Chapter Text
The Grounds of Bitterness had a mildly... rancid smell. Fondant Amber’Osia didn’t favor it, nor would she pretend to. The pungent vinegar sweat of the bitter melon soldiers was starting to seep into her smock. Normally she didn’t mind a little muck, but something about this bog didn’t feel right. She wanted desperately to get home to her little Sugar and wash this all away.
Then she wanted to bake. Fondant loved baking. She lived for the sweet smiles a fine pastry would put on people’s faces all around Lemonade Orchard. Folks from other archipelagos often visited just for a taste. The excitement around the bakery put a smile on Sugar’s face, too. Sugar loved everyone and everyone loved Sugar.
Though it could in part be because her parents vanished a year oh so long ago. Maple and Ginseng had worked at the family bakery, hearty and hard-working. They adored their daughter; they would never leave her. So Fondant vowed never to stop searching until sweet little Sugar Syrup had that mischievous spark in her eye again.
The deeper the soldiers half-dragged her into the mansion, the more rotten she felt. “Y’know,” she twanged down the dreary halls, “if this Miss Bitter wanted to see me, she could’ve had more manners. A simple chat over tea and cake like ladies do. I’d have even provided the cakes myself!”
“That’s Baroness Von Bitter to you!” a sharp voice a bit more nasal than the title would suggest called from the pinnacle of the hearing hall. Fondant’s blueberry custard eyes quickly turned away from one of the pickle troops beside her.
She eyed the pungent mistress. She was clearly malnourished, frail, pale, with a wiry black bob and sunken black eyes. “No...” Fondant drawled. “There hasn’t been a Baroness in 8 years. That’s when the news reached Lemonade Orchard, that is.”
“Oh, yes, dear mummy...” the stranger hissed, eyes glinting a hateful crimson. “She passed away. And daddy is on his deathbed now, too. That only leaves me.”
“Dear me!” cried Fondant. “You’re Vinaigrette! You poor thing! Taking up the mantle so young - aren’t you only -?”
“-Enough.”
Silence fell across the room; even the pickled servants seemed startled. Vinaigrette’s cold, black eyes flickered about. All the sweetness in Fondant’s heart wanted to believe the rude behavior of her host was simply nerves, simply the heavy toll of loss; her gut said otherwise. “...Do forgive my excitement, Baroness. It was a long journey. What is it you wanted to discuss?”
“You’re... a baker, aren’t you?”
Fondant smiled. “Why, indeed, I am! I make cakes, specialty breads, panna cottas, ice cream sandwiches, candy bars, crepes - you name it, sweetheart!”
Baroness Von Bitter watched the baker carefully as she listed all the sweet desserts she could whip up. Her cheeks rosied up, blue eyes sparkling. The old woman was glowing, sweet magic practically oozing out of her. It stirred up a coagulating feeling in her stomach. She felt weaker with every second this baker spent at the grand estate. Sweet magic had that effect on bitter magic. She’d known that for a while, now.
But like adding sugar into pickling juice, there is still use for her. A baker, so plump and joyful. So proud of her work. She didn’t even know, did she? But that’s alright, really. “Fondant Amber’Osia.” The intense crimson was repulsive, but Fondant still piped up when the noblewoman called. “Have you heard of sweet magic?”
“Well, ma’am, that ‘s what we call baking with love.”
“Funny. They said the same thing.”
“W-who did...?”
“Oh, the other bakers I’ve spoken to on the matter. My family has powers over bitterness - it’s why we can control pickled food-people. We can even bring them to life, as you’ve likely noticed.” Fondant nodded obediently. “I... had a theory. Something to save my father, you see. If I can temper my bitter magic with sweet magic, it should preserve him without turning him into a pickle.”
“Oh...” She hadn’t been expecting this. So why were her nerves still ringing?
“You’ll help me, won’t you? Surely you’ve lost loved ones. Daddy’s not that old. He’s just sick.”
Fondant thought of her dear nephew, of Sugar’s expectant look every afternoon, deflating like a poor souffle when yet again, her parents hadn’t come home. “Course I will-”
She felt pain in her abdomen, but was too dizzy to look down. Truth be told she was too afraid. She knew.
She knew all along - she knew this wasn’t good - she knew that crimson look was bad - crimson crimson crimson - it’s all around her in a puddle on the floor - she’ll never see Sugar again - that little girl is going to be alone... Sugar, sweetie...
The baroness wiped blood off her staff meticulously. “They always look the same... Would it kill them to show a bit of variation? Aha heheh...” The pickled servants forced laughter towards the cruel joke. Many of them were here when she’d done this before. She was still just Miss Vinaigrette, then. “You know, those two you were looking for so badly are the ones who told me you were an even better baker than them. If there’s an afterlife, I suggest you go thank them. Thank them for me, too, because now I can seal away all that sweet magic that’s contaminating my power. No one will even remember sweetness now that I have this,” she cheered, a silk handkerchief spotted with blood waving in the air above her head.
Fondant turned her head slowly, still trying to gasp for air. It was pathetic, really. Blood and drool were already pooling out her mouth, plump lower lip turning a faint shade of blue. “She... will... remember...”
“Who?” But the blue rims of the baker’s eyes had vanished, replaced with the coal-black of death. Anxiety coagulated in her stomach once more. She called out to one of her servants - she wasn’t thinking clearly enough to remember who. “Make sure any baker is taken down. I will have no uprisings in my realm...”