Chapter Text
Shadow Milk wasn’t cruel necessarily… it was more that he did just enough to be just *under* cruel. For example the puppet strings, one was attached to each of his wrists and each of his ankles with one around his neck. These weren’t permanent, most of the time they weren’t even there. Except Shadow Milk could materialize them whenever he wanted to. Being a prisoner of his felt almost like being a bratty bullies toy.
At the moment Pure Vanilla was cutting his hair. He had grabbed a shard of glass from a mirror the beast had smashed, trying to get it a bit more manageable. He hadn’t had his hair shorter than his butt in—god—years, but the long hair was impractical when all the beast would do is grab it and yank it and use it as fuel to “compliment” him.
“Fudge—!”
Pure Vanilla dropped the sugar shard on the floor, the delicate piece crumbling to pieces. He took his now bleeding hand and wiped the blood on his robes. He reached for his staff, the uncut hand still shaky regardless, and carefully healed himself.
He moved the staff to see his new hair.
Barely anything was cut.
Pure Vanilla could have sworn he felt the frosting strands snapping under the shard. He used his staff to get up, disheartened. He brushed his hand through his hair, tugging out the few strands that had been cut before going back through the halls.
He never stayed in one place for long because then Shadow Milk could find him easier, but he also never went far because the place was like a maze and is staff was the only reason he could see.
Pure Vanilla ended up in the most normal room. A normal looking room set up, but with Shadow Milks eyes everywhere. He never changed in here anymore and he much less did anything but sleep.
The reason? He had at first thought the eyes were just.. eyes. Not connected back to Shadow Milk, then the beast had commented on a birthmark on his back in a place that is never exposed. He doesn’t change in here anymore. He won’t put on a show.
Pure Vanilla climbed into the bed, it was surprising big. He had pushed it against the wall with the least eyes and covered the view of the others with pushing the dresser in the way.
He laid down, his mind slowing. It was something about this room that did that to his mind, making it slow and sticky like syrup, something else the beast had used to trick him.