Chapter Text
—--
“Your friends have failed.”
“You, too, are a poison that will spoil what little virtue is left in this world.”
“And in the end, all that will remain…”
—--
After the funeral, the Guide deposited her in a little boat.
It was a solemn and lonely affair. After she delivered her final words, she followed along without complaint, watching the bleak river with a passive gaze as he stood at the helm of their small boat, bobbing slowly towards nihility.
Their ride was long and silent; he hadn’t felt the need to talk, and she was too tired to, her gaze drifting aimlessly for a moment before settling on the lights in the water, caused by his bright armor as it reflected off the pitch-black. It was worse than a bone-deep ache, she thought, head lolling on her shoulder, her arms like lead weights. Her dress was long and heavy, her bonnet too ornamental for her tastes. In a previous life, she thought she might have preferred something a little lighter.
But, well… supposedly it wasn’t her business to know.
As they crossed the river of oblivion, she felt a vague sense of loss, what was already left of her meagre memories slipping away like leaves carried on the wind. With each crawling inch forward, a pit grew deeper and deeper in her stomach, an ache that not even the river could whisk away, and the urge to look back seized her heart with longing.
Indecisive and unknowing, she wasn’t sure which would have been better: to hold on to a failing life with all her might or to lose it all in the hopes of a new one?
Somehow, she didn’t want to do… either, but from the manner in which the Guide stiffened whenever she had even the notion of asking, her mouth shut and her palms, numb with cold, grew clammy from some remnant of emotion.
There was a lot she was willing to lose, she thought. The speed at which she had let go was more than proof enough.
Still… there must have been good times, too.
To have held on for so long. To have the vague sense that her second chance, however many chances she seemed to have in life, was ill-spent and full of her weary trek towards repentance, and yet plagued with such gentle hope and a bittersweet affection, so prevalent that it remained in her crumbled dough, embedded in her soul like a parasite.
The shoreline was still far away. She felt like she had been on this journey for forever.
She wondered when it would end, and berated herself for her impatience.
Accompanied by the quiet, her mind drifted to the funeral and its few guests: a solemn tombkeeper, a silent nun, and wondered if at some point she had more than that to mourn her passing. The thought filled her heart and emptied it too, rooted between affection and some terrible, crushing guilt. If she had any other means to move, she’d hold her chest, if only to calm down the uncomfortable twist of her soul and the heaviness in her head.
If her soul was reborn, she wondered, would she see those friends again?
Somehow, now, the thought of rebirth dampened her mood further– if it wasn’t already at rock bottom by now.
An experiment to see how low someone can go, she thought, shaking her head in minuscule motion.
Perhaps that was also an apt descriptor of her life.
As they passed through the midway point, she could see more of the surroundings, the Guide’s light reflecting off branches and small, blooming flowers; a wilderness surveyed by none, left flourishing and forgotten.
Captivated, she leaned towards the side of the boat, watching a candle in the far distance flicker in an inviting dance. Slowly, other lights lit the horizon, blinking on and off like children passing messages between each other, thoughts and feelings she no longer deserved to be privy to.
She swallowed, blinking back tears that collected in the corner of her eyes.
She looked towards her own extinguished candle, left within the holder of her staff. The Guide hadn’t moved from his spot at the front, to the point where she couldn’t tell whether or not he was truly doing the job intended for him. To be honest, she thought he looked a bit like a statue, even when he struck her down at the…
She grasped her staff, embroidered with a design that she held no recognition or affection for. Though it was not lit, the wax was melting to a stub. She wondered vaguely what she was thinking of moments before.
With nothing else to do, she turned her head away from the light in the dark, wondering where her heart, far away from this boat, yearned to travel to.
Happy to have once again caught her attention, the candles resumed their dance, tracing shapes across the sky– or, that was what her weary heart wanted to believe, watching the smoke intertwine and imagining the rest.
—
A tan hand that grasped her own, a rug beneath their feet.
With their free one, they pressed the side of their hand into their mouth, a giggle on the tips of their tongue.
“Typical White Lily Cookie.”
—
She raised her head.
—
Steps on violet-blue pavement, holding out a small ice-cream cone towards her. After taking a bite, she grimaced, sticking her tongue out at the stinging sensation.
“It’s too cold…”
They brought it back to their mouth and licked it experimentally before shaking their head, a motion so vibrant she could almost imagine the disheveled blonde strands getting sent into further disarray.
“You have to take it slow sometimes!”
—
A precious script where each paper was lost along the way. Even if she grasped the binder to her chest, cupping her hands underneath the folder, they wormed their way out of her book and escaped as if waiting for it all along. It happened so naturally that she didn’t have the time to register it, reaching out for something already long gone.
With each painstaking inch forward, she knew: an instinct of any wandering soul. The river, befitting of its name, was taking her memoir and scattering her feelings across the water, her unresolved emotions a mere pollutant in her path to rebirth. If she looked down now, how far beyond her reach would they be?
—
“I don’t want to bother you…”
“But I like your lily scent!”
—
When she opened the manuscript to read the sentences, hoping to at least burn them into her memory, the words shimmered uneasily and dusted away with every touch of her hand, smeared by the slightest sensation. Her vision grew blurry, and she inhaled, holding her breath in fear of bringing further ruin to her only treasure.
—
“Are you also happy… that I’m back?”
—
It was gone too soon, too early. There was so much she hadn’t seen yet. It was her favorite story, but she couldn’t remember a word, and soon she knew it would be nothing at all.
When she turned to the last, shining page, her breath caught.
—
“Of course… I’m so happy you’ve come.”
—
She put her hand on it, and the golden ink smudged her thick, black gloves, fading with the rest. Still, long after even the ink had disappeared and the paper was little more than a blank page, she held it close to her heart, her eyes closing, holding the void as if she could grasp that warm voice, keep it safe in her arms.
It was so tender and so obviously filled with love that she wondered why she didn’t notice it sooner. The subtle affection, the gentle smile, the hand she would sometimes ignore, and sometimes run to catch up with, just because they had that much time– to be mad at each other, to be happy with each other, to be together regardless. Even though the ending was blotted out and each name was no longer what it once was, the mere thought of losing it altogether suddenly left a deep impression in her soul, and all at once she came to realize her terrible loneliness.
Yes, she thought. That must be it.
The reason she had persisted for so long living a life she thought must have only been filled with loneliness and the deep, aching guilt that would reside in her soul forever. It must have been because of him.
But if that was the case, she thought, thinking of the empty binder, a story now held by only one.
Then why weren’t you there, at my funeral?
Was that the direction her heart was pointing? Was that the unfinished business that left her thoughts on that near side of the river?
She put her hand on her chest. If these lingering feelings, her final hint, were love, it was one that wouldn’t leave her even if the world had turned to dust. If it was… if it was that cookie, then she was sure he… they? Would have shared this sensation, this distinct feeling of loss.
So then, why…?
Were they alright? What happened just before she died? Who was it, that tan hand that once walked with her hand in hand and talked to her in that soft, warm tone?
Where… where have you gone?
She stilled her aching heart, folding her hands on her lap. Her gaze trailed to the silent Guide, his helmet facing only the front. After rebirth, would she find him again?
There was something that had to make this journey worthwhile, she thought, her head heavier with every moment she was doing more than simply resting on the way to the final stop, her eyes growing heavy from the strain, her body little more than sandbags piled atop each other.
Where should I go?
What if, after she was reborn, she couldn’t find him?
What if, after she was reborn, she would never think about him again?
I want to talk to you.
She…
Was there really no one to say goodbye to her? Were they all busy, all gone? If she waited for just a little more until they reached the shoreline, would she… would she really see them again?
Were they otherwise indisposed? Was there a reason… There was no one to say goodbye to? If that was the case, why did– why did she hold on for so long? What was she fighting for?
What was it again…?
I want to see you.
Right, there was a reason. Because she always had a reason.
The Guide answered few of her questions beyond his name— to enlighten her was not his job, after all. But she was… this cookie, who she once was…
Because you will surely accept me.
The call of some unfinished business that tugged at her soul, a siren’s song beyond the bleak river, somewhere beyond the shore that they had long departed from.
Perhaps, she admitted to herself, placing her second hand on the wooden rim, there was a viable reason why that which led her to the underworld did not speak.
She leaned forward, her gaze on the river beyond.
You’ll answer my questions.
Perhaps there was a reason why he only kept his gaze on the final destination, without sparing a glance at the surroundings.
Her eyes grew brighter, on the cusp of discovery. Her heavy dress, dragging her down, tilted the boat ever-so-slightly to one side. If she could swim, so be it. If she died, well, she was already dead and gone, was she not?
I’m sorry, but…
Perhaps he thought that silence was enough to curb her thoughts, her endless curiosity.
As the Guide looked back, urgency in his movements and the way the armor clacked in his attempt to reach her in a way she hadn’t heard before, she smiled her last smile, one knee already half-over the side.
“Thank you…”
It was strange. She was sure he told her his name once before, but…she couldn’t think of it. No, she couldn’t think at all anymore. A new goal, brighter than anything else, lay in front of her, waiting to be discovered.
But most importantly, she thought… the most important thing of all…
I miss you.
Her grip loosened, and a piece of her dress ripped off as he made a grab for her, some exclamation that she couldn’t understand, but the rest of it did its work, plunging her deep underwater.
—
“Find an answer that helps you move forward, even if just a little. Like you’ve always done.”
—
He blew on his hands and gently rubbed them together, trying to return the circulation to the tips of his dough. His clothing, reflecting the soft violets of the area, dragged along the delicate paths, gold-lined and clad in a navy so dark it could be called black. The curls of his long hair brushed the back of his neck, barely moved by his slow and aimless shuffling.
He slowed to a stop, then sank to his knees to lie down along the side of the white water, his eyes so heavy that he surmised that if he closed them, he would not find the will to reawaken for a long while. In a place like this, he’d even call it something of a boon.
Truthless Recluse rested an arm on his forehead, then closed his eyes, taking breaths only when he remembered he needed to.
In the Spire, the only place not plagued by that commiserable palette was the Yogurt River of Rebirth.
Thus, it was the only place where he could, for even a modicum of a moment, feel at peace.
For once, with its master away, there was little more than the noise of the babbling brook, hanging plants swaying along to a silent rhythm. Nowadays, it was hard to sleep, borderline impossible for him, but the Soul Jam connected to him ensured his life regardless, no matter how much he let himself fall.
So he did.
There wasn’t much point to anything when nothing one could do would stop them from being alive, though he found through much experimentation (or rather, much of doing nothing) that over time, eventually, it did take a toll on his body.
What was it, then? Slowed metabolism, from the lack of an energy source? Brittle dough, from hours and hours of picking away at it, deconstructing himself?
What was the point of it all, once that cookie returned? Hell on Earthbread, again? Prattle and lies and lies and deceit and disappointment, shame, and guilt, again? No, he thought. It was much better to close his eyes, blind to it all. It was much better to ignore everything, thinking of nothing, forgetting all that plagued his past and all that would come to his future, assuming there would be one at all, anymore.
A total relief of all duties, the loss of all purpose.
Cookies jumping into fire. Cookies up in arms over fake truths and word of mouth. Cookies fighting, confused, winning and losing pointless battles. Deaths and deaths and deaths on his hands.
He turned on his side and covered his ears, willing it all away.
He hadn’t known how long he remained in that ambiguous state, accompanied by nothing but the soft ambiance of the gentle river, though like always, he could never rest for long. Thinking about it, any excuse could come to mind; the area was too bright, the ground too cold. The hanging leaves sometimes fell and left his clothes a mess, or it was simply too open of a space for him to be able to sleep in it. But the truth (and how funny it was, to be thinking of truths in this place) was simply because he could never feel safe here. Not in this Spire, not in this continent, no matter how many personal touches the owner sprinkled into his life or his room, decorated like one would a doghouse of an especially prized pet.
This wasn’t home. But when he thought of home, the ache in his head and the hole where his heart once was widened, threatening to swallow him whole, or eat him from the inside out.
So it was better to not think at all.
The river gurgled in reply.
He nodded absentmindedly in response, almost about to drift off before his sluggish mind caught up to him and he thought, no, that isn’t right.
The way this River was, every resident of the Spire could not drown within it. And yet, it was rippling, the surface disturbed, bubbles rising to the surface as if one had decided to take a dip and was refusing to come out.
At first, he hesitated. To not extend a helping hand-- it was not something that came to him easily, but was rather learned after the numerous practical jokes the sidekicks had played on him after they found out that rather convenient fact. In all honesty, looking at that strange disturbance now, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes– why would he, in this place, after all those sleepless nights and all that that Beast had shown him?
So what was it now? Another vision, another nightmare? The fourth prank and badly hidden murder attempt that Candy Apple tried on him this week?
Woe on him for falling for it again, he thought, stepping onto the creek. Even if he fell again, no doubt he would resurface. Kneeling near the unrest, he thrust his arm in, blindly reaching for whatever had gotten caught in its currents, his hand wrapping around an arm.
He almost let go in shock, but after confirming an actual cookie was underneath, he dunked his other hand in, pulling with all his might.
Were they truly not a resident, or was this one of the exceedingly rare slip-ups that he somehow managed to encounter? If not a resident, then…
A sense of dread prickled up his dough, and his grip faltered before he renewed it, leaning back as far as he could go in hopes the force would help him. They were lodged in, almost impossibly heavy, as though rocks were dragging them down.
If it was a cookie– a real, innocent cookie… never mind how they had gotten there, so long as they were alive.
Even if he had little control over his own life, he could manage at least this much.
With a rather ignoble plop, he wrested them free, their face covered by veil and long, long hair.
As expected, he thought, looking at the bunches of fabric that came unstuck with them, the beginnings of what was surely a long and complicated dress. He didn’t have much time to think, however, before they quickly began to sink again, and he moved their arms to carry them on his back.
(So weak– why was he so weak?)
It was a long and arduous process to the riverbank, which rested only a short distance ahead. Even with the goal in sight, his wrists trembled from exertion, his head already spinning from the force. One cookie was already too much for him, but one wearing all that this one was, while being drenched from the river water, was beyond any capabilities he had at the moment.
Still, he persisted until he touched dry land, stumbling at the finish line before collapsing into the grass, the cookie atop him. He took a moment to breathe, almost feeling as though he would pass out again, before rolling them off of his body, turning away almost immediately to curl up and warm his freezing body.
They didn’t move, and he didn't turn to look at them. Better two bodies on the riverbank than one, he supposed. A little company on the way out was always nice.
“...”
Blindly, he reached back with his hand, still turning himself as far away as possible from the other, hand eventually coming to a rest at a clothed arm. Like an old friend, healing magic came at his beck and call, closing his eyes as the warm light flashed behind his back before returning his arm to his side.
That was enough, he thought, his consciousness already slipping.
He’d done all he could. He was…
…
—
Her first thought was that it was unexpectedly warm and dry.
She put her arms around herself, trying to make sure she really was whole and intact and not just imagining the whole thing, only to let out a sigh of relief as she confirmed the continued existence of… well, herself.
She sat there in befuddlement for a second before flopping back on the grass, hugging herself as she splayed out, rolling back and forth in silent celebration. All limbs intact, not as dead as before, and only a little soggy! Thank goodness, she was alive!
The cookie paused, putting a hand to her mouth, worried now. How exactly was she alive?
She put a hand on her arm, pinching the fabric, then placed her hands on her cheeks, testing its warmth.
It was strangely shaped, she thought, somewhere between realms– not quite alive, not quite dead. She was coloured warmer as well, in comparison to the greys of her dough when she was in the…
Where was it, again? She was certainly somewhere before...a dark place, that had…
Candles and…
A light whimper interrupted her spiraling thoughts, and she perked up as she looked over, seeing the dark-cloaked figure wrapped up like a kicked puppy, a long-cone hat resting on the side as he lowered his head into his arms, seemingly in a state of distress. Concern rose in her, and she crawled near him, lightly placing a hand on his shoulder to shake him awake.
Curiously, once she had, his expression lightened somewhat, but he remained out like a light. Curious, she loomed over him to have a better look, only to be blocked off by her long veil.
It was a strange thing to be wearing in a place like this, she thought– and annoying too. Surely she didn’t truly like wearing such heavy clothes in outdoor settings?
Yes, if she had to choose, she thought, probably something simple to put on and take off, and a cloak to weather the elements…waving her hands as if to visualize the thing. She had the vague sense that there was supposed to be something in hand, like what any respectable traveler would have… such as– a bindle? A bindle! She ought to find a bindle later.
She would have tried to visualize more, if not for the stranger beside her. With a cautious hand, the cookie turned him over with just about a thousand gentle nudges, watching his face for any sign of wakefulness.
And what a nice face it was, if not for the heavy eyebags underneath and the lightly anguished expression. It invoked something in her, a feeling of familiarity and a deep-rooted affection.
She put a hand on her chest, checking her heartbeat. Surely she wasn’t the type to fall for the first person she saw ever, assuming they were the one who rescued her, right?
…but from the looks of it, she hummed, gently brushing his long hair out of his face and delicately squeezing the remaining river water out of his sleeves in the hopes that his furrowed eyebrows would subside just a bit. He really did help me out.
A sense of contentment rose within her dough, and she pat his head lightly in appreciation, her hands lingering in his blonde locks, lighter than she’d thought they would be.
What a nice person.
That statement rang like a truth she had established a long time ago, and that, if anything, only made her heart warmer.
Maybe we knew each other?
That would be nice. Knowing something. The cookie played with strands of her hair, then pulled some up to the front of her body– and kept pulling, and kept pulling. It was rather long, but she found she quite liked it that way. If she could keep it bundled up, it would be even better. She lit up at the thought of it before deflating– she had no such band to tie such long and thick hair together, nor did she have the reach or flexibility to keep it even the whole way through, either.
Suppose I’m just a failure in everything I do.
That was intended to be a joke, but the unexpected sting it gave her heart hurt much more than she expected, so she ended that train of thought as early as she could. Looking for other topics, unexpectedly, was much easier for her, being in such a curious area.
While she was thinking, her gaze drifted again to the snoozing cookie beside her, his expression softer and unguarded as she ran her hands through his hair. It was impressively soft, even though he looked rather unkempt in general– and paler than he should be, though she didn’t quite know where she could have gotten a reference for his original colour from.
He already looked so worn and tired. The cookie’s gaze softened, feeling a familiar sense of guilt rise in her.
He might be heartbroken to know that I don’t remember him.
And she, too, thought it was a tragedy– because if she was his friend, why would she have let him get to this point? What was she doing the whole time he wasted away? She put a hand to her mouth and bit it, allowing anxiety to rise in her dough before willing it away with some difficulty.
What were the circumstances here? What could she do to fix this now? She wanted to explore, but a nagging fear gave her a feeling that the moment she left, a new nightmare would start for him again, and the thought made her heart twist pathetically in its little cage.
“I wonder if you know me,” she said softly, watching the way his expression pinched, his breath short and erratic. “I’m sorry if I do.”
She waited until his breathing smoothed out, and remained when he went silent, reaching for a cold hand that was thinner than he should be by pure reflex. She felt the beginnings of a fond smile bring her mouth upwards, and allowed herself to indulge in the feeling for as long as she was able to.
“But…if you do, then thank you for knowing me.”
—
Consciousness came to him slowly…and rather unwillingly, in his opinion, because the first problem was that this time waking up was a bit different from usual.
To be honest, he was almost scared to open his eyes– especially when ‘abnormality’ meant almost getting drowned, dropped off a tower, or similarly harassed. Worse still, when (if he had to guess), they wanted to bother him or ‘borrow’ his Soul Jam for one nefarious activity or another; always pledging that it was still his, prying it out of his protective hands.
Still, it was not as though it addressed him anymore, so he supposed it might not exactly have been ‘his’ at this point. It was nicer, instead, to just stay here, away from all the workers and the talk and the past, present, and future. He had no interest in watching himself fall, much less bearing witness to what could have been.
He didn’t know of another way he could say he was tired.
And much, much worse, he didn’t know when they would let him rest.
He woke up to a presence above him, unaware that he was asleep at all. At first, he closed his eyes, turning his head to the side as if to ignore it with an unintelligible mumble, but the weight on his chest persisted, strands of long, fluffy hair tickling his nose.
… No resident of the Spire had long, fluffy hair.
He opened his eyes, pupils focusing in on a blurred figure in front of him, clearer as she leaned close in obvious curiosity. For a moment, his breath caught, his eyes widening in hope before his expression froze, frozen in place by her face.
—
A mocking smile, watching his every reaction, a bug underneath the microscope.
“Oh, and my old friend was quiii-te descriptive about it, too. Don’tcha wanna hear? Well?”
—
He forced his expression to deaden, ignoring the sudden lump in his throat, the emotions that had risen so often and so obviously these days. Another trick. Another—
Turning his head away, he pulled an arm over his eyes with great effort and muttered, unable to mask the bitterness of his tone. “...Enough, Shadow Milk. If this is your idea of a greeting, I’m in no mood to be tricked again.”
At this point, it played out like a particularly annoying song and dance. He’d shut that down, the other would giggle or go into some monologue, and he’d have to be the one to deal with it again. If Candy Apple wanted the damn attention, why couldn’t she just swoop in like a savior and grab it herself? Then he’d finally have some respect for her.
But instead of the mocking he was expecting, he only got a soft and confused hum in reply, more of her white hair pooling beside his head as she tilted her own in confusion. Her mouth opened and closed, and after a moment of hesitation, she spoke–
… in the same tone of voice she always used, back when she was–
“I don’t know what exactly you’re talking about, but… does this mean you knew me?”
He looked at her, his expression lost. If this was a joke, the Beast had clearly missed the timing. Or perhaps he was lying in wait, hoping he’d slip up and miss her for a moment more than what he was allowed, before shifting back and mocking him for the rest of the month.
She, in comparison, took that for permission to continue, a hesitant smile playing at her features as she tucked her hair behind her ear, one strand organized into a tiny braid that was already unraveling at the seams.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know…”
The cookie looked towards him, an expression full of some tender affection that he didn’t dare to name, because he didn’t know if the Beast could fake something so very… her.
But, it…it wasn’t as though she was even here anymore, was it?
“Did I… hurt you?”
—
“It must have hurt! By the end, she wasn’t even fighting back, anymore! So weak, so mellow, so… USELESS! Cookies and fire…WELLUH, WHO COULD’A GUESSED?”
The jester, laughing at his own jokes.
“Whaaa-at a shame, a shame. We could have used two ‘wise’ cookies… yannow, like you-and-me.”
He giggled himself to death all over again, almost kicking the chair over in his glee before floating himself upward, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“You’d best do to forget her, Vanilly.” His voice was calm and short, though his smile was as wide as a cat’s.
—
All that she saw in response was his blank and terrified gaze, his heart beating so rapidly she could feel it as though it was bound to crawl out of his chest, betraying his frozen expression. It cycled, or at least tried to, like every emotion was a beat away from showing before he stymied each one, clumsy and off-guard.
“Haha.”
He shook as if in intense rejection, trying to wiggle out of her grasp. She moved to get up, but felt frozen in place, caught by the way his expression suddenly grew haggard, half-gasps barely making it out of his mouth before transitioning breathlessly to weak, hysterical giggles as if he had no other choice, dull eyes humorless and dilated with fear.
“Haahaahahhaah!”
He laughed, his eyes crinkling like he was afraid to blink, worried she’d disappear. Her chest similarly jolted in unease, afraid to breathe or let go, lest he run away. Seeing her remain steady, his face twitched with an emotion she couldn’t describe as anything other than disgust.
Unwilling to reach for her, he instead grasped for his other arm, digging into the dough in clear distress before she took hold of one wrist and wrenched it away. Left without an outlet, he bared his teeth like a cornered dog, his arms trembling from the strenuous effort of resisting her. In another circumstance, perhaps, it wouldn’t have been so hard– but his wrist was just so thin that if she held on any more, she was afraid she’d break it.
“Let go of me.”
Her eyes widened with the sheer incredulity of it all. Her veil fell over them, disheveled from the struggle, and she shrugged it out of her face with a swift shake of her head.
“You’ll– you’ll hurt yourself! If you–”
“LET GO!”
Like he caught a second wind, he swiped his arm up towards her, and, in shock, she leaned back to evade it, letting go of his wrist in the process. Now freed, he scrambled out of her hold to grasp at his face, pulling the wilted peals of his hair in evident distress.
“Haha..ahahah… I– I don’t know what you think of me as…b-but this is too far of a joke, even for you.”
His hand moved upwards and held his temple as if he was holding down a headache, the free one covering his mouth like he was about to throw up. Still, words poured out like a waterfall, unsteady and spat out like vitriol.
“Are you happy? Is it satisfying, now that you’ve dragged me down and– and, using me to– her to–” His eyes welled, but he didn’t cry, and a part of her wondered if he had already faced so much misery and so much despair that he had lost the ability to. A vague smile crawled onto his face regardless, but he wasn’t looking at anything in particular, his gaze still hollowed out and empty.
“I– I’ve had enough of it! I can’t, I can’t, I..”
He breathed heavily, his shoulders going slack as he backed off, turning away from the one behind him. It was a slow, stumbling walk that stopped at a path far away from where she was, as far as his legs could carry him— before he stopped, leaning on his staff until it gave out and he, too, fell with it.
She made an alarmed noise and moved closer to help, but hearing her steps only made him let out a wounded whimper and aim his staff in her general direction in a silent threat, pulling his hair in distress and dragging his hand down his face, enough to scratch dough as he curled up, exhaling roughly that she thought he would pass out just from depriving himself of air.
After her footsteps ceased, he dropped the staff, its handle clattering uselessly against his side as he brought his other hand to hide away more efficiently, the only sound between them that of his rough breathing and her own heart, beating wildly in her chest.
“…what are you..?”
She blinked, then looked towards the grass, bunching the plants within her grasp. Her voice, fraught with hope, escaped regardless.
“...I-I don’t know. I…was hoping you could tell me that.”
“…”
“How do I know that you’re…?”
She waited, but he didn’t finish his sentence, only curling further into himself.
“Do you… know how I can prove myself?”
Through his muffled, quiet voice, he softly replied. “Memories.”
“…I’m… I’m sorry.” She muttered, feeling as though she might tear up.
He didn’t reply.
The soft dusk became night, but the clearing was as illuminated as ever from the river’s soft glow. She watched him, a ball in the corner, and pulled her knees to her chest herself, reaching for the water and letting it fall through her hands, if only to do something while he collected his thoughts.
They stayed like this for a long while, enough to make her restless— but she didn’t move, unilaterally guilty for something she wasn’t culpable of. But at the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to blame him, either… because whatever happened to her, someone else was using to haunt him.
No matter how she thought about it, it was inhumane. No matter why he seemed unable to rest, even in sleep. No matter why he was so high-strung, so afraid—
Of her?
Her grip tightened on her dress, rife with anger. What did they—either of them— do to deserve the fates they had gotten? What was the point of all this suffering to be alive if this place was already hell on Earthbread?
“…how did you even get here..?”
As if intended to interrupt her spiraling thoughts, his voice shocked her back into reality, whatever she felt a moment ago draining away in favor of her lingering concern. He sounded mellowed out now, with a composure she thought he might’ve had in normal circumstances. The cookie looked down, rifling through her few memories, but all she remembered were dark waters, the sensation of drowning, and...
A single sentence, encouragement meant only for her.
“I…as far as I know, I jumped into a river.”
She hesitated, but his silence prompted her to continue.
“I was… crossing one, I think? But the only thing I know for certain is that I woke up here, with you beside me. And…”
She put a hand on her chest, her expression complicated.
“To you, I…”
What was it again? There was something she wanted to tell him, but all she had to her name were vague and burdensome feelings.
“…I see.”
From far away, she could see him finally pull himself up, his movements obfuscated by his long, dark robe as he once again took hold of his staff after a moment of hesitation. Unwilling to break their fragile peace, she remained still at the shoreline, waiting for him to approach her, preparing herself for the inevitable rejection.
As she sat on the riverbank of the milky-white waters, an open hand reached down to help her up. When he pulled her to her feet, his eyes dull and deeply exhausted, only a vague spark of some joke she was not yet privy to remained in his eyes– though his face was as monotone and serious as she thought him to be. Fueled by a nostalgic feeling she could not yet understand, she reached for him, yet he pulled away.
“Do you want to make a wager?” He asked, looking somewhere in her general direction.
“A… wager?”
“Just to kill time. You want to know who you were, right?” At her ensuing silence, he nodded in confirmation, staring blankly into the riverbank before he elected to explain.
He raised a hand, gesturing towards the exit of the clearing.
“I will guide you out this place. If, for the entire time, your memories don’t return… I win, and you’re free.”
He tilted his staff downward, a hand resting on its petals.
“On the other hand, if, over the time you spent with me, you remember who you once were… you win, and I’ll stay with you forever.”
She nodded, then waited for additional conditions. Contrary to her expectations, however, he remained silent, simply tilting his head in return. It was truly a simple bet— based on chance more than anything, unless there was something he wasn’t letting her in on.
Her gaze followed where he was looking previously— the riverbank. Was there something he could have gleaned from that? Other than its white sheen, she wasn’t sure of its properties besides how easily she could sink in it… as expected of all water.
How suspicious.
She’d have to glean information on her own, but, judging from his reactions, it was already a risk for an uninvited guest like her to be here at all…
Still, she had to know.
“… Is that meant to be a punishment?”
He looked towards her.
“You want to remember, don’t you?”
She nodded
“Then I’m your best bet, no?”
“Well, yes… but I meant something more like— it’s a punishment for you, isn’t it?”
He smiled. She wondered if his genuine ones were just as soft, just as pretty.
“...You are a kind person. No matter where you go, you will worry about me. I am, in comparison…”
He trailed off.
“You might be right. But if that was the case, it’s not my punishment— because in every life, I have been your burden.”
She wanted to say something, to refute, but without evidence, without knowledge, she knew her words at this point would be nothing but meaningless platitudes. She fell silent, trying to understand the terms of what he had laid out in front of her, before coming to some conclusion.
“But that also means you’d stay with me no matter who I turn out to be, wouldn’t it?”
He blinked in vague surprise, but showed little more.
“No matter who you are.” He confirmed, staring toward the space beside her for a moment, before his gaze passed just barely over her face.
“If you’re alright with that, then come with me.”
She started to walk, but her steps slowed to an eventual stop, tugging at her gloves in nervous habit.
“…But what about you?”
How do you feel about it?
He paused, almost turning back to look at her in presumable surprise before quickly turning his stare back to the front, gripping his staff tighter than usual.
“…it’s nothing, really.”
It was a question he hadn’t been asked in a long while.
“White Lily Cookie.”
“Huh?”
“It’s… your name.”
From the way he hesitated, she could tell there was a little more to the story than that, but she let it pass to enjoy this gift, muttering her name to herself as if it would bring back all that she had lost. It didn’t help that, when he said it, it was in an incredibly soft and reverent tone that didn’t fit who he seemed to be now in the slightest.
Her ear tickled, and she brushed back her hair. It would be nice if he could say it one more time, she thought, nostalgia nestling comfortably into her heart.
“And besides,” he added, a faint smile playing across his lips. “By that time, you’ll understand what I mean.”
His next sentence was softer, a fact he was admitting to that he didn’t want her to hear.
“Because when you remember… you surely won’t want me anymore.”