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“Pathetic, that the Beast chooses to stay with King Pure Vanilla Cookie. It’s almost domestic.”
“Ha! Yeah, really. The ‘almighty’ Beast of deceit with the beacon of truth? It's not hard to tell who has the high ground.”
“I worry for our king. I could never- how brave he is to allow a monster into his life.”
Shadow Milk should’ve crumbled those cookies right then and there.
He had been wandering the halls of the castle, vandalizing various portraits, pranking servants, wallowing about his imprisonment. The usual.
Then these two, puny little cookies- meaningless side characters in his theater, really- walked by. They hadn’t noticed Shadow Milk defiling documents in a meeting room when they passed.
The jester had zoomed to the door when he first heard the two, hiding behind the wall with a grin, prepared to scare the life out of them.
But he didn’t. Shadow Milk listened to them, gnats blabbering about things they knew nothing about while he hid behind the door and let them pass. How unlike him.
Shadow Milk has been on edge, to say the least, since his defeat. Being here was not at all helping. Something about what they said sort of… pushed him off the edge he had already been teetering on. Anger blossomed quick and strong, it was overwhelming.
To think that he chooses to be there? That he wants to spend his time with that boring old man? In this perfect prissy little dump of a kingdom? They didn’t even know half of it. Who were they to talk about his life, as two inferior things? Things Shadow Milk could destroy in an instant, and to have the gall to talk about him like that, it was stupid, it was unthinkable, and it made Shadow Milk so, so furious.
The worst part was that they were right. Pure Vanilla was keeping a monster in the kingdom. Someone- something that could blow up at any time, that could destroy so much, that could hurt his oh-so-precious friends. Shadow Milk has hurt his friends, he’s hurt Pure Vanilla for Witches sake, yet here the Ancient was, keeping him in this wretched castle with open arms.
His ever present kindness was sickening. It was not backed up by logic. It was definitely of no benefit to Pure Vanilla. The disgusting amount of care the jester has received since he got here was all so wrongly given. The situation was laughable, really- it made zero sense that the king could be so loving to him.
There was this other, gross feeling festering underneath his anger. Shadow Milk supposed that it was what kept him from lashing out at those cookies. Normally he would be quick to attack, to showcase his power, remind them of their place, or whatever- that feeling had stopped that. It was probably also what had him unraveled so fast. What made him a heavy breathing, furious, shaking (Witches, was he shaking?) mess.
He was not the type to lose all composure so easily- Shadow Milk was the perfect actor, he needed to stay in character, and this thing boiling in his core was an embarrassing liability.
It may be sadness. That wasn’t quite the word. Hatred? No, far too familiar- he would know it when he felt it. It was like… a punch to a gut. Something like that. Really, there was no need to put a word to it. It was embarrassing nonetheless.
His thoughts began to spiral, he lost touch with his surroundings as his thoughts slammed to the forefront. He hardly noticed his shaking physical condition, his anger was so palpable-
He shouldn't be here, he doesn’t belong here. He sticks out like a sore thumb, he’s a Beast and Pure Vanilla is an Ancient. He should still be in the spire, he misses the spiraling darkness of his own domain. No- He should still be in the silver tree. They shouldn’t have let him get out, he doesn’t deserve this light and warmth, the Witches were right about him, those cookies were right.
Shadow Milk needed to get out of this vile, beautiful place, he needed to break something and destroy something, and, and- he stopped. There was a hand on his shoulder.
“Shadow Milk? Are you alr-”
Shadow Milk’s facade slipped into place in an instant- well-practiced and perfect in its chaos. Not like what he was a second ago.
He was quick to whip around to face the cookie who dared touch him. Immediately, almost subconsciously, shadows swallowed up the surrounding area, faster than he could keep track of- and the two were isolated within Shadow Milk’s bubble of darkness.
Shadow Milk loomed over Pure Vanilla Cookie, whose hand had flinched away. Rightfully. The pure thing that the healer was, he stuck out here, his light defiling Shadow Milk’s perfect deceit.
“Ah, the man of the hour!” Shadow Milk exclaimed, voice sing-song and more abrasive than necessary. “Was that an attempt to console me?” he continued, “Aww, how cute! Funny of you to think there was anything you could do in the first place!”
Pure Vanilla didn’t answer him, couldn’t. Shadow Milk watched as his breath quickened and spiraled out of his control, as his head darted from what side to the other in obvious fear.
For a split second, he looked like Truthless Recluse. Something disgusting coiled in the Beast’s stomach. A wide, giddy grin suddenly split across his face.
“Are you scared of me, Nilly?”
The eyes scattered here and there focused tensely on the out of place thing shaking in their center. Pure Vanilla, who couldn’t help but back away, was trying hard to steady his breathing, to stop his shaking.
“No, I am not scared of you,” He stated, his voice firm yet still trembling, an easy sign of a lie.
“Oh, a noble attempt, but lying isn’t exactly your thing!” Familiar anger was making its way into the jester’s voice.
Shadow Milk watched as the thief steadied himself, recollecting and calming as if he wasn’t in the presence of a monster. It made him unbearably angry.
“Shadow Milk, I don't fear you. I know you far too well for that.” He restated, firmer this time.
“Foolish! You complete, utter, fool!” Shadow Milk practically yelled, delirium creeping into his voice now. “You keep a Beast into your quarters, holding my soul jam no less, and you don’t think i’ll hurt you?” He barked out a laugh. “Oh, silly, silly vanilly!”
The jester grabbed Pure Vanilla’s cheek, claws gripped tight around his jaw. Suddenly, their faces were inches apart. Shadow Milk grinned as he dragged his pointed fingertip beneath the other’s eye, tearing a thin, vertical line through his face as he did so- blood quickly beaded along the cut. It matched the dark blue scar beneath Shadow Milk’s own eye. How poetic.
Pure Vanilla let out a shaky breath, his mouth twitched in pain, but he didn’t move away. What was his problem??
“You know full well I could end you right now. I’ve done it before! I could rip you open, torture you and destroy you until you’re nothing but a pile of crumbs. Oh, how fun that would be! The oh-so-powerful Pure Vanilla cookie would be no more!”
“Maybe so, but you won’t.” He was unflinching. There was blood running down his cheek, there was nothing but darkness enveloping him, he should be scared.
The healer just stood there, mismatched eyes looking into Shadow Milk’s own, his stupid, ever present light mocking him. He brought his thumb to his cheek, carefully wiping the blood away from the deformity shadow milk carved on his perfect face.
He wanted to ruin him, tear apart the pretty, pristine face before him, just for being so perfect. For being what the Witches liked more, for being better than him. Better? Better than the Shadow Milk Cookie? Original holder of the soul jam of knowledge? The one and only Beast of deceit? Ha! The thought made him laugh.
Shadow Milk laughed and laughed and laughed, loud, assured and almost joyous, until it morphed into something more pitiful, a desperate noise of rage.
The other cookie cocked his head almost sympathetically- what was there to sympathize with, he wondered- and brought his hand up to Shadow Milk’s cheek. The gesture caught him off guard. It was far gentler than how he had grabbed Pure Vanilla’s cheek. He was quick to slap his hand away, recoiling back into the dark.
“Don’t touch me, thief.” Shadow Milk rasped. The healer frowned at that.
“Shadow Milk…” Pure Vanilla started.
“No, don't you dare start with any of that ‘I’m all loving’ bullshit,” He spat, cutting the other off. “You’re naive to think I’m fixable, or- or whatever you want from me.”
“Shadow Milk.”
“You know I'm a Beast, you fool. Your stupid quest is doomed, you’re practically running around in circles!! Can’t you just leave me be, I don’t need you-”
“Shadow Milk!” Pure Vanilla yelled- was he angry now? Maybe. It sounded like it. Shadow Milk hoped so.
“I’m not trying to fix you! Of course I know you’re a Beast, I have sense. I enjoy your presence, that is why I persist. I am allowed to understand your beasthood whilst wishing to be around you.”
“Oh, sure! Real enduring, Nilly.”
“Stop with the theatrics, please, Shadow Milk! You are a wonderful cookie, even if you pretend you aren’t.” His voice was soft, even under the layer of his frustration. It made something in Shadow Milk weak.
“I’ve been awful to you. I tortured you in that place! How stupid could you possibly be to put your trust in me?”
“I am well aware of my own experience. I think you were terrible, to me and to others. Though, I understand now that you simply needed someone.”
“Stop it.” The jester hissed.
“You did not want to harm me, you wanted someone who understood you. You wanted someone close to you, and your cruelty was the only way you knew how to get it. It was not acceptable, but I understand it.”
“You don’t understand any of it- I wanted to hurt you, I- I…” He started to stumble over his words, he was losing track of his deceit. Was that even true? Did he want to hurt Pure Vanilla? The healer still seemed to take no mind to it, lie or not.
“I don't think that anyone is deserving of abandonment, no one should be given up on, and that includes you. You are more than a monster. You are here, in my castle, because I like you. I truly wish you could understand that. I like you a lot, Shadow Milk Cookie.”
His knees had buckled- Shadow Milk barely noticed when he fell to the floor. How pathetic that he reacted like that. How pathetic that the Ancient didn’t so much as bat an eye when he hit the ground.
He wasn't powerful or fearsome like he had been when he first pulled Pure Vanilla into his shadows- was he even fearsome from the start? Now he was a hopeless pile of dripping darkness and eyes and loathing. He didn’t know if it was loathing for Pure Vanilla or for himself.
“God, Vanilla- you don’t quit, do ya?” He said through a weak laugh.
“No, I don’t,” Pure Vanilla replied, with a warm, although weary smile. “Not when it’s someone I love.”
Pure Vanilla lowered his hand, offering it out to Shadow Milk, still crumpled on the floor, pathetic and unworthy.
The darkness surrounding them melted away with Shadow Milk’s control, spilling into the floor and falling back to its creator. When the shadows fell away, the natural light from the window behind them slammed into the room, harsh and no longer hidden by Shadow Milk’s design.
Immediately, the sun hit the back of Pure Vanilla’s head, framing his face perfectly with light bouncing off of his skull in such a way that it could have been a halo.
If Pure Vanilla Cookie was holy, then Shadow Milk felt an awful lot like the Serpent.
The sensation of being lesser than, of not having the high ground, as he so often feels in this castle, was achingly reminiscent of an earlier him.
Shadow Milk thinks back to his time as the Fount of Knowledge. He doesn't often, he’d rather not, but it comes creeping back into his mind anyways.
He remembers the harsh touch of the Witches as they stripped him of his soul jam- the way they held him down, the weight of them on his wrists and ribcage, on his mind. The sensation was close to being ripped open and taken apart as they wrenched that piece of him away.
He remembers the hand of his creators as they carved the sigil of knowledge over his eye, the burning pain as the hands that made him teared through his face to forever remind him of his sin. Shadow Milk brought his hand to the scar tissue on his right eye. It was a mockery now.
He remembers his prison, how he was caged by that wretched silver. He remembers, most of all, aching to be touched again. To be touched by his creators, to be loved like they loved the Fount of Knowledge. The worst part was not that they had tore open his face, but that it would never happen again.
He had screamed until his throat was sore in that place. He would scream until his throat couldn’t take anymore, and then he would scream again. Mostly Shadow Milk screamed for forgiveness. He spent his days desperately begging the void of the silver tree for , repeating that he could repent, he could, he could. Repent, repent, repent.
Repent for what? What was his sin? Shadow Milk still can’t understand his punishment. At the time, he had not seen his lies as something to be punished. Knowledge had weighed heavy on the fount of knowledge’s mind, a burden to be beared for the sake of cookie-kind.
He didn’t want others to carry this weight, because it hurt. No one wished to know the true purpose of a cookie’s creation– of course they didn't. The fount of knowledge didn’t want to know that.
Deceit was only a means to make his knowledge simpler for other cookies, at first. Lies were meant to ease the pain of the truth. He couldn’t comprehend Witches’ anger at the time, he didn’t know what he had done wrong, why he deserved thousands of years of rotting in that tree.
Now, though, Shadow Milk would be quick to rebuke knowledge for the sake of deceit. He now understands that it just causes pain. His intelligence is nothing but a tool for him to support his cunning.
Those screams for forgiveness eventually turned to screams of rage. The more time he spent between those silver bars, the more his mind grew saturated and unraveled, the more his resentment for the Witches grew. He despised them for taking his power away from him, for taking a piece of his soul, for letting him rot and ruin there. By the time the cookie broke out, there was nothing he hated more. It was why he hated Pure Vanilla so much when the two had first met.
What made Shadow Milk the most sick was how much Pure Vanilla reminded him of the Witches. He had flinched when he saw his other half for the first time. His freedom was still fresh, his powers were still weak.
Of course, Pure Vanilla had stolen his soul jam; they were undeniably connected, they literally shared a soul, and it was impossibly hard for Shadow Milk to face at first.
But that wasn’t exactly why he reacted that way. There was a distinct warmth to the cookie, a warmth that was given to Pure Vanilla by the Witches. A warmth the Fount of Knowledge tried so hard to earn, a warmth Shadow Milk had grown to hate. A warmth that he almost leaned into after so much time in the cold and the dark of that place.
Even now, the light radiating from the healer, the heat of his hand, the softness of his touch- it was achingly similar to the sensation of the hands of his creators. It makes him hate Pure Vanilla, it makes him want to be loved by Pure Vanilla, it makes him want to be held by him and to be forgiven by him.
And forgiveness was right there in front of his face. It’s been there since the second he was defeated.
The idea of Pure Vanilla accepting him made Shadow Milk feel disgusting. It felt like he might as well be accepting the Witches with him.
More so, it was foolish. Shadow Milk has hurt him, and he’ll hurt him again, he isn't a good person. He’s nothing like the absolute saint that’s so set on befriending him.
But he needs it. Even if he hates to admit it. He needs love.
Shadow Milk allowed himself to be lifted by his hands, and he was brought into an embrace. Pure Vanilla’s arms wrapped around his limp ones.
He felt pathetic to just accept this, he felt small and weak in his arms.
“You are unrelenting in your kindness,” Shadow Milk murmured, his performance finally dropped.
“I am.”
“It will ruin you one day.”
“No, I don't believe it will,” the healer hummed. He said it like it was simple. Maybe it was.
Hm.
Annoying. How very annoying.
…Pure Vanilla Cookie is good at hugs. Shadow Milk doesn’t think he’s had a hug since he was the Fount.
He’d… forgotten how nice they are.
Maybe it didn’t matter that he was weak right now. Maybe the Witches didn’t have to get between them.
Maybe Pure Vanilla did, simply, like him. Maybe.
Shadow Milk allowed himself to lean into the warmth.