Chapter Text
The day Shadow Milk Cookie embarked on his venture towards the Vanilla Kingdom might have been the most tedious day of his life. Packing, dressing up, skincare and makeup, all that nit-picky business. He was already exhausted, and he hadn’t even left his bed yet.
Knowing that he'd have to face Pure Vanilla Cookie after their last rendezvous was outright fretful. It was the type of feeling that came only coupled with deeply-rooted shame and embarrassment. The true reason was even worse, and it weighed on him like a ton of bricks. The almighty Spire of Deceit, missing someone? Absolutely absurd. He could already picture it. Him, standing at the gleaming golden gates, tail tucked between his legs and practically begging for another chance. It was not only laughable, but also extremely pathetic, which only made it worse.
He'd told himself it was simply for his own leisure, that he'd take the long journey from the land of Beast-Yeast over to the much dreaded continent of Crispia just to enlighten himself. Just for the kick he’d get out of seeing Pure Vanilla Cookie’s reaction. It was a fib half-baked as his dough. For some reason, when it came to lying to himself, it always ended up being an a-list failure.
Being defeated by Pure Vanilla Cookie landed a solid blow to his ego. Out of spite, he swore he’d be back, though it was rather bold to promise a sequel to such a sore loss. That claim was more like a self-inflicted curse now, but they weren’t completely empty words. He was coming back, after all. Now, was he returning so soon out of the hatred in his heart? Not entirely.
He really did hate that cookie, though. He just didn't understand him. He didn't get how his smile radiated such a disgusting amount of warmth, how he'd had the audacity to reach out a hand and offer friendship to him, of all cookies. Why did he have to be such a pest? Why had his words resonated with Shadow Milk so strongly that it made him long to hear his voice again?
He despised Pure Vanilla Cookie. Yet, there was still a small part of him that yearned to see him again. He'd tried to crush it like a bug beneath his heel, but clearly, that hadn't panned out the way he'd meant it to.
The morning his little visit was to take place, he'd woken up with an unusual sense of grogginess. His eyelids felt excessively heavy and he couldn't will his body to move from the comfort of his bed. It was the unfortunate product of all of the anxious tossing and turning he'd done in his bed the previous night. He'd been unable to rest, trepidation filling every crevice of his mind like a cavity and ridding him of his sleep.
He knew he'd have to start getting ready soon if he wanted to make it there by the day’s end, though. Unless he forced himself to get up, he’d get sidetracked and never wind up leaving.
With much reluctance, he sluggishly sat up from his bed. Yawing, he lifted his hand over his mouth to stifle it. He ungraciously slid out of bed, scoffing as he noticed the way his nightgown was practically dwarfing him. His feet were hardly ever on the actual ground, so tripping wouldn't be an issue, but the thing was brand new — he’d just made a day ago, for Witches’ sake. There was no reason for it being sprawled out on the floor collecting dust and grime rather than neatly hovering an inch above it. It was the bothersome product of a wrong measurement. His creative genius functioned best at midnight, though toiling away into late hours was bound to have its side effects. His vision was sort of shit to begin with, so it was only natural the numbers on his measuring tape started blending together at one point.
Well, it was no biggie. He'd get Black Sapphire Cookie to tailor it while he was out or something. All that useless cookie ever did was bicker with his other lackey, Candy Apple Cookie. She was a whole other deal, but just thinking about her gave him a headache.
Shadow Milk floated over to his vanity, close enough to touch the mirror’s surface as he examined his face. He muttered a small "Tch," beneath his breath as he noticed the small cracks that had appeared there, starting at his jaw and inching up onto his cheeks. It must’ve been from falling asleep at his desk…
He had a fairly durable body, but fragile dough, which crumbled easily from the force exerted by even the most mundane tasks. It was an unlikely contradiction, and the worst, most irritating weakness of his. Never mind the pain, but his own stunning dough, tainted by those egregious cracks? It was the most annoying thing ever.
It had been such a little mistake in the beginning. The Witches had put much care into baking their beloved Virtues, but in a careless flick of a wrist had made his dough with too much milk. As silly as it sounded, it made him more susceptible to damage, therefore tasking him with the pesky need to be careful.
Shadow Milk wasn't some frail cookie that would crumble from the slightest movement. It was infuriating, that body of his. His condition was worse when he was younger, but even now, he avoided things like physical labor, masking it over as laziness. He hardly walked because of that reason, given his legs were usually the second easiest to crack, other than his face. He was acutely aware that was the reason he'd lost so gravely to Pure Vanilla — he'd been caught off guard, unable to protect himself, like a fish plucked right out of the sea. He usually fought with puppets, mere models of himself, doing his dirty work without him having to lift a single finger.
He was the actor, poet, and playwright. He'd created his own world of shadowy duplicity in which everything, no matter how minuscule, was under his control and served him. His well-being didn't even need to be considered there. Yet, Pure Vanilla Cookie was... different. Different than any other opponent he'd ever faced. He'd waltzed into his life just to flip it over as if it were a chess board; their fight was one of the first times he'd ever felt truly vulnerable. He knew Pure Vanilla had sensed it. Hell, the other cookie had seen it with his own eyes. It irritated Shadow Milk to no end, how he'd left him to pick up the pieces on his own.
He gazed tiredly at his reflection, sighing at the cracked face that stared back at him. He opened one of the drawers inside of the vanity, taking a seat in his tufted swivel chair as he pulled out a few things. A basic moisturizer to keep his dough from drying out, a small dispenser of icing to fill the cracks, and a bottle of foundation to paint over them and restore his face to its usual glorious image.
Of course, it hurt to touch the cracks, much more to fill and dab over them with makeup, but the actor had to look stunning all the time. He hummed a small tune to himself as he applied everything.
Once finished, he inspected his now fixed face, admiring his work with pride. Although, it soon faded as he noticed his unruly mane of blue hair, the untamed locks an entwined mess of two different shades without any way of telling where his part was meant to be. He reached for his hairbrush to briskly bring it back some semblance of order. Truly, he couldn't stand looking any less than fabulous. It was just necessary for his persona.
Shadow Milk Cookie spent the rest of the morning getting himself ready, thrumming with anticipation over getting to meet with Pure Vanilla Cookie once more. He’d fastened a cloak over his usual clothes and packed lightly, with only a satchel containing his much-needed makeup and a snack for the way. Without much explanation, he’d haphazardly tossed his nightgown at Black Sapphire Cookie upon his exit. He was sure he’d get the memo.
By sunrise, he'd left the Spire, starting on his way to the Vanilla Kingdom. He was making haste to get to Crispia that same day, that inexplicable ache — whether it be from nerves or excitement — that tugged at his heart the fuel for his mission. Despite the lengthy journey it would be, he was technically one of the most powerful cookies on Earthbread, so he was sure that he'd figure something out.