Archive of Our Own

“My wing… oh, my poor, poor wing…”

Mystic Flour Cookie can see how deep the damage is, even without all of Eternal Sugar Cookie’s whining. Her wing— the right one— is twisted to an ugly angle, blue droplets of jam staining the snowy white of her feathers. Her wings seem so… naked now.

“I know.” She’s been attempting to be patient with her for the past ten minutes. Mystic Flour Cookie understands, and she understands deeply— Eternal Sugar Cookie is less rational, more prone to emotion, for everything she feels is amplified. And not just the feelings of her own, but of all the Cookies surrounding them. Any pain she feels will surely be doubled— perhaps tripled, or even more. “Please, stop moving.”

Tears brim the bottom of Eternal Sugar Cookie’s eyes. Perhaps it is selfish to do, but Mystic Flour Cookie finds herself admiring the glint. “I can’t,” she says, and moves more. Mystic Flour Cookie struggles not to tighten her fingers. “I- I merely… I can’t.”

This would be significantly easier if you just stopped moving. “It is alright.”

Mystic Flour Cookie can hardly focus herself. Her chest is at a constant buzz, tiny vermin scratching and biting at her dough and closing in her ribs. Healing magic would typically come easy to her— just like breathing— yet, oddly, she can hardly mend the muscles beneath this fractured wing.

“I shouldn’t have left my Garden...” It’s little more than a whimper now, the desperate wailing weakened to little more than a poor animal’s whine. “I was so— I was so foolish. I truly believed her… why did I dare believe the outside could be as beautiful as my Garden?…”

“Hush now, Eternal Sugar Cookie.”

This body is much too limiting… she would not be struggling so much, if she had the full extent of her power. The Soul Jam, resting heavily on her forehead, flickers weakly, fractured enough as it is. Any more strain, and all the power remaining within would dissolve from her fingers. Something churns heavily in her stomach at the mere thought. If she had her original power, if she could just focus, her ally wouldn’t be—

Something keeps tugging at her mind, dragging her focus away on the Cookie that currently needs her most. The others are still out there, so soon after escaping that silent curse— Mystic Flour Cookie had retreated the moment Eternal Sugar Cookie’s wing was twisted. Had they survived? Her stomach churns thinking of the possibility. She can only think of one thing— something sharp and blue. Something…

Another loud whine pierces her ears, highly pained and drained of luxury. Mystic Flour Cookie blinks, and looks down at her hands. She’d unintentionally reversed a significant amount of the progress she had made.

“Mystic Flour Cookie,” Eternal Sugar Cookie breathes, her own name but a mere whimper in the Angel’s mouth. Her heart clenches with… something. She isn’t sure what, exactly.

Mystic Flour Cookie swallows thickly. Her throat feels dry. “How… deeply troubling it is,” she says. Her fingers are already shaking— she pulls her hands away, and sets them on her lap. “My mind cannot seem to concentrate at the moment. I can only...”

Eternal Sugar Cookie lifts her head for a moment, and loses all her strength in an instant. Her head slumps against the ground, expression pained. “I should heal myself instead,” she mumbles, more to herself if anything. Even with her wing bent at such an unnatural angle, she attempts to sit up. “My Cloud, there is something. I can feel it. Your dough… you’re-“

“It is fine. Worry not for such ignorable injuries.” It’s easy to say out loud. The constant buzzing is but a tiny fraction of glass, and just as eat to turn an eye from. “I hold more energy in my dough than you do. Do not lose the little strength you have.”

The injured wing sits so awkwardly at Eternal Sugar Cookie’s side now that she’s upright, crumpled up and the feathers puffed. Her dress— coated thick with ash, stained with dried, barely-cooked caramel— is terribly ripped, a large slash along the fabric exposing the dough beneath it, a deep gash leaking blue, dried jam surrounding the open wound.

Splotches of red and blue and purple paint on her face, once-white feathered darkened to a sooty black, the edges of them curled beneath heavy flame. Sweet, pink dough melted and burnt, caramel glossing along her arms, neck, and face, icing drooping and melted. Her halo droops pathetically, halved in black, matching the burnt edges of those once-luscious ringlets. She can hardly even imagine how her own burning looks— she’s never going to able to get this acrid, bitter smell out of her nose.

“I can sacrifice my own strength, for you. Your Soul Jam is cracking,” she says, even with the tight strain on her face. Mystic Flour Cookie opens her mouth, and Eternal Sugar Cookie raises a hand. She closes it. “Come here, sweet thing. I know where it is, I can fix it. I must-“

The door crashes open, slamming against the crusting wooden wall at its side. Mystic Flour Cookie jumps under the noise, a jagged bite sinking its teeth into her chest. Whirling her head around, moving her body over Eternal Sugar Cookie’s, she registers the looming, bulking silhouette much too late.

Burning Spice Cookie ducks his head, slipping into the crumbling cabin. Jam leaks from his nose, a gash reaching from the side of his eye all the way down to the corner of his lip. The Beast grunts, slamming his shoulder against the wall. The wall trembles under the sheer force of his strength— Mystic Flour Cookie can see the damage immediately, a thick cut across his ankle.

Half-hazardly wiped off, a gray, glossy liquid coats over his crimson dough, antennae drooping to frame his scowling face. His axe is nowhere to be seen— left in the battlefield, she quickly presumes. It will return to him in due time. Replacing his beloved axe in his arms is…

Mystic Flour Cookie’s breath hitches in an instant. “…Shadow Milk Cookie?”

Their arm is completely crushed, golden jam pouring out of the cracks in ceaseless rivulets. That ridiculous outfit is almost completely shredded, torn just enough to expose the massive gash just below their fractured Soul Jam. Their dough— though always a light shade of cyan— seems to be significantly paler, eyes sunken into their skull. The underside of their hair is flooded with black, eyes closed and unaware.

Without regard for her own injuries, Mystic Flour Cookie forces herself to her feet. The open wounds scream with even the tiniest movement, and she ignores it. “It could not have been…” she swallows thickly. “What happened to them?”

“Blame the-“ Burning Spice Cookie shakes his head, growling deeply in his chest. Black smoke hisses through the sharp glaives of his teeth, fading meaninglessly. “Blame that wretched traitor…”

And, with a newborn scowl, he says, “Pitiful, really. If you are lowly enough to backstab another, at least have the dignity to put them down easily.”

There’s a ravenous fire in his eyes as he spoke, seconds away from bursting into a wildfire (perhaps it is rage. Not at Shadow Milk Cookie, no, but at the Cookie formerly in their ranks). She’s come to identify the minor differences). Her stomach churns just imagining the solid black armor belonging to the traitor in question— Mystic Flour Cookie herself had been a victim of that sword. Not fatal, exactly, but rough enough for damage. She had just enough time to close the wound just enough to weaken the bleeding before attending to Eternal Sugar Cookie’s own injuries.

“…Set them next to Eternal Sugar Cookie,” she orders. Burning Spice Cookie grunts, and complies.

Eternal Sugar Cookie shifts off to the side, her expression strained before she pressed both hands to her wing. Mystic Flour Cookie doesn’t know what she thinks of Shadow Milk Cookie’s own unconscious state— perhaps she thinks it a bit deserving. Mystic Flour Cookie doesn’t know. Burning Spice Cookie eases the Cookie onto the makeshift bedding, pulling away in an instant. Their dough has gotten paler, somehow. 

Their arm seems to be the worse of it, every crack so deep she can see the muscles beneath the dough, and their entire body is littered with cracks and scratches. Their knee is cut open, some of the edges of their body chipped off. One of Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes is swollen and a deeper blue, golden jam leaking from the corner of their mouth. The deliberate slash across their stomach is nearly just as nauseating as the arm, the dough around the open wound flared up.

She can hear the heavy thumping of Burning Spice Cookie’s feet, pounding heavily against the rotting flooring. Insistent, constant, restless. Every knock against softened wood scratches against her ears, dragging her focus to the endless stream of gold. She can’t bear to look at their face. If she were to…

Soft feathers press to her shoulder. Her body flinches even at even the graze, gaze tearing from the crumbled body to the Cookie at her side. Eternal Sugar Cookie seems to have healed the gash at her side— the wing, unfortunately, is still horribly mangled, only cracked to the correct angle by the tiniest degree.

Eternal Sugar Cookie’s hand slides near hers. Mystic Flour Cookie, in a flush of panic, immediately retracts hers the very moment she notices. Unfortunately, the Cookie she’s attempting to evade is particularly stubborn, and chases after it until her fingers sink together. Sharp claws tap on her knuckles, the warmth unpleasant; the churning in her stomach grows harsher, to the point of sickness rising in the back of her throat. Mystic Flour Cookie says nothing, and keeps her fingers loose even as the Beast squeezes her hand.

“How much strength do you have left?” Eternal Sugar Cookie’s voice is lowered, measured. Does she think her a timid animal?

“Just enough,” she says, voice thin. Eternal Sugar Cookie squeezes her hand again. Mystic Flour Cookie’s eyes, thoughtlessly, drift to the Soul Jam resting on thin, silver wires.

Thick cracks, translucent as they are, scatter behind the surface, its hot pink color dulled to a faded just enough to turn gray. It had more of a pink tint just seconds before… perhaps using too much of its power has exerted it.

Mystic Flour Cookie attempts to put the pieces of the scene together— when Silent Salt Cookie’s ghostly minions had ambushed them, Eternal Sugar Cookie had been the very first they had targeted. She had not been a witness to the majority of their confrontation. Just how strong had the traitor grown in his power? What magic had he used to oppose them?

She looks towards Shadow Milk Cookie’s own Soul Jam. It’s in a similar condition to all of theirs— dulled and heavily fractured, some of the pieces (just mere chips) missing to complete it. “Your help is unnecessary, Eternal Sugar Cookie,” she continues. “My hands are built to heal, I am more than capable.”

There’s the slightest puff of air at her side. Burning Spice Cookie seems to have stopped pacing, gaze burning into Mystic Flour Cookie’s back. It’s a sinking, dreadful feeling, a tight knot tied around her lungs.

Her head feels heavy, as if somebody had shoved a bundle of steel wool into it, letting its roughness rub against the nerves of her brain.

“And I was baked to cradle.” Another firm squeeze to her hand. Mystic Flour Cookie bites her tongue, bearing the sharp sting of teeth tearing through icing, and finds herself soothed at the sweet taste of jam. Those feathers rub along her back. “Allow me this moment. Rest for me, my Cloud. You’ve done enough for us.”

“I…” Eternal Sugar Cookie’s healing abilities are no match compared to hers. Her Soul Jam is heavily damaged. What if she were to harm Shadow Milk Cookie further? No doubt it would be unintentional, unless she were to be petty in such a crucial, needless moment, but the thought crawls over her skull. “Must I?”

“Rest.” An undisguised demand, laid out blatantly on the table, with no sign of the Cookie even considering backing down. Just her stare, hardened and convinced, is enough to convey the impression.

Pumping out that sweet, lucid scent (how curious, how Eternal Sugar Cookie has just enough power to do that. Perhaps it comes built within her, rather than her Soul Jam), a single deep breath is all it takes to for a haze to cloud her thoughts. “Do me this favor, Mystic Flour Cookie. Won’t this grant you easy pleasure?”

She almost rejected the idea right then and there. She was willing, formed the words in her mouth no matter how wobbly they were, and opened her mouth— “Won’t you grant me— them— this easy pleasure?”

Her voice sounds wobbly to Mystic Flour Cookie’s ears. She isn’t sure if it’s her own ears failing her, or if Eternal Sugar Cookie truly sounded that way. In that delicate sing-song that lured her astray, a wandering Emissary ensnared in the harpy’s gentle wings. It’s always been this scent, even when they were… hm.

Artificial just to the slightest degree, no longer as natural as it once was, yet still overwhelmingly sweet. Delicious candy mixed with lavender and cinnamon, caramelized into something delicious in her mouth. Too much of it floods her lungs in an instant, the taste lingering in her mouth— it’s so, so sweet. Her teeth ache just taking it in, rot growing over her gums until she dreads clenching her jaw.

The smell is thick in her nose, strumming the strings of her nerves until they loosen, even the tiniest train of thought shutting down its wheels under this thickening, cloying haze. A canopy of feathers descending upon her head, surrounding her from every side, dyeing everything in black. The Angel’s eyes serve as the only light source now, that entrancing pink glow boring itself into her retinas, so beautiful and powerful she couldn’t—

“Do not play these tricks with me, Eternal Sugar Cookie,” Mystic Flour Cookie says, her hand reaching for Shadow Milk Cookie’s body. They’ve already wasted too much time— any longer and they’d crumble. “Give me space. Now.”

She tried to sound serious, perhaps even intimidating, she truly did— she even put force behind her tone. Eternal Sugar Cookie merely shook her head, her expression pitying. Her stomach twists at the mere idea of how she looked in the Cookie’s eyes. Does she look pathetic? Weak? Frail?

…Pitiful. A Cookie like herself shouldn’t linger on such thoughts.

“Burning Spice Cookie, my dear?” She calls. At his own corner, glowering towards the tilted door as if it were the traitor standing before him, the brute turns his head. “Take Mystic Flour Cookie away, please.”

The Cookie’s muscles are tense, terribly tense, and his thigh twitches every five seconds. Even with his own set of healing magic, he hasn’t bothered to patch up his own wounds, leaving them to keep bleed out in the open. Vibrant orange jam trickles down his arm, dripping in droplets that splatter on the rotting wooden flooring. Occasionally he’d blink towards the door, shuffling a bit, before he eventually gave up and rose to his feet.

“You cannot-“ Mystic Flour Cookie, in her attempt to protest, receives a gentle shove from behind. Burning Spice Cookie is growing nearer. “You cannot do this. I am the healer here, that is my power, and I know this foolish Cookie best. I must-“

“Poor thing.” Eternal Sugar Cookie’s tail— a scratchy dryness has overtaken its skin— whips back and forth, betraying her attempt to hide her growing irritation. More of that scent pumps into the air, irritating her nostrils, weighing down her tongue until even the mere thought of speech was impossible. “Please, allow yourself a moment of rest. Sacrifice not your lasting energy for a Cookie as lowly as They.”

“I care not for this silly debate between you two.” Burning Spice Cookie huffs the very moment he’s close enough, fanning his hand as if it would ward away the scent. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it— perhaps time in the Spicelands and constantly breathing in the dust of crumbled Spices had hardened him.

“Healing magic is healing magic. Simple as that.” With deep, searing attitude, he jabs a finger at Shadow Milk Cookie’s body. Mystic Flour Cookie shudders. “And for our own sakes, just heal them! Crumble your very doughs if you have to, just do it. Either of you!”

Eternal Sugar Cookie presses Mystic Flour Cookie’s hand to her lap, her gaze never once straying from Mystic Flour Cookie’s. Her gaze scorches into her own.

“If one of us were to be harmed doing such a simple, mundane thing,” she says, voice quiet and utterly delicate. Her voice has always been a pleasure to listen to, even stringed with such preventable fragility. “I’d rather it be me than you.”

“My Muse…” it’s the last bite of words Mystic Flour Cookie can say before Burning Spice Cookie’s arms come to wrap around her waist, tugging her up and against her chest.

The harshness of his scent breaks through that cloying, sweet-tinged haze, nutmeg and paprika mingling together to sting her nostrils with deep every breath. His body is undoubtedly, uncomfortably hot, almost burning her skin as they come in contact. Had it not been the clothing she wears and her own immortal dough, she likely would’ve burned to a crisp.

“My Muse. My— my Muse!” Just the slightest degree higher, once Eternal Sugar Cookie’s hands reach for Shadow Milk Cookie’s half-crumbled body.

She attempts to slip out of Burning Spice Cookie’s grasp (his grip is soft enough, he’s hardly put any pressure behind it), and he lets her, just for her knees to buckle in an instant. A single slip is all it takes, and she’s tumbling down, before Burning Spice Cookie’s hands hold her by the shoulders. Somehow, her balance is recovered. Her knees still quiver. “Eternal Sugar Cookie, you know not what you are-“

“Let her work,” Burning Spice Cookie says, voice as dry as the very dust that populates his domain. Though the urge to protest buzzes at the very tip of her tongue, Mystic Flour Cookie— just barely— manages to restrain herself. How pointless it would be, to argue against them both.

Light blossoms around the angel’s fists, mirroring the glow coming from her Soul Jam. A beautiful, fluorescent pink, ribbons of cyan and yellow dancing around the buzzing luminescence, fading in and out, before her hands move closer to Shadow Milk Cookie’s body. The floor is soaked through with golden jam, and the Soul Jam’s light keeps flickering. One second it returns to its original lively pink, and the next it’s fully gray with only the tiniest splotch of rosy pink.

Mystic Flour Cookie swallows thickly, the last bit of saliva her mouth could muster scratching at her throat, gone fully dry. She’s never quite enjoyed how warm Burning Spice Cookie is— more broiling, more blackened smoke, a crackling fire untamed by the hands of the Gods. The sheer heat of his body unpleasantly soaks into the wound at her side, a hissing sting that urges her to move, and move away, and still her feet remain stone.

The feelers mounted atop Burning Spice Cookie’s head twitch. Mystic Flour Cookie hasn’t looked up at his face, but they always make the lightest sound whenever they move. He pulls away just enough, until the heat is but a light buzz along the very edge of her burnt robes. Turning her head the slightest degree, she can see Eternal Sugar Cookie’s hands pressed to Shadow Milk Cookie’s chest (unmoving, the ribs beneath cracked without a doubt).

Her stomach churns awfully at the sight, acid burning at her throat. She can still do something. Heavily cracked her Soul Jam may be, she has enough power to spare. She can do it, she can. All it takes is a simple…

She had only felt this sense of Helplessness once before, when threads of spider silk hung around her throat. A sinking, dreadful feeling, where she feels everything— every little sense, every little thought, every inch of undeniable pain— and yet nothing at all.

Burning Spice Cookie lightly squeezes her arm. She does not respond to it. When no resistance comes, Burning Spice Cookie pulls her to one corner of their uneven abode. And in an act of undeniable selfishness, she lets him, and keeps her gaze away from where the body rests.

Burning Spice Cookie sits down, one arm draped over his knee, and Mystic Flour Cookie sits down at his side, biting back the wince the wound at her side brings. The Beast’s ears twitch at the slightest shift of her expression, however unnoticeable they may be— she can see it at the corner of her eye. Those scorching orange pinpricks, never not carrying a prominent glow cutting through the dancing darkness, sharp enough to cut through the silk of her sleeve and pierce her dough.

“The scent of jam is strong with you, Prophet,” he says, rather gruff. He’s always been awfully observant, when he truly desires to be. Countless hours studying the difference of architecture and cuisine depending on location and environment before his very eyes, studying every corner and crevice with patience and inspection, all mounted to dissect the wound leaking at her side. “Are you attempting to hide something?”

She considers deceit. The thought is easier, to merely excuse the jam soaking into her robes as Eternal Sugar Cookie’s, when she carried her off the battlefield and into this domain. But what a flimsy excuse it is, when the blood that taints the angel’s circuits is the deepest blue, and her own the deepest black, better fit for parchment than the veins of the Cookie. Even the dullest and most mindless of creatures would disprove it— and, for all his natural recklessness, Burning Spice Cookie is anything but.

Her mouth forms something else instead. “My dough may not be strong at the moment,” a weak beginner sentence, she shall admit. Burning Spice Cookie seems to agree, if only by the way those pupils narrow. “But it shall mend itself eventually. There is no point in exerting myself for such a minor injury.”

“Minor injury?” Burning Spice Cookie repeats, the word weighing carefully on his tongue. Restraining her own, Mystic Flour Cookie. “Do you know what a minor injury is?”

The Beast flexes his arm. In an instant, orange jam pools out the large gash across his bicep, falling in tiny rivelets. They cling to the very edge of his muscle, a few droplets too weak to hold on, and dripping onto his thigh.

The gash is deep, at least deep enough to see fat beneath the layer of crimson dough. Silent Salt Cookie’s blow must have been an intense one, but Burning Spice Cookie’s body is built to handle. His wound is much lesser in comparison to her own, done mere seconds after the traitor caught Eternal Sugar Cookie by surprise and broke her wing.

“This is a minor injury,” Burning Spice Cookie says, gesturing to his arm. Then, he jabs a finger at her side. “That is not.”

“You are not the healer here,” Mystic Flour Cookie speaks through gritted teeth. “I am. Do you claim to know more than a healer?”

Burning Spice Cookie’s upper lip pulls up, just enough for the glint of the gold coating his teeth. “I know better than the Cookie too cowardly to show their wounds,” he speaks in a growl. “Display it with pride, Mystic Flour Cookie. I hold enough power to-“

Her lips purse at the mere thought. “Do you think me fragile?”

“I think you as foolish,” he says. “Hiding something like that. Come here, and allow me to mend it.”

Mystic Flour Cookie edged the other way, the wound instantly screaming for her to accept such a humiliating deal. “No. Eternal Sugar Cookie’s wing is still mangled.”

Burning Spice Cookie furrows his brows. “I may not know enough healing magic to fix Shadow Milk Cookie, I have just enough knowledge and power to fix both you and the Angel,” he insists, adding more force to his voice. Thoughtlessly, Mystic Flour Cookie’s eyes shift to his shoulders— broad, muscled, and hardened enough to endure any weight.

Jam trails down his back, hidden by the angle, and the thick mane weighing across his back. If she looks close enough, she can recognize their size and shape— puncture wounds. The exact point of a spear, she discovers.

She had always thought him to be Silent Salt Cookie’s favorite… in the most loose description of the word. Thinking of it now, she cannot recall a time where Burning Spice Cookie never not demanded the knight attend to his need for attention— whether it be another spar or something mundane. Burning Spice Cookie has a rather intense interest in cultural evolution and progression.

She herself has been a victim to his lectures a handful of times, whenever he felt more sentimental and abandoned his axe at the entrance of the Pagoda.

She’s never thought him to be the clingy sort. Or, rather, clingy with her, or Shadow Milk Cookie and Eternal Sugar Cookie. At the very least, Silent Salt Cookie was willing to indulge in his constant advances, albeit with a lackluster attitude.

Burning Spice Cookie had always beamed after another moment with him, a constant, boisterous sunshine shining down on his dough… she cannot possibly imagine what he could be feeling at the moment. She herself can’t even begin to untangle the knot tugging at her brain, a strange gray bundle at its center with everything shoved into it all at once. She can’t even begin to think of untying it, for doing so would cause everything to burst out within seconds.

“Why do you resist?” Burning Spice Cookie asks. “This behavior harms nobody but yourself.”

“It will harm you, too,” Mystic Flour Cookie mutters dully, perhaps a bit too low for her own liking, but she could not be bothered to argue any further. Her eyes feel heavy, so, so heavy, every limb daring to fall from their sockets.

Burning Spice Cookie’s expression softens, just enough for her to catch. Thin pinpricks grow fuller, orange flushing out the red. He opens his mouth, perhaps to make another demand of her, until a sharp gasp— shrill and sudden— cuts any further change at bargain.

Both heads snap towards Eternal Sugar Cookie, poised over her work. The angel’s wings flare behind her back in a dazzling display of muddied white before she took a step back, done the very moment life breathed into Shadow Milk Cookie’s lungs.

Reanimated, the cracks across their dough lightened to thin slits, Shadow Milk Cookie hacked and coughed (Mystic Flour Cookie had only heard such sounds once before, comparable to that of a creature’s gurgling cries after its throat had been severed), before doubling over, sharpened hand clutching at their throat.

The sole exception was their arm, still bleeding that same golden jam, even with Eternal Sugar Cookie’s vigor rushing through their veins.

Eternal Sugar Cookie’s hand slowly nears Shadow Milk Cookie’s side, fingers twitching just a mere inch away from their paled dough (slowly regaining its original, darker tint), seconds before her arm droops onto her lap. Without so much as a peep, the angel tilts to one side, before fully collapsing on the wooden floor.

“Eternal Sugar Cookie!” The name comes from Burning Spice Cookie’s mouth, but it is Mystic Flour Cookie who is faster.

In an instant she’s on her feet, ignoring the screaming at her side and the sore ache in her calves before rushing to the other side of the room. Her knees buckle the very instant of being in Eternal Sugar Cookie’s reach, tumbling to the floor before she could properly kneel down and hook her arms around the other Cookie.

With a poor, shuddering breath, Mystic Flour Cookie pushes herself up, and cups her arms around the angel’s body. Tugging her own weight backwards, Mystic Flour Cookie hoists Eternal Sugar Cookie’s body up, remaining careful of the delicate wing laying limp.

“Eternal Sugar Cookie,” Mystic Flour Cookie hisses through her teeth. Her fingers quiver, tightening around the ripped, white silk loose on the angel’s form. “Eternal Sugar Cookie, can you hear me?”

Her eyes, dulled to a near lifeless shell, have a watery glaze coating now. Those pupils can hardly even track her, trailing awkwardly at her face before dipping to the stretch of her neck, before snapping back up to her face. Eyelids droop over them, pupils so heavily dilated the pink is washed by a sea of white. The Soul Jam is little more than large splotch of gray, thick cracks webbing across its surface. And still, that pink tail of hers takes the opportunity to shake its tip, wagging back and forth in weak yet utter glee.

“Oh.” It’s the only sound Eternal Sugar Cookie could make, beneath the rapid gasping of Shadow Milk Cookie. With Mystic Flour Cookie’s hands on the Angel, Burning Spice Cookie took to the Jester, awkwardly reaching his arms out, just to pull them away after getting snarled at. “How curious it all is, Mystic Flour… Cookie. I had never…”

The Angel groans, head dipping backwards. An icy chill trembles along her spine, and Mystic Flour Cookie readjusts her hands on Eternal Sugar Cookie’s body, each movement shaky and frantic until both hands come to rest across her back, careful of one of the wings.

Shadow Milk Cookie seems to have fully recovered, the coughing fit reduced to by the slightest hint of breath. Mystic Flour Cookie hasn’t looked at them once, and feels guilt weigh down heavy on her ribs. She avoids looking at their face, focusing instead on the Cookie grinning at the edge of Death.

“Haha…” Eternal Sugar Cookie breathes through her mouth, eyelids drooping over her eyes fully. Panic runs through Mystic Flour Cookie’s veins, her hands ready to shake the Angel awake before a sharp jolt suddenly lifts those eyelids back up. “Shocking, is it not? Me, sacrificing my very life for… Them.”

“You are not sacrificing anything,” Mystic Flour Cookie insists, an ugly quiver shaking the middle of her sentence. “You will live, just like the rest of us.”

“Oh…” Eternal Sugar Cookie‘s voice a mere whisper. “But will I?”

Mystic Flour Cookie swallows thickly. Oh how she hates this attitude, such nonchalance at the doors of slumber eternal, a taste of utter contempt she had never once felt before (she doesn’t believe so, at the very least). “You will.”

“I have fulfilled my purpose…” Eternal Sugar Cookie says, her jaw barely working around the words. That tail of hers, conniving and yet wobbly (just as burnt as the rest of her body, angled sharply and still awkwardly), nudges against her elbow. “This has made you Happy, has it not? Shadow Milk Cookie, vile though their dough is…” she sighs, her lungs shuddering with the noise. “…is alive. Haha. Delightfully poetic, isn’t it?”

“And you will be all right, too,” Mystic Flour Cookie says, the force in her voice amplified further. Lifting her gaze, it meets Burning Spice Cookie’s. The Beast’s massive hand rests on Shadow Milk Cookie’s shoulder, the jester themself staring blankly at the rotting flooring. Their eyes unfocused, perhaps a bit glossy, stare widely into an indescribable nothing, the silence of them wider than the cracks still scarring their dough.

“I was right. I knew I was right. Allow me the opportunity to crumble in your arms, my most dearest Cloud…” Eternal Sugar Cookie says with a voice so sweet, one hand wobbling towards her face, just for the chance to cup her cheek. “You are possibly the closest thing to-“

Oh, dear. She had sacrificed so much of her own power for this, and her decided last words are…

Mystic Flour Cookie, readjusting her position again, gently pushes the hand back down. “You are not going to crumble. Do not say things like that.”

Eternal Sugar Cookie sighs again, a notable inch of despair painting her pretty face. Mystic Flour Cookie attempts to ignore it, focusing on igniting the light at the very edge of her fingertips. “Then what was even the point of it all?”

“You saved Shadow Milk Cookie,” Mystic Flour Cookie says. The very words scrunch the dough between the Angel’s brows, just the tiniest sliver of annoyance crossing her lip. “That is the noble truth. Nothing less than that, and nothing more.”

“Let me crumble.” With the way Eternal Sugar Cookie said it, it sounded less like a pained demand and more like a childish whine. If she weren’t half-dead, she surely would’ve smacked her thigh with that tail in furthered protest. “Didn’t you grant wishes once? Do you not preach the idea of returning to nothing? Let me crumble.”

The very ends of Mystic Flour Cookie’s lips twitch, a bitter taste rubbing against the roof of her mouth. Should she be offended at that? She isn’t entirely sure. “That is not…”

She knows what she meant, at the very least.

What path would lead to lesser suffering for this unfortunate Cookie? They had all wanted to crumble, just moments before, born from awful shock, seconds after the iciness faded from their doughs. Faced with a sudden, yet inevitable betrayal, with no one to count on but themselves without their fifth Virtue… how far would they go if they lost two Beasts in the same day?

“…No.” Voice hardened, Mystic Flour Cookie shakes her head. “I would rather you remain with us.”

Burning Spice Cookie had taken over in her stead with a look of easing pity, using the fire in his hands to mend the twisted muscle on Eternal Sugar Cookie’s wing.

Eternal Sugar Cookie’s face fell the very instant her plea was rejected. A shiny clear coat washes over the sweet white and pink of her gaze, almost unnoticeable, before the Angel moves to frantically wipe at her eyes. Mystic Flour Cookie had been so unfortunate as to catch it, and though something within her calls it to attention (perhaps to soothe, as if her hands were even capable), she stills the urge within her dough. She turns to the jester instead, staring mindlessly into an unseen beyond, who hasn’t spoken a word since their awakening.

“What point is there if there is no…” she hushes up in an instant, that pouty expression replaced by the deep bind of her lip, and the folds between her brows as Burning Spice Cookie grew even nearer.

“Are you even qualified to be a healer?” She had asked the very moment he dared lift his hands (course and stained with jam, with thin lines of mercury), voice heightened to match her disbelief. “No offense to you, of course, but I have never necessarily taken you to be the…” pulling her upper lip back, Eternal Sugar Cookie swipes a hand just above her throat. “…gentle type.”

Burning Spice Cookie’s expression is especially pained, a certain pull to his lip and tug to his eyelids. “Have faith in me,” is the only argument he can muster, voice lowered and fully dry.

“Of course. I would never be the type to question your judgment…” Eternal Sugar Cookie closes her eyes, for the briefest moment, shifting the angle of her neck just to avoid the scorching of those eyes. “…Mostly. However, I can call to question… are you sure you know what you are doing?”

Burning Spice Cookie’s pupils narrow intensely, slits of orange vanishing into bloody crimson, the slightest hint of golden fang poking out from his upper lip. Just the slightest movement, and that needle point slices into the soft fat of his lip, until orange jam dribbles down.

“Do not waste my time,” Those words are spoken in little more than a growl, a certain lackadaisical drip soaking into the deepness of his voice. “I’m growing bored with all your attempts to delay.”

One wing flutters, perhaps in growing offense, greyed feathers dancing in the icy air. Within a second, that same wing falls limp. “Well, I am merely ensuring-“

“Ensuring your own crumbling and lowering our numbers even further?” It’s an easy snap back, words spoken so matter-of-fact by the Great Destroyer himself that the Bringer of Happiness can argue nothing but silence in return.

Eternal Sugar Cookie’s jaw locks in an instant, her head tilting forwards. Ashamed, perhaps, caught in her silly game. Those ringlets— burnt to a crisp they may be— rustle along their owner’s face with every tiny slight, and frame her face so precisely until the shadows fade over her face. She sits in silence and, clearly having won this minor debate, Burning Spice Cookie reaches for her with burning hands, crimson light orbiting those fists.

“Though pleasurable it would be to hasten your end myself, my hands shall not be the ones to harbor such mercy.”

Mystic Flour Cookie, in the entire debacle, had attempted to inch closer to Shadow Milk Cookie. Would they allow her to be this near at such a vulnerable moment? Even she is unsure. Infamous for sudden bursts of rage or violence, she has never been quite able to predict their next move whenever that jabber of theirs finally screwed shut.

There’s a gentle murmur behind her. “Had you seen…”

“Gone.” Burning Spice Cookie’s answer is louder and gruffer. “Followed the butterflies.”

Careful and slow, mindful, as if encountering a wounded animal dying on a patch of grass. The muscles in her arm throb as she stretches it in their direction, the very tips of her claws twitching, even aching to rest upon the open stretch of their shoulder. And as those blackened razors grace the ruffles of their collar, those muscles finally fall limb, drooping pathetically to the wooden flooring.

“…Shadow Milk Cookie?” The words shake over her tongue, unequal and wobbling. She nearly cringed at the sound of her own voice, yet still she resists against the sudden flushing of her cheeks.

No reaction beyond the tension between their shoulders, rigid and frozen to ice. Mystic Flour Cookie curls her fingers, bringing them inward until a honed sting slices streaks across her palms.

“I want to go back to the Garden. I want to go back home. I… we’ll...”

“Not now, Eternal Sugar Cookie. Stop moving.”

Some of the icing has melted off the Jester’s head, droplets of azure staining the rotting wood. The tendrils spanning across their back writhe and twitch, perhaps the only movement from the unusually silent Cookie, any trace of starlight remaining in such perfect icing gone in an instant.

Mystic Flour Cookie can remember if she tries just hard enough. How, exactly, had Shadow Milk Cookie taken Silent Salt Cookie’s betrayal? She remembers whispers, murmurs, beyond the hitch of Eternal Sugar Cookie’s breath, and the bellowing of a furious Burning Spice Cookie… It was all too quick, too many things happening at once she couldn’t account for before her dough had solidified in but an instant.

Indeed, only a Cookie as silent as he could harbor so many secrets beneath such rigid armor… they should’ve known. She should’ve known. Could she have avoided this course, if only she had touched the threads always hanging just at the corner of her mind?

If she had simply swallowed the lingering doubt at the back of throat, wondering if— knowing— something had been wrong with him, could they have gotten out of this battle not only victoriously, but entirely unharmed?

She tries again, “Shadow Milk Cookie?”

That appears to do it. The very base of their neck cracks the second their head shoots up, melted icing dripping off the shape of their hair in rivelets, blue spots soaking into the floor streaked with black. Their hands span out across the flooring, needle-pointed talons tearing through the squishy wood, the spongy material crackling where it splits, yielding helplessly to the force of their fingers like damp, rotting fruit.

“That…” It’s little more than a quiet murmur, wobbling past their lip. The careful whispering between Eternal Sugar Cookie and Burning Spice Cookie shushes soon after, focused more on the venomous bite in just one word.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s chest heaves with every shuddering breath, every sharpened exhale an echo in her own ears. Pearled whites glint where their lips pull, jagged needles stabbing into the meat of their gums.

“That…” the snarl brims the edge of their tongue. “…that little violet-blooded, butterfly-drooling, secret hoarding TRAITOR!”

Mystic Flour Cookie hardly even had the chance to blink. The very next second the air itself seems to still, a harsh azure hue washing every board of wood within this damp, decrepit cabin. The air thrums with newfound yet trembling power, a growing hum buzzing in her ears. Burning Spice Cookie strews his arm over his eyes, Eternal Sugar Cookie— finally energized, wing healed just enough to flex the joints— hides beneath the folds of her wings. Mystic Flour Cookie can do nothing but squeeze her eyes shut, a harsh light swallowing the very center of this abode.

Reality itself contorts to the half-dead jester’s will, a burst of light blossoming beautifully right before Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes. Ink soaks into the light, a degree nearly blinding sinking into a deep blue, until at last Mystic Flour Cookie can look without burning her corneas.

The magic swirls in the air, contented in its orb shape, strumming in this continuous hum comparable only to the yawning of a comet. Splotches of lighter azure stain its inner fog, sharpened ovals blinking at her, the very power it borns from shuddering under waning strength. Yet even as it flickers in reality, it stretches its tendrils and blinks the eye centered at its core, beckoning forward its wayward creator.

Even as the portal flickers in and out of existence, Shadow Milk Cookie pushes themself up, huffing and puffing with every tiny jolt rushing through their reanimated dough. Panic bites at Mystic Flour Cookie’s chest, urging her to move her frigid limbs, or shout and argue, to do literally anything to stop this, and ultimately, she does nothing but stare. Stare with a dropped mouth, words lingering in the racks of her brain, yet turning into undistinguishable mush in her mouth. How utterly useless, truly.

With a vibrating throat, the jester practically throws themself forward, extended fingers just inches away from being swallowed up by the thrumming darkness—

—Just for a sudden, anchoring weight to snap around their ankle, their attempt to escape this scene ultimately ceased by a graceless drop to the floor with a heaving “oof!”. Their dough sizzles beneath the scorching heat, an odd mix with the lingering chill of the icy, nitrous other realm once at the very tips of their fingers. The portal flickers again, flashing out of view before reemerging once more, its tendrils retracted back into its depths.

Shadow Milk Cookie snarls in frustration, head whirling back to glower at whatever— whoever— dared to halt them in their tracks. Indeed, it is just as awful as they had expected, the large brute’s fingers digging into the dough of their ankle.

“What are you DOING?” The Jester practically shouts. “Let me go, dammit!”

Burning Spice Cookie’s grip on them doesn’t loosen. If anything, it only tightens, until at last the points of his claws draw white lines across Shadow Milk Cookie’s leg.

“It has not even been a full thirty minutes since you regained your bearings!” he says. There’s a breath of exasperation beneath that hardened layer of collectance, a rather unusual mantle for Burning Spice Cookie of all Cookies to take on, as he tugs the Jester back and away from the humming vortex.

Mystic Flour Cookie cups her side, and cringes at the cooling jam still sticking to her dough. More of it has dried now, at the very least, even if the wound is still wide open.

She takes her chances, and on wobbling knees, pushes herself up. The thin layer of dried jam cracks under her movement, careless that is was, a sharp jolt of pain piercing her side. Her teeth ache under the clench of her jaw, and forces herself to silence.

“You would crumble in an instant, unthinking fool,” she hisses through her teeth instead, watching distastefully every punch, kick, and writhe. Eternal Sugar Cookie had moved to her side, one hand reaching for her own. Mystic Flour Cookie does little to resist the entwining of their fingers, and still smacks the other hand sneaking up on her bleeding side. “Even with all our power, we are utterly obsolete with those immortals on their side.”

“I don’t caaare!” Shadow Milk Cookie drawls (dramatic and childish, even at this very moment. Terrible, truly), lifting one leg and slamming the very sole of their foot against Burning Spice Cookie’s lower abdomen. He merely grabs their other ankle, and tugs them back again. “I don’t care if those gnats knock me out. Ha- I don’t even care if they take this worthless Soul Jam!”

Their legs seem to soften beneath Burning Spice Cookie’s hands, a strange, moist texture rubbing against the palm of his hands. Spongy, almost, slimy, translucent residue sticking to his fingers. Cringing, his grip loosens around the Jester’s ankles, and instantly Shadow Milk Cookie wiggles their way out of his hands with a wobbling laugh.

That portal beckons them, practically shouting their name in that lucrid, constant thrum. They can’t push themself up anymore, legs proven too weak to do anything but crawl. It matches the rush of their jam through their veins, the very pounding in their head, this constant noise finally pushing them to crawl. “So what if they crumble this worthless body, hm? So what if they rip me up limp from limp?!”

Eternal Sugar Cookie, with her attempt ultimately fruitless, squeezes Mystic Flour Cookie’s hand a final hand before pulling away entirely, breezing to Burning Spice Cookie’s side. Mystic Flour Cookie bothers not to follow after her— not immediately, at least.

“Why aren’t you…” it’s a brief whisper she catches, pressed hard to Burning Spice Cookie’s ear.

Burning Spice Cookie, in return, shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Just a little bit more now, and they would reach that portal. The flickering has gotten worse now, every blink-and-you’ll-miss-it second matching the very pounding of their heart. Every inch forward is another scratch against their knees, cracked wood biting into their dough the closer they get to their goal.

“I’m not letting myself rest until I get my hands on him. I’m not crumbling until I finally tear that lying little rat apart with my bare hands, DOUGH AND SOUL, AND WATCH AS HIS JAM STAINS EVERY CURRENT RUNNING THROUGH EARTHBREAD!”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s fingers graze the very edge of the portal, an icy buzz prickling their dough, trembling down the stretch of their spine—

Just for that heat to snap around their ankles, the same instant the portal vanishes in a mere blink. Shadow Milk Cookie wheezes, a powerful punch of horror hitting their chest. Their hands reach up frantically, scratching at the air, straining their eyes as if that would somehow make it reamerge.

“Ohhh,” Burning Spice Cookie growls, a toothy grin splitting across his face. “Such righteous but mismanaged fury! Bitter and anguished all at once, broiling with betrayal!” One more tug backwards, and a newfound screech from Shadow Milk Cookie’s throat. “…but ultimately useless, with that fragile dough. You’d fall to the jaws of a cream wolf sooner than you would the traitor’s sword.”

“No, no, no, no…” a worthless chant it was, claws grazing wood in an attempted protest, just for their body to drag against the wood— like a large cleaning rag. “I had it. I was going to… there was a…”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s head spins to the Cookies behind them. All with mirroring expressions, just with light differences. Lines mar Burning Spice Cookie’s face, inked between his brows and the spread of his cheeks. Dark smudges bleed into the beneath of his eyes, matching the toothy grimace carved onto his face. Eternal Sugar Cookie herself offers them an expression of pity, wings fluttering weakly at her sides, before coming to curl around her torso. Mystic Flour Cookie can’t even look them in the eye, shifting her gaze away the very moment the heat burns into her.

Shadow Milk Cookie scowls, scratching deep groves into the wooden flooring. “UGH!” Thrusting themself onto their feet, they wipe frantically at their darkened knees, near-invisible tears on his bodysuit. “Fine, then. Con-graaa-tulations, you all won! Rrrrrr-ICH be the victory!”

With a mere breath, their feet lift into the air, just over an inch, then two. The newfound height does not disguise the trembling of their limbs— if anything, it seems to make it more mesmerizing to peek at, the erratic twitching of every leg and finger attracting every gaze in the same room. Shadow Milk Cookie, in their flush, slides their arms behind their back and coils their legs together.

“Must I be the ONLY one showing anger in all of this?!” they ask, voice heightened so much they squeak like a mouse. Nobody dares mutter a word, every new second of silence deepening the ache in their chest. Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes snap towards Mystic Flour Cookie— resisting even now to even spare them the tiniest glance, fingers taut around the dough of her arm. “…Seriously? None of you see the injustice of it all?”

“Of course we’re angry, you dimwit!” Burning Spice Cookie says, his voice rumbling Mystic Flour Cookie’s eardrums. She barely restrains herself from covering her ears. “FURIOUS! Why wouldn’t we be?” Burning Spice Cookie gestures to his back, then sweeps one arm over his more injured allies. “But what are we to do like this?”

“None of us are in the state to fight, Shadow Milk Cookie,” Eternal Sugar Cookie argues after him, one finger jabbing at her wing. Though it’s been readjusted, the feathers are still burnt, some of the flesh exposed and reddened beneath. “Those Cookies have the Guardians of Nature on their side. My body had nearly crumbled to heal yours.”

Shadow Milk Cookie hasn’t stopped looking at Mystic Flour Cookie, their eyes digging awfully into her dough. It prickles deeper than the surface layer of skin, pressing on the very crevices of her bones. Her throat feels tight, she nearly feels lightheaded with every breath. Words flutter across her mind, too high for her to reach, leaving her tongue still.

Shadow Milk Cookie still— still— hasn’t torn their eyes away. What could they possibly desire from her? Defense? She hopes not, there is no argument she can pose to join the battlefield again, and she doesn’t desire to. Even they should know when to quit.

Mystic Flour Cookie still stubbornly refuses to meet their gaze. Even as they gauge at her, desperately wishing for even a murmur, she’s as silent as the moors. Their jaw tightens, force so tight until their gums bleed. A watery layer coats their eyes, just for a heartbeat, and in a near manic speed they wipe it away. A twinge of relief floods their chest, seemingly going uncaught in that very moment, before the flames reclaim them.

Shadow Milk Cookie throws their hands in the air. “FINE, then! Be useless little pawns working in favor of the enemy!” They say, stomping their feet rather childishly. They spin around, towards the cabin’s front door, and breeze their way toward it. Their body bobs up and down, seemingly growing closer towards the ground with every dip. “Useless. Useless, ALL of you! I don’t need you for this— hah— I can face HIM all by myself just fine!”

Eternal Sugar Cookie slips from between them, in direction of Shadow Milk Cookie. Each step is carefully done on the very tips of her hooves.

“What are you doing?” Mystic Flour Cookie asks, the only thing she’s said thus far. It’s embarrassing, almost, how quiet and childish she sounded at that very moment. She was mildly intrigued with the performance the Angel decided to give them, and now there’s the urge to sew her own lips shut.

With her wings angled awkwardly over her back, positioned far off her back, Eternal Sugar Cookie freezes for a moment. “You’ll see,” is all she says.

Mystic Flour Cookie peers at her curiously, watching as she lifts her tail ip just enough to avoid sweeping the ground. What could she possibly be planning?

“Oh, I’ll plunge that sorry excuse for a Cookie into the Milk Lake and watch as their dough crumbles apart.” Shadow Milk Cookie mumbles frantically to themself, fingers slipping through the strands of their hair, tugging hard enough until their scalp pops. “Oh yes, I will. I suuure will. The very MOMENT I get my hands on that little-“

A fuzzy shadow looms over them, stretching across the wooden flooring beneath them. That same lavender and cinnamon, carrying that artificial undertone of something engineered in a factory. Shadow Milk Cookie’s head jerks upwards, the gentle rustling of wings catching their attention in an instant. “Eh?”

The Angel captures her prey in an instant, fingers curling around the sides of Shadow Milk Cookie’s head. The Jester’s eyes practically double in size, violently shaking their head— unfortunately, it does little to push her off. Eternal Sugar Cookie, eyes closed, merely tightens her grip around Shadow Milk Cookie’s head.

Completely lackadaisical and statuesque, she stays utterly still with every jerk and snarl through their teeth, until at last every movement slows. Even with growing desperation, the Jester’s eyelids droop, body slumping against Eternal Sugar Cookie’s the very moment their eyes closed.

Mystic Flour Cookie watches her drag their body back towards them, a slight tenseness in her jaw. A Cookie with gentle hands, most definitely indeed… and still, she finds issue in her technique. Perhaps it’s the minor way those claws dig into their dough, deep enough for the color to pale. Perhaps it’s the method itself. What does she know?

“It’ll last a couple hours,” Eternal Sugar Cookie says, handing Shadow Milk Cookie’s body over to Burning Spice Cookie. His expression is especially pained, yet regardless he holds the Jester in his arms. “Just enough for them to have a full night’s rest. In silence.”

“A treatment most unnecessary,” Mystic Flour Cookie comments, inching closer to them both. “Surely, we could have talked them down.”

“Talk down a Cookie with cotton stuffed in their ears?” Burning Spice Cookie snorts, shaking his head. Bending to his knees, he releases the Jester on the ground, carefully setting the back of their head on the floor. “Eurg... Nice try, Prophet, but not even you would get through to them. This is our best course of action.”

Mystic Flour Cookie tugs at the hem of her sleeve. “I still argue there was something better. We could have-“

“Darling of mine.” Eternal Sugar Cookie’s hands fold over her lap. “You cannot speak when you’ve been neglecting that injury of yours.”

“Ah.” Mystic Flour Cookie’s fingers come to cup her side again. The silk is dry, rough with dried jam. “Must you keep insisting? I…” Such words are rather easy to swallow. “I shall get to it eventually.”

Eternal Sugar Cookie’s brow quirks up, a certain curve to her lips speaking of distaste. White pinpricks dig into her, tingling along her dough. “Will you?” 

Mystic Flour Cookie swallows thickly. “Of course I shall,” she says, voice thin. “I am not foolish. I was merely-” her hand gestures vaguely in the air. “Terribly occupied with our current circumstances.”

“Truly?” The Angel murmurs lazily. “Then, since you’ve been so terribly occupied, you’ll let me mend it.”

“I will do no such thing,” Mystic Flour Cookie’s feet still the very moment she neared Shadow Milk Cookie’s body. “Let me do it myself, with my hands. On my own terms.”

Curled, just slightly, knees folded up to their chest, their arms stretching off to the side. Their mouth hangs open slightly, a line of drool leaking out the corner of their lip. Without the tenseness around their eyes and the unnatural looseness in their facial features, Mystic Flour Cookie can properly assess the darkened circles beneath them. Their chest rises and falls with every gentle breath.

“On your own terms,” Eternal Sugar Cookie repeats, slowly. “As in you’ll avoid it at all costs. Hm.” The Angel’s arm stretches out, fingers spread. Mystic Flour Cookie’s shoulders tense in an instant. “Come now, dear, allow me to-“

“No!” Mystic Flour Cookie jumps backwards once the Angel’s fingers glaze just an inch away from her, one hand clutched at her chest. Eternal Sugar Cookie’s arm pulls back, hovering awkwardly in the air. Icy panic strikes her chest, an uncomfortably intense sense prickling her dough, before Mystic Flour Cookie finally clears her throat. “…Your body has only recently recovered, Eternal Sugar Cookie. It would be selfish of me.”

Eternal Sugar Cookie’s lips thin quickly, eyes narrowing at her. Mystic Flour Cookie nearly shrinks under the strength of her gaze, a sudden intensity so unlike the natural softness of this Cookie’s very being. Perhaps pointed to Burning Spice Cookie or Shadow Milk Cookie after a certain antic or word choice, but never her.

Eternal Sugar Cookie opens her mouth, words hanging at the very tip of her tongue. Mystic Flour Cookie braced herself for whatever argument she may bring, already rushing through at least ten different counters in her head, just to jump at the heavy thump echoing within the cabin.

Both heads snap towards Burning Spice Cookie— fully collapsed to the floor face-first, every limb spread out and his fingers nearly grazing Shadow Milk Cookie’s thigh. His antennae twitch in the air, drooping slowly until they lightly tap on the wood.

Both of them stand awkwardly side by side, staring quizzically at the collapsed Beast. They meet eyes for a second, then look back at Burning Spice Cookie, then back to each other. At last, Eternal Sugar Cookie sighs loudly.

“Darling, please,” Eternal Sugar Cookie clasps her fingers together. “Stop being so… stubborn. We both need time and rest, are you not weakening yourself further?”

“My dough is capable of mending itself,” Mystic Flour Cookie says, holding her voice. “I shall not waste any more of my power on something it is capable of doing.”

Eternal Sugar Cookie purses her mouth, closing her eyes. It leaves Mystic Flour Cookie in this stretching silence, left unfinished with a hole to fill. Her throat itches, words tingling at the tip of her tongue. Fortunately, she holds it, dipping the Angel deeper into this vat of silence she’s growing increasingly peeved by.

Finally, Eternal Sugar Cookie’s shoulders drop, wings drooping across the floor. That eerie dullness seems to creep back over her eyes, any newborn liveliness extinguished in that moment. “…Promise me something.”

Mystic Flour Cookie shakes her head. “Promises are meaningless,” she says, distaste biting the edge of her voice. “Following through with such a demand… you are asking me to lie to your face.”

The features ruffle along the Angel’s head under the briefest tilt of her head, a minuscule bunch between her brows. “…Yes, that is something I am quite familiar with,” Eternal Sugar Cookie speaks plainly. “Please, indulge me.”

Mystic Flour Cookie blinks. “That was meant to be negative.”

“I’m aware.”

“Delicate Sugar you are,” Mystic Flour Cookie’s hand rests over the wound. “Would it not hurt you more, to realize I have undermined something so sacred?”

“Words, words, words…” Eternal Sugar Cookie’s hands rises to cover her jaws, stretching widely in a yawn. “I grow more weary with every second you stretch this conversation. Please… won’t you?”

Her teeth ache. Her entire jaw aches. It’s a pulsing noise she has noticed now, the sheer pressure she’s putting on her jaw. “Will you not listen to a word I say?”

And, with an expression so pained as if this very conversation was driving a stake into her heart, Eternal Sugar Cookie wills herself to speak. “I care not if I wake up and see that promise unkept,” she says, voice dulled. “Dismaying as it is, I cannot guard your every action. Your dough is not mine.” Her fingers knot together, claws tapping against the bulge of her knuckles. “A pretty lie, at the very least, will ease me to sleep.”

It’s a horrible thought. How can one find such ease in blatant deceit? The knowledge of one lying to her face with such confidence— such ease— feels like maggots crawling over stomach, a sinking emptiness gnawing at her innards until it eats at her throat. There is only one face she can bear to hold with every slimy lie, and that face is…

“Promise me, Mystic Flour Cookie.” Eternal Sugar Cookie’s claws come to comb through her icing, sweet strands clinging beneath her nails. She tugs once, and her scalp pops. “Promise me you will.”

Mystic Flour Cookie’s throat closes around the words, heaved down under the weight of her will. It’s what the Angel desires, isn’t it? She’s fulfilled so many wishes in her lifetime, this should be easy…

Her throat feels awfully tight, refusing to let even a whisper of air pass through. Eternal Sugar Cookie is staring. She tries to move her tongue, and it weighs uselessly in her mouth. Eternal Sugar Cookie is still staring.

The silence practically burns along her dough. The longer she goes without those sweet, crumbling words, the more Eternal Sugar Cookie’s bottom lip wobbles. Another pop. Then another. And another.

The noise irritates her. It burns unpleasantly in her chest, a sudden flush overcoming her cheeks. Mystic Flour Cookie’s hands capture Eternal Sugar Cookie’s wrist, snapped taut until the pink pales to a pretty white. Her fingers loosen quickly.

“Mystic Flour Cookie…” a delicate noise it is, as suffocating as it is sweet. Her name quivers on the Angel’s tongue, overwhelming in its candied love, a specific softness heating Mystic Flour Cookie’s dough and urging her to melt.

Mystic Flour Cookie breathes through her nostrils, pressing the other’s hand to her chest. “You are truly the most delusional creature I have ever had the displeasure of knowing,” she says.

The insult practically washes off the Angel’s hide. Those lips curl lazily, reaching for the corners of her eyes. “My promise?”

Mystic Flour Cookie sighs deeply. “…I promise,” the words sour on her tongue. “From the instant you rise, this wound shall be healed.”

Eternal Sugar Cookie sighs deeply, shoulders loosening. Her tail thumps once against the ground, still bent awkwardly halfway to one side. “Thank you,” she says, quietly. Her other hand wipes at her eye. “Thank you, truly. This helps me more than you could ever imagine.”

“I can’t imagine at all,” Mystic Flour Cookie says dryly.

Eternal Sugar Cookie yawns, wings fluttering at her sides. “I am horribly exhausted,” she says, voice practically dripping with honey, and immediately Mystic Flour Cookie has to mentally prepare herself. Eternal Sugar Cookie’s tongue scrapes her bottom lip. “Will you sleep beside me tonight?”

Mystic Flour Cookie sighs first. “You always demand something of me.”

“Oh, I can’t make you any more miserable than your…” Oh so sweetly, Eternal Sugar Cookie smiles before gesturing towards Shadow Milk Cookie’s body. “…odd taste in companions, if you get my meaning. Indulge me further, my dear.”

Mystic Flour Cookie’s eye twitches, and says nothing.

There is a comfort that could possibly be born from being held in gentle wings. She, centuries ago, would’ve been greatly familiar with it. Mere fragments of the past lost in the dull present and the even bleaker future, soft feathers hardened with clinging cinders.

Eternal Sugar Cookie’s body— pressed flushed against hers, with only layers of fabric separating them— is unpleasantly warm. The heat of her dough melds with her own, brewing this disgusting heat that beads along Mystic Flour Cookie’s body. The weight of her wing, draped over her as a makeshift blanket, services her minorly, if at all.

Exhaustion gnaws at the edges of her brain. Everything feels fuzzy. She longs for nothing more than to close her eyes and allow herself to fall into a deep, lulling slumber and perhaps never awake at all. It doesn’t work.

The pain burns her side. Mystic Flour Cookie is partly aware of it at most, a stinging yet distant heat she can hardly feel now, but just strong enough to keep her an inch away from unconsciousness. Eternal Sugar Cookie’s arm drapes over her chest. She’s still warm. Every so often a hand would slip down, towards the wound at her side, and Mystic Flour Cookie would have to bring it back up to her chest. The Angel wouldn’t move for ten minutes or so, before she tried again.

There is no noise in the cabin anymore. There’s every tiny puff of air from Eternal Sugar Cookie’s nostrils, every five seconds. There’s the brief snores from Burning Spice Cookie, muffled by the wooden floor. Both are silent in the face of the distant breeze, whistling past the windows that crackle at the tiniest shift.

Mystic Flour Cookie’s eyelids finally droop, letting the full inkiness swallow her vision, just for them to shoot open just a couple minutes later. Eternal Sugar Cookie shifts, and her chin digs into her shoulder. She’s grown much too close to those scythes of hers now, venomous things that could subdue her in an instant. Mystic Flour Cookie bites her tongue, and merely presses her cheek to the Angel’s head. Perhaps now she’ll get a lick of sleep.

Her eyes drift closed again. Every noise seems to dim into a distant drone, a pleasant numbness finally swallowing her dough. Her chest rises and falls in slow, steady breaths, sleep creeping over the edges of her mind.

…Something is vibrating on her throat. It isn’t necessarily loud, but there’s this rumbling too, coming from her side. A weak groan passes her lips, one eye easing open. The noise is coming from Eternal Sugar Cookie, of course, a continuous purring buzzing in her ear. Mystic Flour Cookie sighs deeply.

She isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but during the night Burning Spice Cookie had somehow crawled to her other side. One of his antennas droops down low enough to ghost over her face, brushing the loose strands of hair. Heat washes over her from all sides, practically suffocating her beneath the empowering temperature of Burning Spice Cookie’s body.

She swears, too, Shadow Milk Cookie had somehow moved partly through the night, even with Eternal Sugar Cookie’s spell. The Jester had somehow made their way to her feet, icy and soggy cheek pressed to her knee. Mystic Flour Cookie is proven to be fully surrounded from every corner, unable to slip out of this prison she has somehow found herself in.

The darkness in the cabin lightens with every passing hour, until Mystic Flour Cookie can make out every uneven plank on the ceiling. The whistling breeze quieted to a mere whisper, the sky lightened to a dull gray past the windows. She can do little but stare above, listening to the cycle of Eternal Sugar Cookie’s constant purring, fully given up on gaining any second of sleep.

Her head is pounding. Her muscles feel sore, and her throat is dry. Her spine is screaming at her, even with the gentle hold of a large, feathery wing. Gaze narrowed to a mere squint, everything is washed in grey and black splotches, only a thin line remaining untouched by these spots. Nobody moves, of course, deep in their slumber after such an exhausting journey.

Perhaps another hour passes by, until something shifts at her legs. The silhouette lifts soundlessly, a shapeless shadow shifting restlessly until it stands on two feet. Mystic Flour Cookie’s eyelids pull back, watching as Shadow Milk Cookie floats their way toward the cabin door. Their head redirects to something off to the side, and they fall off their path, towards whatever they had spotted.

Mystic Flour Cookie shifts her head. Over the shape of Eternal Sugar Cookie’s body, she can see them bend down in the corner, before breezing towards the front of the cabin.

Their body stills after the loud creaking of the front door, waiting for a several heartbeats before finally walking outside. The door clicks shut behind them.

She waits for a while. There’s a mix of uncertainty melding in her brain, debating whether they had intended to have a small moment to themself or if they’re attempting to sneak out and search for the traitor. Would they dare? Shadow Milk Cookie is foolish and difficult enough to consider it… but would they truly dare, with all their injuries? 

She muses to herself for a bit, gnawing gently at her bottom lip and staring up at the ceiling. Mystic Flour Cookie is still pinned under Eternal Sugar Cookie. Her eyes shift to the Angel’s face. For a lazy, languid creature constantly purring in her ear, there is a horrible amount of worry marring her face. A deep scrunch dents between her brows, eyes squeezed horribly tight. Every couple seconds the corner of her lip would twitch, curled further down.

Not a blink of sleep tonight, it seems.

Mystic Flour Cookie squirms beneath Eternal Sugar Cookie’s grip. The Angel’s brows furrow deeper, her arm tightening around the other’s waist. Fingers dig uncomfortably close to her neglected wound, dough stinging beneath the press of those claws. Mystic Flour Cookie sighs, and tries again. Her next attempt is successful, slipping out of Eternal Sugar Cookie’s grip until her arm flops against her wing.

Mystic Flour Cookie stills for a moment, holding herself up with one arm. The purring finally ceased. She tries to keep her gaze ahead, ignoring the limp bodies on either side of her, before rising fully to her feet. Every step is slow and light, tracing Shadow Milk Cookie’s path to the front door. Her hand wraps around the knob, head turning back towards the slumbering bodies.

Eternal Sugar Cookie moved quickly in her sleep, affirmatively claiming Burning Spice Cookie as her next victim. The Beast had fully rolled onto his back, limbs spread out carelessly, with a rather oversized cat rolled on his stomach. Eternal Sugar Cookie coos at the newfound warmth, nuzzling her cheek against the curve of Burning Spice Cookie’s chest.

Mystic Flour Cookie pushes open the door. The icy air prickles her dough in an instant, a hearty contrast against the suffocating warmth from within. Letting it swing shut behind her with a gentle click, she lifts her chin and welcomes the breeze, sighing as the currents dance through her hair.

Shades of gray gloss over the bloody crimson of the sky above, deep red bleeding through the clouds. Snow paints the dead grounds, pale slush coating the rotten railing. Peering around the empty landscape, there’s no Shadow Milk Cookie to be found. Mystic Flour Cookie creeps down the steps, cringing at every creak beneath her feet. The texture of rotting wood and fresh snow is an odd combination, and one she is increasingly bothered by.

Something flutters from the corner of her eye. Looking towards it, she’s just in time to see another gray ball jump from the roof. Dust and lint, if she looks close enough. If she strains her ears, she can hear grumbling above. Relief soothes the pounding in her head, a pleasant sense expressed in a deep sigh.

It takes little to climb up to the roof, even with the wound at her side. Indeed, Shadow Milk Cookie sits on the roof, just far enough from the edge. For somebody who has faced death so near, they’re behaving childishly, bottom lip pushed up in a pout as they pluck every fleck of lint from the item they’re holding.

Their head of hair has paled to a baby blue, styled into unruly, mangled curls strumming down the stretch of their back. A pretty blue bow sits lopsided, caught in the thick tangles of their mane. She can spot leaves and sticks sticking out from the sides. Mystic Flour Cookie can identify the change easily.

In their hand is a hairbrush— a pretty orange, lint and dust thick between the bristles. The Lady rolls another gray ball, and flicks it off over the edge. Mystic Flour Cookie makes her way forwards, kneeling down and folding her hands in her lap. Shadow Milk Cookie doesn’t lift up their gaze, huddling as lint catches on the edge of one bristle.

“Dirty?” Mystic Flour Cookie asks.

“Bleugh! Too filthy for my tastes,” softened and twisted to a more feminine degree, the Lady in Azure smacks the bristles against the palm of her hand. “A girl can’t brush her hair out with this.”

Mystic Flour Cookie extends her hand. “I can clean it for you.”

“Ah!” Shadow Milk Cookie rolls the brush in her hand, jutting out the bristles towards Mystic Flour Cookie. “You’re much too sweet for me, Sunny. My teeth are gonna rot.”

Mystic Flour Cookie takes the brush from Shadow Milk Cookie’s hand. “It is a minor effort,” she says, carefully plucking all of the debris from between the bristles. Shadow Milk Cookie grunts, and says nothing more. Her hands reach up for the curls framing her face, cupping a handful of strands. Pulling on what they grabbed, Shadow Milk Cookie cringes as they inadvertently pull half of their hair along with it.

While Mystic Flour Cookie slowly cleans the brush, Shadow Milk Cookie attempts desperately to untangle the mess that has been made of her hair. The longer the moment stretches on, the more frustrated Shadow Milk Cookie becomes, every second filled with little growls and biting spittles.

Most of the mess lays on the ground, off the side of the roof. It’s a pretty brush, albeit worn down. The handle is loose and wiggles out of place if she tugs too hard.

“I can help, if your icing bothers you so,” Mystic Flour Cookie says, waving the brush in her hand.

Shadow Milk Cookie scoffs, pulling her hand away from her hair. Baby blue icing clings to their fingers in strands, thick around her nails. “Ermm, I believe this is good enough.”

“You are tearing out your hair.”

“Possibly the most entertaining hobby I’ve recently collected without any doohickeys.” With a bitter smile, Shadow Milk Cookie shakes the icing off her hand. “You should try it sometime. Ever wanted to go bald for a bit?”

“I have seen what happened to Eternal Sugar Cookie the last time,” Mystic Flour Cookie speaks dryly. “No, thank you.”

“So she looked a little uglier than she usually does,” Shadow Milk Cookie inspects her nails, squinting slightly. “Big deal! Good thing you always have a pretty face.”

Mystic Flour Cookie sighs, the brush drooping in her fingers. “Please, do not attempt to flatter me right now. We are-”

“D’awww,” Shadow Milk Cookie’s head rolls towards her, leaning close enough for her curls to tickle along Mystic Flour Cookie’s cheek. “Don’t be so cruel to me, ma chie-ree.”

Mystic Flour Cookie physically cringed at the brutal butchering of such simple pronunciation. “Please, never say that again.”

“Soleil die moon coo-re,” she purrs out deliberately now, fingers tapping against the line of her chin.

Mystic Flour Cookie practically shudders in horror, the brush falling uselessly in her lap. “Stop.”

“Oooh, I’ve got a better one.” Shadow Milk Cookie grins, already opening her mouth for the foulest words Cookiekind could ever possibly hope to create with their own tongues.

“Your brush is clean, isn’t it?” Mystic Flour Cookie huffs, shoving the brush into the Beast’s chest. “Use it.”

Shadow Milk Cookie grunts, hand clutching at her chest. Their brow twitches, the tiniest bead of sweat forming at their temple before they sudden regain all composure. Within seconds they begin to pout, carelessly throwing the brush behind them. “Who cares about a silly ol’ brush? Especially when there just so happens to be a pretty Cookie blessing my eyes!”

Mystic Flour Cookie’s gaze eases down to Shadow Milk Cookie’s arm. Soaked through with gold, poorly wrapped gauze coiled loosely around the limb. The padding beneath is visible, some of it barely even covering the open cracks. Her lips tilt in newborn distaste. “You did a poor job.”

“Eh?” Shadow Milk Cookie follows her gaze. A pretty shade of gold flushes over her cheeks, and her other hand shoots to cover her arm. “Ugh, don’t judge! It was a rush job!”

“It was foolish of us to neglect it,” Mystic Flour Cookie says, already reaching out towards the other Cookie. “Here, allow me to-“

Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes widen in an instant, bits of their icing melting within seconds. “Hey, now!” Shadow Milk Cookie practically jumps away, injured arm bent behind her back. Mystic Flour Cookie’s hand hovers awkwardly in the air, before she slowly pulls it back. “Touchy, touchy… it’s cute how worried you are about me.”

“Our Soul Jams have been weakened, and you are actively bleeding out,” Mystic Flour Cookie responds dryly. “With a poor attempt to bind it. It is natural to intervene.”

“I quite like the pain,” Shadow Milk Cookie says, lifting up her chin and puffing out their chest. “That stab through my chest? Qu-ite the exhilarating experience, I’ll say! Why, I hadn’t felt that much excitement since my itty-bitty followers cut off my head!” Pop goes the Jester’s head, rolling gracefully off of her neck and landing skillfully in the palm of her hand.

Mystic Flour Cookie stares blankly at her. Shadow Milk Cookie holds the same pose, holding that toothy grin on her face. With the stretching unreaction of the audience, Shadow Milk Cookie shakes her head, and gains nothing more. Awkwardly, she slots her head back onto her neck.

“Sheesh, tough crowd! Can’t I say that whole scenario was at least a liiittle entertaining?” Wiping at the collar of her dress, an embarrassed gold dusts her cheeks. She coughs loudly into her fist. “…if you ignore everything else that happened, that is?”

“Shadow Milk Cookie.”

“Hm?~” Both her eyebrows lift. “Something pickin’ at your mind, Misty?”

Without a hint of amusement on her face, she deadpans, “Let me redress your arm.”

The grin immediately drops from Shadow Milk Cookie’s face. She stares for a long while, waiting for any possible twist the Prophet can bring, and receives none. Mystic Flour Cookie merely hardens her stare. Shadow Milk Cookie blinks, suddenly shrinking under the strength of her glowering. She practically hides beneath her collar.

Another five minutes pass. Neither of them say a word.

“Your hair is tangled.”

“Wow.” Shadow Milk Cookie scoffs. “Thank you for the increedibly subtle observation, Mystic Flour Cookie. Wouldn’t have been able to tell without you.”

She had not intended for it to come out so dry, she was merely stating a fact. The brush had halted on a stubborn loop, the bristles bending around the hidden knot. The Cookie in Azure had hissed through her teeth the moment it caught, an unintentional tug bringing her head back a bit.

Mystic Flour Cookie, even in her attempt to keep a proper eye on her rather mundane task, had not noticed it at all. Hidden within the cotton candy blue of this Cookie’s hair, it was indistinguishable from the loose strands that hang beside it.

Tilting herself to one side, Mystic Flour Cookie peers at Shadow Milk Cookie’s expression. Her lips are tight in a frown, bottom eyelid twitching with every light scrape of the brush. Every time Mystic Flour Cookie’s fingers move near that messy, ruffled mane of baby blue, her lip would pull until the slightest glimpse of white scrapes her bottom lip.

Her throat is dry when she swallows. It’s incomparable to the sudden ache in her chest, slimy and thick and heavy. How long has it been there? Mystic Flour Cookie cannot quite recall. It had all been so sudden— the scene is hazy now.

“…I’m sorry,” is all she can muster, muttered only out of instinct. Her voice is softer, weaker, than she would prefer. “I will be more careful.”

Shadow Milk Cookie merely grunts. Her fingers curl against the ripped fabric of her dress the very instant she slides the bristles through the strands. Mystic Flour Cookie hadn’t assessed the damage properly, she realizes. Nothing beyond “on the very brink of death”, at least. Her body by itself seems relatively unharmed now, save for the light cracks along her dough.

It doesn’t stain her beauty. No, of course not. Mystic Flour Cookie would spend the last few minutes of her meaningless existence admiring this Cookie so, even if that cyan dough of hers was cut open and leaking gold.

At that particular thought, her gaze travels down to Shadow Milk Cookie’s arm. Wrapped thickly with gauze properly this time, it’s soaked through with gold. The damage had been great, and even Mystic Flour Cookie’s power is limited.

There was a certain ache in her chest, watching their crumbling body be held in Burning Spice Cookie’s arms— a certain helplessness that drags her legs down to the ground, like gravity, incomparable to anything she had ever felt before. Stronger than the blurry haze that had taken her after her cocoon had been cut.

“Ugh…” the Cookie moans. “Don’t say things like that.”

It was sudden, hushed, quiet she almost hadn’t heard. Mystic Flour Cookie plucks a leaf from their hair. “Hm?”

“Don’t apologize to me.” Shadow Milk Cookie— Shadow Milk Cookie, still alive— says. “I hate how pitiful you sound. Bleugh. Disgusting.” She makes a show out of gagging, clutching her throat with one hand and punching out her chest. “Save it when I’m on the edge of crumbling. Then you can apologize all you want.”

Mystic Flour Cookie purses her lip. Carefully, she pulls the brush away. The curls back into place the very moment it . “But you were.”

Shadow Milk Cookie rolls her eyes. “I know that,” she huffs, pouting again. “A shame, really. You’d think a traitor would actually be good at their job!”

“That is not something I desire to talk about.”

Shadow Milk Cookie folds her bandaged arm over her lap. She hasn’t stopped looking at it since Mystic Flour Cookie fixed her poor attempt of a wrapping job, a certain unreadable blankness she wishes to unfurl.

What, exactly, roots itself in this Jester’s mind? Well… what else besides the natural-born anger and the ruthless craving for violence? There is only so much chaos to hoard in a nest before it all tumbles over the mountain hill.

“Oh-ho-ho! Really?” The Jester purrs, one claw jabbing sharply at her cheek. It cuts through the dough with ease, a thin stream of gold leaking onto her cheek. “Well, sweets, I’m all eyes!” Rolling her head, Shadow Milk Cookie inches closer, until at last her head thumps on Mystic Flour Cookie’s shoulder. “What could be busying that pretty little head instead, hm? What could POSSIBLY be more important than the plot twist we just witnessed?”

Mystic Flour Cookie gently nudges her off. “Do not behave this way with me,” she says, voice thin. “You do not desire to talk about him any more than I do.”

“But we all need to address the things we don’t want to, don’t we?” Shadow Milk Cookie shrugs her shoulders, sighing deeply. Her hand is brought to her chest, fingers sinking into the silkiness of her dress. “How it burns my very heart, indeed. There is nothing I feel but oh-so-passionate hatred for that Cookie!” The threads strain beneath the sinking of her fingers, tearing with ease under the force of her claws. “How about nice, gentle conversation on how we’re mounting that helmet, hm? I believe it’ll look nice upon the cabin’s ma-“

“Shadow Milk Cookie.”

The hand drops from Shadow Milk Cookie’s chest, head tumbling backwards— quite literally, it falls on the roof with a heavy thud and a quick “oof”. She groans immediately, palming the roof for her head. “Well, what DO you wanna talk about? You’re limiting my options here, Sunny.”

Mystic Flour Cookie closes her eyes, and allows herself the briefest moment to breath. Slowly, in, and out. The Lady in Azure makes the tiniest noise, which she ignores. She takes another breath.

“Stop breathing so loud and talk to me. Is this your way of tormenting others? Through sheer boredom?”

Mystic Flour Cookie inhales sharply. “I am merely preparing myself for your inevitable attempt to shift our focus.”

Shadow Milk Cookie raises a brow. “Isn’t that the very point of a conversation?”

“You tend to dodge certain questions,” she explains slowly, ensuring she put proper emphasis on each word. “Twist my words until they fit what you wish to hear. I am merely thinking.”

“Thinking of what, hm?” Shadow Milk Cookie pokes her in the side, keeping it the lightest touch she can manage. “What could that pretty little head be pondering about?”

“This… form of yours.” Mystic Flour Cookie gestures to Shadow Milk Cookie, gliding her hand from head to toe.

Shadow Milk Cookie looks down at her dress, seemingly puzzled, fingers tugging at the tongues of her baby blue collar. “What’s wrong with it?” She asks, eyebrows scrunched.

“You typically only shift for pleasure, or trickery,” Mystic Flour Cookie says. “Foolish you may be, but surely you know not to do so at such a weakened state.”

Shadow Milk Cookie rolls her eyes. “Oh, so because I faced a near-crumbling experience I can’t look fancy?”

Mystic Flour Cookie opens one eye, just the tiniest sliver. “…That is precisely why I am bringing this up,” she says. “Your Soul Jam is heavily damaged. Your body had nearly crumbled. Surely changing forms in this state costs you a tremendous amount of energy?”

“Hmph!” Shadow Milk Cookie lifts up her chin. “As if a quick change of costume would be any more draining than snapping my fingers. No, no, no…” Shadow Milk Cookie waves her hand in the air, leaning in closer with her chin resting on her knuckles. “Come on, Misty. Out of all Cookies, I would’ve figured you knew how this all works.”

A sudden flush of warmth washes across her face, warmth collecting on her cheeks staring at this Cookie suddenly just seconds away from knocking into her. Mystic Flour Cookie wipes at her face, and still it remains. Shadow Milk Cookie sticks out her tongue, and Mystic Flour Cookie gently pushes her face away.

“Staying in such a form is probably no issue,” she says. “And perhaps, with your power unfractured, it was just another snap of your fingers...”

Tension quickly blossomed between Shadow Milk Cookie’s shoulders. Such a reaction urges more.

“…but with a cracked Soul Jam, and a body that has only just recently regained its life force,” Mystic Flour Cookie tilts her head to one side, hair cascading down her shoulder. “It would feel agonizing, would it not? Not at all worth the effort.”

Shifting away the tiniest bit, Shadow Milk Cookie straightens her back. “Have you considered that I simply enjoy the pain? A nice little kick to the knee after nearly being cancelled?”

“Then why not do it again?” Mystic Flour Cookie hums. “If such pain is so pleasurable, why not keep doing it?”

“Woah, there,” Shadow Milk Cookie raises both her hands. “I’m not straining these muscles any more just to prove a point!”

“Somebody as unnervingly arrogant as you?” Mystic Flour Cookie shakes her head. “I know better.”

Those fingers curl into a tight fist, the brims of her lips twitching with every second. Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze burns into her dough, irises flashing between cyan and blue. Finally, she groans, rubbing her eyelids until black spots dance across her vision.

“You think you’re soooooo smart, hm?” Shadow Milk Cookie grins quickly, the tips of her lips nearly kissing the edge of her cheeks. Her teeth grind together with every word. “Wow, just wow. I applaud you, really. Observant little Beast you are, looking between the lines and-“

“Shadow Milk Cookie.”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s grin strains even further, teeth creaking under the sheer force of her jaw. “A rather insistent Cookie, aren’t you?” She sighs, rubbing at her forehead, sighing deeply. “BUUUUT I suppose that’s what I ADORE about you… sigh, very well. I’ll indulge you, Sunny.”

Mystic Flour Cookie blinks. “Why did you-“

“You know, getting stabbed by a sword like that isn’t exactly the most pleasant experience.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s hand presses to her abdomen. Her dress is torn heavily there, threads loosened and cut apart. “And despite my best attempts, that particular sense of dread still clings to me. A jester could hardly get a wink of sleep!”

 Mindlessly, Mystic Flour Cookie’s hand wanders to her side. It presses down, and the cooling wetness of jam still clings to the silk. Her wound remains unclosed. She quickly pulls her hand away.

“And, if you can even believe it, that odd sense of dread followed me up here!” Shadow Milk Cookie spans one hand across the roof, before her hand comes to rest against her chest, just before her collar. “It just- it just kept itching and itching and itching. That feeling, you know?”

“I do not,” Mystic Flour Cookie comments blankly.

Shadow Milk Cookie sighs heavily, rolling her eyes. “Whatever…” she mutters, before clearing her throat. “Anyway! It was always there, beneath my skin and I just had to get rid of it! …Somehow. And what do ya know?” Shadow Milk Cookie twirls her hair around her finger, fluttering her pretty eyelashes. “Taking on a new shape just so happened to do the trick!”

Mystic Flour Cookie purses her lips, and nods her head. “I see,” she mumbles quietly. “You felt uncomfortable in your own dough.”

Shadow Milk Cookie blinks. She shifts again, fingers pressed against the curve of her knee. “…Well, now, I didn’t exactly say that,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“A sense of dread followed you until you gained new skin,” Mystic Flour Cookie muses aloud, tilting her head towards the clouds. The gray has begun to pale, more crimson seeping through the streaks. “Is it not the same thing?”

“The way you said it makes it sound…” Shadow Milk Cookie twirls her wrist, jutting out her tongue. “Vulnerable! Bleugh. Doesn’t fit the Master of Deceit title at all, you know. I’m about to hurl.”

Mystic Flour Cookie says nothing, and attempts to ignore the throaty gagging noises Shadow Milk Cookie makes at her side. The crimson shades are prominent now, washing over her dough until the white molds into the palest shade of pink.

“If that is what comforts you most,” she speaks mutely. Shadow Milk Cookie, too, had been painted in the same reddish hues, her dough taking on the slightest purple tint. “I am not exhausting myself to get you to see reason.”

“Don’t you have some hair brushing to do?”

“…Hm.”

The process gets easier, once she’s plucked out all the leaves and sticks from that mane. Flecks of dirt still cling to every strand, desperate little parasites she cannot be bothered to clean out. By the time the gray clears Mystic Flour Cookie is already halfway through the mess that had been this Lady’s mane.

“You know, Misty…” Shadow Milk Cookie clicks her tongue, eyeing her cracked nails as Mystic Flour Cookie carefully pries one section of her curls to one side.

“Yes?”

“I’ve been smelling something since you got here. And it’s disgustingly sweet.”

Mystic Flour Cookie gathers what she separated in one fist. The brush moves in long, calming strokes, moving from root to tip until it works through the tangles hidden within. “I have not the chance to change,” she explains easily. “My clothes are still stained with jam.”

“Mm…” Shadow Milk Cookie lets her arm drop. “No, no, no. I know the difference between fresh jam and dried jam.”

Mystic Flour Cookie ignores the chill lingering at the back of her neck, and tries to focus more on the task before her. “Is that so? …Seems mundane for a Cookie like you.”

“Ohh, once you’ve gained every drop of knowledge, you get to notice even the most mundane things,” Shadow Milk Cookie shrugs her shoulders.

Mystic Flour Cookie only nods, and once again refocuses on her task. Shadow Milk Cookie seems to quiet down again, so she keeps going. Just a little bit more, and she’ll be finished.

“…Okay, but seriously, you reek of fresh jam.”

“There is no water anywhere near here,” she mutters dryly. “Nor any point in trying to clean this off.”

“Misty, Misty, Misty, Misty…” Shadow Milk Cookie bends over, waving Mystic Flour Cookie’s hand away. She sighs, but ultimately does little to resist. “You’re hiding something from me.”

Mystic Flour Cookie sets the brush aside. “Insistent as always.”

“Aw, come on now,” Shadow Milk Cookie grins, pearly whites glinting beneath the growing sunlight. “You can’t out-deceive me. So? What are ya hiding?”

Her face nears hers, so close that her breath brushes across her nose. Again, that devilish Cookie flutters her eyelashes, practically purring with every word. “Come on, Misty. You know you can’t hide anything for long.”

Mystic Flour Cookie sighs, squeezing her eyelids together. If she lets the moment pass, Shadow Milk Cookie will grow bored and move on. As long as they receive no reaction.

Something icy prickles her cheek. Her body jolts, her hand smacking the side of her face. The cold buzzes her dough, lingering for a heartbeat until her hand falls into her lap. Practically flowing with honey, Shadow Milk Cookie smiles at her, kicking her feet.

“Did you like my little gift?” Shadow Milk Cookie purrs. “If you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll maybe give you another.”

“Shadow Milk Cookie,” Mystic Flour Cookie breathes, the name spoken thinly. Her face feels so, so disgustingly warm.

“Oh~” Shadow Milk Cookie drawls, a cheeky grin inching across her face. “Is that blush I see? Did you love my gift that much?”

Mystic Flour Cookie’s hand claps over Shadow Milk Cookie’s face, over her eyes. The Jester groans as she’s pushed back, already pouting childishly. “Ugh! You’re always such a deepydowner… can’t I give my favorite Cookie a little treat?”

“You seem to believe showering me in affection is an effective way to get what you desire from me…” Mystic Flour Cookie sighs. She readjusts her sleeve and rubs at her face, focusing highly on her cheeks. Even with her best attempts, the warmth still stings her dough. She scrubs harder, but in spite of her best efforts, it remains stubborn. “I have never been one to entertain your foolish little-“

“Don’t you?”

Cold, gloved hands come to settle on Mystic Flour Cookie’s shoulders, unmoving against the sudden tension born between them. Pressure presses against her body, pushing her down until her elbows grind against the wooden planks. Shadow Milk Cookie’s knees rest against either side of her thighs, the Jester’s weight easing its way onto her lap. Mystic Flour Cookie grunts, her lungs halting as Shadow Milk Cookie inches closer to her face once more.

“I can only remember a moment up in your mountains,” Shadow Milk Cookie mutters in her ear, fingers moving to caress the stretch of her jaw. Mystic Flour Cookie shivers, one hand settling on her shoulder. “In this exact position… oh, but I do recall it being the other way around!”

“Shadow Milk Cookie-“

“Do you remember what you did to me that morning, Misty?” Shadow Milk Cookie asks, voice reduced to a husky murmur. “You promised me a hundred kisses if it meant getting me to stay the night.”

Mystic Flour Cookie makes a noise as those lips press a kiss to the corner of her jawline, right below her ear. “I do not recall such an event…”

“Aww.” Another kiss to her jaw, an inch away from the previous one. “And here I thought lying was my job.” Another kiss, just below her chin. Then another to the corner of her mouth. “Admit it. I give you a thousand kisses, and you tell me what’s wrong.”

Mystic Flour Cookie squirms beneath the fifth kiss, every attempt halfhearted and weak. Meant more for a show than a proper escape attempt. “Always childish with these antics, you are.”

Shadow Milk Cookie smiles at her, flowers practically blooming around her head. “You love it.”

Mystic Flour Cookie would typically argue against such horrible allegations, but unfortunately, she is much too distracted by the parade of kisses raining down upon her. With every press is another little mark, a blue lipstick stain lingering hotly on her dough.

Any show of struggle ceases after the twelfth or so kiss, her arms knotted around Shadow Milk Cookie’s neck as her neckline is decorated in blue. Gloved hands move from her shoulder. One comes to cup her jaw— distinctly covered in white gauze, moving even with Mystic Flour Cookie’s repeated insistence. She refrains herself scolding, for a Cookie as stubborn as this wouldn’t dare take her health advice seriously. It anchors her in place with ease, offering just enough time for Shadow Milk Cookie to finally, finally, direct her attention towards her lips.

Mystic Flour Cookie sighs in instant relief the moment Shadow Milk Cookie’s mouth covers hers, a gentle pressure tasting vaguely of plum jam. Her heart soared at that moment; an easy, deliberate and lingering taste finally shared between them after so long. Had she not already been laying down, she surely would’ve collapsed.

The other hand descends from her shoulder, teasing the side of her ribcage with the tiniest rubs. It keeps creeping downwards, to where all the blackened jam soaks into silk— where her unattended wound still rests. A sudden burst of panic claims her chest, heart pumping through her ribs so harshly her head spins.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s hand stills. A puzzled noise escapes her, before she fully pulls herself away. Indeed, staining her glove is inky jam, streaking the snowy white fabric with newfound gray.

Blue lipstick is smudged across her lips. Mystic Flour Cookie straightens after Shadow Milk Cookie’s body crawls off of her, eyes intent on the jam clinging to her glove.

“Well!” Shadow Milk Cookie attempts to wipe the jam on her dress, but some of it still clings to the fabric. “That’s one less riddle to worry about…”

“Pointless,” Mystic Flour Cookie mumbles. “Some things may take an eternity, but-“

“Oh, no, no, no, no…” Shadow Milk Cookie waves a hand towards Mystic Flour Cookie, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. Nada. Pas un seul mot.”

“You cannot possibly be-“

“NOPE! Zip it!” Bringing her hand up to her mouth, Shadow Milk Cookie tugs off her glove with her teeth, spitting them to the side. “Don’t move, Misty. I know maybe half a thing about tending wounds.”

“Ah…” sweat beads around Mystic Flour Cookie’s temple. “That is completely unnecessary, really.”

“‘Completely unnecessary, really’,” Shadow Milk Cookie mocks, rolling her eyes. “Puh-lease! Don’t insult yourself to my face, Sunny. I get very overprotective over my costars.”

“I sincerely doubt you are even capable of patching a wound from a Kala Namak Knight,” Mystic Flour Cookie says. “Allow me to do it. Or if you simply cannot trust me, let Eternal Sugar Cookie.”

“Mm hm. Oh yes,” Shadow Milk Cookie twirls a strand of hair around her finger, tugging on it loosely. “And what are the chances I’ll go down to Sugs down there and she says you refused her help?”

Mystic Flour Cookie says nothing, with no outward reaction beyond the sudden clenching of her jaw. That’s all Shadow Milk Cookie needed.

“That’s precisely what I thought.” Shadow Milk Cookie puffs out her chest with pride. “C’mere, Sunny. My oh-so-gentle hands can heal any wound your dough carries.”

Mystic Flour Cookie almost groans out loud. Fortunately for her, she has just enough restraint to only cringe. “I am the healer here.”

“And yet there is no healing to be found since last night!” Shadow Milk Cookie says, voice heightened. “Curious, isn’t it? It’s almost like somebody is avoiding doing their job!”

Mystic Flour Cookie’s hand cups her side, a growing tenseness in her jaw. “I am not avoiding it, as you so crudely put it,” she says. “I am merely allowing it time to mend by itself.”

“Ohh,” Shadow Milk Cookie tugs on her hair again. “Very effective indeed. That must be why you’re still bleeding.”

“Now is not the time for your childish pettiness,” Mystic Flour Cookie speaks harshly. “If I choose to put this wound aside, then so be it. Who are you to dictate what I am to do with my power?”

Shadow Milk Cookie coughs loudly into her fist. “Now, now, I didn’t mean any offense,” she says, a flicker of amusement melting into her voice. “But, forgive me, the very Sun of my wretched soul, for I do so humbly believe closing a wound is the proper use of a healer’s ability!”

“A healer is able to reject a patient in favor of another who needs it more. Your argument is…” Mystic Flour Cookie pauses. “…rather dull.”

“Fine, then!” Shadow Milk Cookie eagerly claps her hands together, dusting off the ruffles of her dress before pushing herself off the wooden planks. “Be the stubborn little butterfly you want to be.”

Mystic Flour Cookie blinks. “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving!” She declares, her voice echoing through the empty landscape, reaching towards the patch of trees across the cabin. “Even I know when to end a show. Truly, it’s been a pleasure, but I must get back to our lovely friends.”

Mystic Flour Cookie’s body quickly stiffens. Her fingers curl, purely by instinct, digging into the wound until her dough stings. “But-”

“I bid you adieu, my lovely costar.” Shadow Milk Cookie bows low, until her head met with her knees, one hand pressed to her chest, the other stretched awkwardly at her side. “Maybe, if that wound was properly cared for, I’d have the time to stay.”

“What about all of the…” Mystic Flour Cookie’s voice falters, a sudden rush of embarrassment sinking into her veins. She covers her mouth with her sleeve, staining the silk with blue lipstick, and turns her head the other way.

“All the what?” The sheer mischievousness pouring from that single question could fill an ocean. “Use your words, Misty. An actor can only hold an encore for a certain amount of time!”

“You know what I am referring to.”

“Oh, but do I?” Shadow Milk Cookie grins. “Enlighten me. What are you referring to?”

Mystic Flour Cookie attempts desperately to not look her way. “Nothing.”

“Aww~ you know I don’t like secrets.” Shadow Milk Cookie purrs, finally giving up the bow in favor of twirling her way over to Mystic Flour Cookie’s side. “Spill it, if you could be so kind?”

One hand rubs beneath her chin, tilting her head up. Mystic Flour Cookie squeezes her eyes shut, just for a brief moment, until at last she gathers enough patience to finally face this impudent Jester.

“Ignorant Cookie you are,” she hisses through her teeth. Fingers snapping around Shadow Milk Cookie’s collar, yanking her down until she falls back down on her lap. Sticking out her tongue, Shadow Milk Cookie straddles her thighs, both hands coming to rest on her sides, just above her wound. “What gives you the right to behave this way?”

“You adore me,” Shadow Milk Cookie says so matter-of-fact it almost lights a fire within her. “If you want my kisses so badly, you’ll have to earn it.”

“…What must I do, then?” It’s a foolish question. A foolish question indeed.

The sheer amount of mischief resting beneath Shadow Milk Cookie’s dough seemed to bloat in that very instant. Ivory needles poke out from her mouth, easily slicing through the skin of her bottom lip. “I promise you,” she breathes, every exhale brushing against her nose. Every word drips with sweetened honey, sticking stubbornly to Mystic Flour Cookie’s ears. “At least two thousand kisses if you heal yourself, Misty.”

Mystic Flour Cookie’s fingers curl, claws scraping against the wood. “And why should I believe a deceiver?"

“Oh, how you wound me…” Shadow Milk Cookie presses her cheek against Mystic Flour Cookie’s, fluttering her eyelashes like a pretty doll. “Sun of my heart, would I ever lie to you?”

She’s always known the answer.

“You look ridiculous.”

“And who exactly is to blame, may I ask?”

Indeed, like a fine ocean canvas, blue lipstick paints Mystic Flour Cookie’s body from face to collarbones, perhaps even beyond that. The same blue marking her dough stains the silk of her clothes. Some marks are more faded compared to others, some uneven and others smudged.

Lounging pleasantly right at her side, Shadow Milk Cookie applies another layer of blue lipstick, smacking her lips. “Would you like another two thousand?”

Mystic Flour Cookie wipes at the blue sticking to her cheek. It only smudges the mark, lipstick glued to both her face and her knuckles. She sighs miserably. “Do you know how long this will take to clean off?”

“Why clean it off?” Shadow Milk Cookie pokes her at her side, grinning teasingly at the glower Mystic Flour Cookie gives her. “It’s a nice little gift from me!”

“Nothing but little parasites…” Mystic Flour Cookie sighs, letting her arm drop onto her lap. “The others will be relentless.”

“They can get kisses too!” Shadow Milk Cookie practically shrills in glee, fanning her face. “I can be quite the generous, loving soul, don’t you think?”

Mystic Flour Cookie exhales through her nose. “That is quite the… interesting definition for you.”

Shadow Milk Cookie wiggles her brows, leaning in to press one last kiss to Mystic Flour Cookie’s cheek. The icy bite lingers sweetly, a fresh mark inked upon her dough. “Aww, c’mon… you know I’m a good Cookie deep down.”

Silence.

“The others will be rising soon,” Mystic Flour Cookie says.

Shadow Milk Cookie huffs, throwing the tube of lipstick behind her. “Crumbs, I hope so,” she sighs. “Things can get so dull without an audience.”

“Must you always crave attention?”

“Of course I do,” she pouts childishly, letting her cheek rest on Mystic Flour Cookie’s shoulder. “You never give me enough.”

Mystic Flour Cookie’s hand slides over Shadow Milk Cookie’s. Wordlessly, their fingers intertwine, delicate warmth molding with icy coldness. Mystic Flour Cookie squeezes first, Shadow Milk Cookie second.

“Spoiled in every sense of the word…” Mystic Flour Cookie murmurs, a slow breath puffing out her nostrils. Her eyelids feel so heavy…

“And whose fault is that, exactly?” Shadow Milk Cookie asks, a teasing lilt to her voice. She lets the silence afterwards linger, eagerly awaiting another jab through her pain-aching heart.

She waits. A minute passes by, then another. The grin wavers on Shadow Milk Cookie’s face. “…Mystic Flour Cookie?”

Again, no response.

Grumbling to herself, Shadow Milk Cookie shifts just enough to tilt her head towards Mystic Flour Cookie’s face. How odd. Closed eyes, slackened jaw, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest, all within seconds! Since when was Mystic Flour Cookie capable of falling asleep instantly? Seems more like an Eternal Sugar Cookie trait…

Regardless of the pout decorating her face, Shadow Milk Cookie readjusts their positions for Mystic Flour Cookie’s sake. Cushioning the Prophet’s head on her chest, Shadow Milk Cookie glides her fingers through those burnt strands of hair. Darkened patches crudely cling to her bottom eyelids, face creased with unrelenting worry even in the depths of slumber. All of the knowledge in the world couldn’t give her enough words to describe the sheer radiating beauty of this Cookie, even half-dead and asleep.

Shadow Milk Cookie sighs, a bitter taste lingering in the back of her throat. When did she grow so mushy? Disgusting, really. If the others ever…

“Mystic Flour Cookie?! Shadow Milk Cookie?!”

The door bursts open with the cry of a distressed mother hen, the poor thing slamming against the wall with a harsh thud. Shadow Milk Cookie, upon instinct, curls her body around Mystic Flour Cookie’s, lips pulling back in a sneer.

“Relax,” still tinged with exhaustion, Burning Spice Cookie’s voice rings behind the squawking Eternal Sugar Cookie. He grumbles to himself. “If they truly escaped from under our noses, they could not have gotten far. The Jester’s body is still much too weak to even reach the treeline.”

Much quieter, he mumbles, “I’ve always longed to go on a jester hunt…”

Shadow Milk Cookie immediately scoffs at the sheer audacity. “Excuse me?” She shouts loud enough for the two below to hear. “I, the grand Master of Deceit, Shadow Milk Cookie, am still capable of great feats even with a cracked Soul Jam!”

Beating wings enter her ears in an instant. The first thing she sees is that half-melted, glittery halo, bobbing side to side. Eternal Sugar Cookie’s eyes shoot towards Shadow Milk Cookie first, lingering only for a heartbeat before redirecting towards Mystic Flour Cookie.

She sighs, a sudden weight vanishing from her shoulders. Her hand moves over her chest. “Oh, what a relief…”

Shadow Milk Cookies scowls once Eternal Sugar Cookie drops onto the roof, right next to the both of them. “Uhh, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Her scowl deepens at the slightest hint of orange antennae popping over the edge. “What are either of you doing?”

“Is Mystic Flour Cookie unharmed?” Eternal Sugar Cookie drops to her knees, tail flicking behind her.

Shadow Milk Cookie rubs along the unconscious Cookie’s arm. “Looks safe to me.”

“Not with you it isn’t.”

Burning Spice Cookie’s hands clutch the edge of the roof, grunting as he heaves himself onto the wooden planks. The Beasts manages only three more steps before flopping onto his back, antennae twitching in the air before drooping down to his face. “You two caused quite the alarm,” he says, just discernible enough for Shadow Milk Cookie to understand. “I opened my eyes to feathers in my mouth and a squabbling bird.”

“Just because I faced a near-death experience once doesn’t mean I have to tell you every little thing I do,” Shadow Milk Cookie says with the briefest roll of her eyes.

“And still you neglected to do the bare minimum…” Eternal Sugar Cookie says, tilting her head to the side. Her ringlets cascade down her shoulder, tickling her arm. “Not exactly fair, is it?”

Shadow Milk Cookie points a glare in her general direction. “Have you failed to consider that I simply just do not care to do so?”

Eternal Sugar Cookie gasps, lightly smacking Shadow Milk Cookie on the shoulder. “How rude! Perhaps another dose will be worthwhile…”

The Angel wiggles her fingers as she says it. Sweat beads along the Jester’s temple. “Yeahh…” she drawls slowly, turning her head the other way. “No. No, thank you.”

Burning Spice Cookie lifts his head, one eye closing one second before the other. His gaze falls on the Cookie resting in Shadow Milk Cookie’s arms— still covered in the blue lipstick she happily used for this exact purpose. His thick brows furrow instantly. “What happened to Mystic Flour Cookie?” Burning Spice Cookie asks.

A hot, sudden rush floods her veins, infecting her very jam. “That! Erm…” the sweating gets worse in an instant, gaze lowered to the Cookie in her arms. Still heavily painted with blue lipstick. “You know, when two Cookies love each other very much-“

She’s hushed in an instant. For once, Shadow Milk Cookie allows it, only in favor of threading her fingers through Mystic Flour Cookie’s hair.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s finger drags along those ruffled bangs, dragging the tiniest noise from Mystic Flour Cookie’s throat. She blinks, biting back the bleat that surely would’ve escaped her feeling Mystic Flour Cookie nuzzle herself against her, even closer than they were before. Somehow.

Even with the undesired presence of two other Beasts, and a certain knight lingering at the back of her mind, a minuscule smile wobbles its way onto Shadow Milk Cookie’s face. She hardly bothers with another quip, pouring all of her attention towards petting Mystic Flour Cookie’s hair.

Maybe this entire situation isn’t as dire as she once anticipated.