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What a pain this whole “redemption” thing was. For one, Shadow Milk never expected to be staying in that stupid, half-baked fool’s pathetic excuse for a kingdom. But, he supposed he had no choice. His own lavish, gorgeous Spire was now nothing but crumbles. Whatever. It would do him no good to keep mourning it. He did still have his minions… Wherever they were.
But, he did know exactly what he wanted to do today. Oh, yes. A perfect scheme for revenge on that perfect cookie. After all, who was the one responsible for his very defeat and newly-spireless status?
Shadow Milk burst into the doors of the Vanilla Castle, having searched far too long (5 minutes or so) for his beloved plaything. “Pure Vanilla!” he would call out, shoving past servants and guards and warping through walls to try and find him. He wasn’t in a meeting, he wasn’t in the town, he wasn’t even in the gardens! That left only one place.
When the Beast of Deceit slithered into Pure Vanilla’s chambers, underneath his locked door, the last thing he expected to see was the blond just.. sitting on his bed. He wasn’t even working on papers or letters or some other boring junk like that? Huh. Perhaps he was getting a little lazy lately.
“Hey, Nills!” Shadow Milk beamed, floating closer to the blond to get a good look at his face. Witches, he couldn’t wait to see the look of annoyance–
The jester’s grin faltered, and he stopped moving when he saw the state of his other half. Pure Vanilla didn’t react to his presence. He scarcely looked like he was even in the same plane of reality. The blond’s gaunt cheeks were streaked with dried tears, eyes sunken in and heavy with sleep deprivation. His hands were holding his arms, taut with tension and blunt nails digging into his flesh.
His room was illuminated by the warm sunlight, bathing Pure Vanilla in its soothing embrace. His eyes weren’t on the stunning sunrise view, nor were they on the sun or the gardens below his balcony. They weren’t truly staring at anything at all. He was lost within the horrors of his own mind.
The longer that he sat silently, the deeper his nails sank into his bony arms.
“The morning after was so beautiful,” he begins faintly, curling in towards himself. “The bluebirds sang like never before. The sky hugged the sun, and the sun loved the flowers, and Mother Nature herself was beckoning me to come home. How was I meant to go home when my sight was obscured by a cage?”
Pure Vanilla didn’t clarify after what. They both knew.
Shadow Milk raised an eyebrow, a little surprised that he was still thinking about the spire. It felt like it was so long ago. It must have been months since then, surely.
However, just as he opened his mouth to question why on Earthbread he was talking like some romantic poet, Pure Vanilla continued.
“But I’m too filthy to go back home.” I have become too deformed and mutilated to still be her precious child. I’m rotting from the inside out. If I go home, I’ll infect her lovely fresh fruits and innocent budding roses with the maggots and parasites that leech off of my skin.
“She doesn’t deserve that. She is too good.” he whispers at last, faint tremors wracking his body.
The jester furrowed his brows, floating closer to Pure Vanilla and waving his hand in front of his eyes. No reaction at all. He looked dead. “Hello? Earthbread to Pure Vanilla?” he queried, giving up after a few moments of unsettling silence. This idiotic fool must have forgotten that he could read his mind as well. Why was he thinking like this? What was wrong with his head?
“Have you really lost your mind that easily, Nilly?” he joked with an unconvincing laugh, flicking the star-shaped mark on his forehead.
Pure Vanilla flinched, recoiling and hugging himself tighter. He let out a shuddering exhale, sounding as if he was on the verge of tears.
“You have to help me. I can't sleep and I can't eat and I can't breathe and I can't think and I can only feel so terribly much but what else can I do? I’m not even a person I don’t feel like I’m anything I don't feel like myself I dont feel like I belong I don't feel like I’m meant to be alive I’m not meant to be here I’m meant to be home I want to go home where is home where am I who am I who are you take me home please I want to go home I want to go home!” he sobbed, his frantic voice increasing in volume as he clutched onto Shadow Milk’s sleeves and stared up at him like he was his savior.
“Let go of me!” Shadow Milk snapped, wrenching his arm away from the blond and glaring down at him. “You pathetic worm! Is it supposed to be my fault that you couldn't handle a little playing around, Pure Vanilla? Aren't you supposed to be some kind of ancient hero? What kind of hero goes insane over something so small?” he hissed, glaring down at him with pure venom. The Beast’s hair whipped around him like furious tendrils, the numerous eyes strewn inside scowling at the king beneath them.
“I didn’t even do anything to you! In fact, I treated you like a princess. Most cookies would have begged to be by my side in the way that you were,” he snarled. He hadn’t meant to lash out at Pure Vanilla, in all honesty. The tiniest hint of guilt welled up in his chest as the other cookie went quiet, his expression softening like a kicked puppy. He didn’t want to get defensive. He didn’t want to lash out at an already fragile Pure Vanilla.
Stupid blond fool.
Pure Vanilla was silent for a few minutes, letting go of Shadow Milk completely, and instead opting to stroke his own long, matted hair with both hands. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine someone kinder, someone warmer, comforting him and kissing his forehead and hugging him close to her bosom. He couldn’t remember his mother’s face. His memories of her were fleeting, yet always filled with happiness. His heart felt so empty without her. Who could he lean on when he felt like this? Who would be there for him?
No one could ever replace the burden that a mother carries for her child.
He spoke incoherently, muttering nonsense to himself as he continued to run his fingers through his hair. They often got stuck on the way down, the knotted mess preventing the slow, careful descent of his own hand.
“I think I’m sick. Please don’t be mad at me,” he breathed, eyes opening once more and staring hauntedly into the distance.
Please stop yelling everything is so loud the screaming never stops and I cant ever get clean I'm so dirty and filthy and disgusting I need to tear out my bones and wash them with the love and tenderness that I was never given I don't want to be looked at I don't want to be acknowledged please stop looking at me please please I beg of you I spoke too much and now he's scared of me and he's going to leave I have to fix it I have to protect him and keep him safe and happy and
Pure Vanilla began to heave, weak, spasmic gasps of breath spilling out of his parted lips as his eyes began to water. He trembled violently, nails beginning to dig deeper into his emaciated arms to the point of drawing blood.
Shadow Milk, now fully alarmed, instantly swooped down to the blond’s level and pried his hands off his arms, taking the opportunity to examine the state of his body. He never quite realized how unhealthily skinny Pure Vanilla had become ever since they had left the spire. His elegant arms were adorned with hundreds of sweet little scars, both healed and fresh and raw. The jester then admired the indents of his blunt nails on his flesh, small droplets of crimson budding at the intrusions.
This fool really hid this from him for so long? Shadow Milk knew that when the blond was his Truthless Recluse, he’d be cooped up in his room most of the time, but he never caught a glimpse of what he'd done to himself in those brief moments of privacy. He thought that he liked having him starve. That he liked seeing him suffer. Now, with the appearance of a dying angel, misery didn't suit him as well as he would have liked.
“... Go on,” Shadow Milk murmured, allowing his heels to slowly sink down onto the ground before he sat down on the bed next to him. He let go of his arms, just letting him be.
Pure Vanilla sniffled. Some days I forget how I'm supposed to act. I forget that I'm safe and no one can hurt me anymore but it terrifies me. I don't know what to do with my hands anymore when all they've been doing for so long is trying to hide my skin and protect some tiny little sense of autonomy that I've forgotten I even had. I don't feel like a person anymore. I'm just a puppet without its strings and a mangled corpse that's been forced to continue living as if nothing happened. I can't stop thinking about it. I don't want to think anymore. I don't want to suffer. I'm so scared.
“What if I never get better, Shadow Milk? What if this is all that I am? What if I can never grow or heal, because beneath every tiny improvement and accomplishment I'm still me and I'm still revolting.”
Shadow Milk scoffs and shakes his head. Seriously? He sounded like he was just baked. "Don't talk stupid, Nills. As much as I really, really hate to admit it, you’re one of the strongest cookies I know. Below me, of course. You’ll get better. It’ll just… take time.” he replies smoothly, leaning in closer and carefully cupping his face with one hand.
Rather than comforting Pure Vanilla and calming him down, however, the gesture seemed to further distress him.
The blond freezes like a fawn in front of a starving wolf, pale as a ghost and trembling.
No no no no no please not again I don't want to go back there let go of me please please please please please please pl
Pure Vanilla can’t even utter a word in protest, too horrified to think or breathe, and can do nothing but begin to cry like a helpless child. Shadow Milk remains still, stunned by the blond’s outburst and panicked frenzy. He lets go of him completely and backs away, holding his hands up to prove his innocence to the frightened man in front of him.
“Vanilla, I’m.. I won’t touch you. I won’t hurt you. I’m just… going to stay over here. I won’t come closer unless you want me to,” he concedes, softly exhaling and just.. observing. His cold heart twists ever so slightly, seeing Pure Vanilla so panicked just by his touch. He didn’t understand. He himself had offered to be his friend, but he didn’t seem that scared in the Spire… Why was it so different now?
Pure Vanilla doesn’t reply or speak to him for what feels like hours. He rocks to and fro on the edge of the bed, feebly weeping into his hands and trying so, so terribly, to calm himself down. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…” he whispered, muttering incoherent sweet nothings and hugging himself like it would heal all of the sorrow and torment raging within his heart.
Shadow Milk’s patience, thankfully, was just long enough to be able to see Pure Vanilla slowly calming down again. He was reduced to meek little sniffles, lifting his face from his hands and mournfully looking back at the other cookie across the room. He felt like a child begging for a scrap of his parents’ affection.
“Please.. Make it go away. Make it stop hurting,” he choked.
With a pitying sigh, the jester cautiously approached the blond, ensuring he was going slow enough not to scare him again. When he didn’t flinch away in fear, Shadow Milk hesitated before wrapping him in an awkward hug. He’s never had to do anything remotely like this before, nor did he know if he was even doing it right. But it felt necessary in that moment to reassure him and make him feel as loved and cherished as he deserved to.
“You know I can't just do that, Nills… Grief is... well, it's normal. It wouldn't do you any good to make you forget it all. It wouldn't take away the fact that it still happened. Your mind may not remember it, but your body will. Whether you want it to or not.” he murmured against his hair, stroking it with his claws and unintentionally brushing the knots out at the same time.
When Pure Vanilla didn’t reply for a good 5 minutes, Shadow Milk leaned back slightly to gaze at his other half, silently worrying that he was getting worse. To his relief, however, the blond had fallen asleep against his chest. He’d clearly exhausted himself from all of his crying, and was now reduced to a small bundle dozing against his former enemy.
Rather than find the sight cute or endearing, Shadow Milk felt sick to his stomach. It wasn’t any fun to have a doll that was so mentally sick in the head that it couldn’t stop crying. The jester gently tilted Pure Vanilla’s chin up with his claw, scrutinizing the way that he could see his cheekbones through his gaunt skin. His pretty face shouldn’t look so mangled, like it belonged to a corpse. He pressed a featherlight kiss to the blond’s forehead and scooped him up into his arms in a bridal carry.
Carefully, Shadow Milk carried Pure Vanilla into his bed, tucking him under his heavy blankets and smoothing back his hair. With a snap of his fingers, he changed him into some more comfortable clothes (a plain white nightgown) and cleaned his face of any remaining tears.
He would probably panic if he woke up and saw that his former abuser was still in the same room as him, wouldn’t he? Despite how terribly Shadow Milk wanted to stay and at least keep watch for him, it would do more harm than good.
With one final glance at the blond, he summoned a portal and stepped into it, the flash of blue in the yellow room vanishing as quickly as it had come.
And when Pure Vanilla awoke later in the day, he would find a lovingly hand-made lamb cradled in his arms.