Chapter Text
Shadow milk cookie, great beast of deceit, and the best playwrite/actor/director inall of earthbread! Well, one would start small and say something like “in all of crispia, heck even earthbread” if he were more a humble cookie - and if..he lived in crispia that is. Well his escape from the tree so so recently meant re-reading all the stuff in his spire. Not only but organising whatever was left. of his past.
What was it that made him keep a journal, he didn’t know. What emotional, prissy,childish, soft doughed-
‘save the monologues, shadow milk! You wouldnt want to waste your best work on a fleeting moment with zero cookies around to witness your masterful work!!’ He’d scolded.
One might suggest he was made up of multiple cookies, or insane. But no, shadow milk just enjoyed - and dabbled in - the art of the theatre and sometimes characters stuck around too long.
That’s normal for cookies, right?
Anyway, the point of this was that he was a fool back then, even if what he was made for was solely to hold knowledge. He was reminded that often, especially now as he rummaged through stacks of books manually because of his lack of practice with magic.
It was unsurprising that a giant silver tree wouldn’t have much to do inside.
The …witches… (eugh he hated even thinking of that word) decided that a cookie that was strong and wise was far too much for earthbread and so they handicapped his dough, making it weak by mixing in milk. More than necessary.
Digging up all these books brought memories, atleast he found he remembered most of them, he’d read them so many times in his lonesome that rereading them in his head along with other things like old conversations and scripts had been what kept him sane all that time.
Finally he found a dusty old blue book, bound shut with a spell only released by his own soul jam.. he held it far from his chest just in case, as sure as he was that he knew the spell, he’d rather not have to recast it with how weak he’d been rendered after that stupid..
‘no no, shadow milk, don’t bother. Let the anger fester, you’ll be stronger with rage’
He wasn’t sure if this was something he was told or something he said himself…either way it was only wise if he’d said it and it was just a cheap trick if he hadn’t. Oh well, what to do with this book? The lake would do…the pages should dissolve and either way, only true deceit could withstand the lake. Oh also the spell, that too.
A quick trip to the milk lake below him met the now falling journal, it landed with a soft plop, the milk seemed to consume and grasp at it. Despite his knowledge he didn’t know if the book counted as truth or lies.