?” When Shadow Milk only smiles back plainly, he continues. “Why did they–?” He shakes his head, lips pursed. “No, that’s a ridiculous question.”

“That’s the truth!” Shadow Milk sighs, wiping a fake tear. “Anywho, I’m over it! That act was totally getting old, anyway- the audience had to let their feelings be known! ‘Sides, ain’t I just perfect now?” He bats his lashes, then in a blur of color, shoots to his feet- then immediately hovers into the air, arms spread theatrically. “Gosh! We’ve just been dozing off for so long, haven’t we? I’m practically raring to go! Why, Pure Vanilla Cookie, we should go and destroy another of my homes! That’ll eat up some of this energy, hmm?”

Pure Vanilla blinks up at him, stunned, then shakes his head as he rises to his feet. “I… We could go for a walk?” He suggests, still slightly dazed. 

Shadow Milk giggles, turning away, though his hair twists like tendrils so that the eyes on the underside can peer back at Pure Vanilla. “Sure! Or, well, you go for a walk. I can fly. Sucker. Come on, get our basket. I didn’t finish my meal,” he orders sharply, already floating away. Pure Vanilla’s gaze lingers on him for a moment longer, before he obeys, lifting the basket and stuffing the wadded up blanket into it.

“Shadow Milk Cookie?” He pants as he catches up, basket balanced on his hip and his staff held in his free hand. The other cookie glances down at him, one brow arched skeptically. “Thank you.”

“Oh, sure,” he says dismissively, waving one hand. “Whatever. No biggie.” A beat, then, “What’re you thanking me for again?”

Pure Vanilla huffs out a weak laugh. He’s still reeling, but his mind is growing accustomed to the whirlwind of a cookie he’s walking with. “You shared your thoughts with me,” he says, nudging the beast with his elbow. “I do not know if you have done such a thing with another. I’m grateful to be trusted with your mind. A more precious gift I could not have asked for.”

A pause, and Shadow Milk slowly swivels his head to face Pure Vanilla fully, smile faltering. A moment passes, and he forces a laugh as his ears burn violet at the tips. “Oh, it’s–” His breath catches as he feigns nonchalance. “You really are one stupid old cookie, aren’t you? You still don’t recognize my tricks by now?”

A lie. Perhaps asking for truth from the Beast of Deceit after only a few weeks of sharing mealtimes is asking too much. So, Pure Vanilla plays along. “Oh, is that so?” He giggles, shaking his head. “My, I must have misunderstood. What a fool I am.”

Shadow Milk’s grin returns. “Mmm,” he sighs dramatically, thunking his fist gently against Pure Vanilla’s temple. “Poor thing. Still, in my endless generosity, I’ll accompany you a while longer. Still! You’ll get there eventually!” A pause, then his face sours, finger moving to jab accusingly at the soul jam of truth. “I’m not so sure about you, though. Traitor,” he mutters, giving a disapproving shake of his head as he straightens back up and resumes moving.

“Well, I and my souljam are very sorry to displease you,” Pure Vanilla says, gaze trained on the turned-away face of Shadow Milk Cookie. “How can I make it up to you?”

Shadow Milk Cookie swivels his body to hang upside down in the air, hands rubbing together sinisterly. “Oh, I’m so glad you asked!” He snickers. “See, I was thinking about a nice seven-course meal for tomorrow, with the finest berry juice- I’ve got just the vineyard in mind. Sugar won’t mind, I’m sure– and we can spice things up with—“

“Wait,” Pure Vanilla halts, brows furrowed as he clutches his staff tighter. Shadow Milk falters. 

“…What?”

“Where is that doll?” He asks, frowning. “You never truly told me. I’ve been searching for weeks, and I thought you would—“

“Oh!” Shadow Milk barks out a laugh, his shoulders slumping as he shrugs. “Crumbs if I know. Sorry, pal! What, you thought I had some kind of magical connection to all my creations? I don’t even know where my minions are right now! I’d have to go to my Other-Realm to tell, really! But, that little toy? No dice.”

Pure Vanilla must have looked truly disappointed, because Shadow Milk cackles softly. “Oh, relax! We’ll look for it next time,” he lies, before he clasps his hands back together. “Speaking of. Where was I?”

He continues his menu, and Pure Vanilla does not stop him as he rattles off demands. He’s certain he can acquire next to none of it, but… 

Well, he is expecting a letter from his friends sooner or later. Perhaps he can ask Hollyberry Cookie about this “vineyard…”