Chapter Text
The scent of croissants lingers as he stares into the oak wood table in front of him. Shadow Milk felt rather weak, more than normal. His dough was baked with care in most places, but the amount of magic baked in his dough rendered him physically weaker than most cookies. Not that any of them could even compare to him anyways.
But, with that being said, the other aspects of his being were in a sense, stronger, to compensate for his overall “lesser” body. Such as, his sense of smell. Shadow Milk could smell the magic that came from the cookies around him, sometimes overly so.
He didn’t want to think the cookies’ name. It was ABHORENTLY ABSURD that he had been made a puppet of others’ desires yet AGAIN. He was the FOUNT OF KNOWLEDGE, Virtue of cookie kind, Shadow Milk Cookie. But all of his TITLES and ACCOMPLISHMENTS meant NOTHING to the keeper of time.
All the eons he has spent laboring and hating cookies means nothing to the, somewhat stronger, cookie of time. They have seen more than Shadow Milk could ever know, despite his title.
After his little tiff with that cookie-witch, and those witchesforsaken ANCIENTS, he was tired. Sick and tired of it all. There are just a few more obstacles in his way, and will rule in… eternal peace? CHAOS. Chaos is his purpose, his joy, his everything. But what was his joy if not fabricated by the witches for mere purpose?
It frankly matters not.
There was ONE other smell besides croissants. One the loathed with his being, more than Shadow Milks love for chaos, he loathed even more.
Shadow Milk looked up from the table.
“Why am I here Shadow Milk Cookie? Aren’t you tired?” the cookie in front of him looked at him like he never had before. His heterochromatic eyes looked directly into his opposing ones. Pure Vanilla Cookie.
Shadow Milk could’ve smiled.
He knew. With his newfound powers he knew. He could finally sense something coming from Pure Vanilla cookie. Something he’d been clawing for, yearning for, for all of Pure Vanillas puny, insignificant existence.
Hate.