Chapter Text
His friends had failed him.
Gingerbrave Cookie, Wizard Cookie, Strawberry cookie hadn’t returned. He couldn’t blame them. They couldn’t possibly fight Shadow Milk Cookie.
But White Lily cookie? Golden Cheese Cookie? Dark Cacao Cookie? Hollyberry Cookie?
They hadn’t even tried.
Shadow Vanilla liked taunting him on this fact. Twirling his inky hair, flying circles around Pure Vanilla, an eternal smirk on his perfect face. Pure Vanilla Cookie, the kindest cookie in all the kingdoms, ensnared by monstrous counterpart? How awful.
He put a palm to his forehead.
But he wasn’t Pure Vanilla Cookie anymore, was he?
He was Truthless Recluse.
He hated that name, with a burning passion.
He’d often dwell over thoughts like these. The emptiness he’d first felt without the purpose ‘truth’ had given him- well, giving it to other cookies, he supposed- had been suffocating. It’d swallowed his whole identity, putting a blanket of melancholy silence over his ambitions, his dreams.
The anger had crept in later.
Shadow Milk Cookie had always said he’d been too virtuous. His Silly-Vanilly, wasting his potential on lacklustre mortals & ungrateful ancients. He hadn’t believed him. Why would have he? As long as Pure Vanilla was useful, kind, giving to his friends, they would be friends.
But when he had needed aid?
They’d vanished.
The anger had crept in viciously.
A swirling mess of insecurity and fury. Twisting his thoughts into vengeful plots and making keeping his composure around Shadow Milk Cookie ever more difficult. His captor had always said he’d been too… void like. When Shadow Milk Cookie lost truth, he’d embraced the darkness, used deceit as a fun toy. When Pure Vanilla Cookie Truthless Recluse had flost it, he’d found nothingness at first. He couldn’t allow Shadow Milk the satisfaction of being right, that having something, even something like anger, was better than the nothingness. Because by the Jam in his blood, he’d never let him be right.
Perhaps his ‘friends’ had thought Truthless Recluse was a lost cause. Maybe they’d bought in a swindling politician to replace him as king; maybe they’d thought giving Shadow Milk an immortal doll would satisfy him, get him off their dough.
Maybe they hadn’t thought their friend Truthless Recluse had it in him to be bitter about being swept under the rug.
But he was.
The first step was an identity.
The robes draped over him were a prison cell made into a shining fabric. They were dark blue with lighter highlights, making his skin look sickly. He wasn’t that pale, but the lack of sun had made his face sink in that slight bit. The shadow realm he was trapped in had no sun, only a smirking moon. The lack of sleep hasn’t helped, either. Truthless Recluse contemplated all this as he stood in front of the bathroom sink mirror. He gingerly put a hand on his cheek, as if to check if it was still him. Unfortunately, it was.
He grabbed the scissors from the cabinet below.
Snip, snip, snip.
It hadn’t been cut for a long while. It felt freeing when the blonde locks began collecting on the floor. He cut it shoulder length, then chin length, then made it curve upwards at the back. He wanted to feel the wind his neck when he escaped this hell hole. Because he would. The pit in the bottom of his stomach wouldn’t let him accept this misery anymore.
Now, to change his name.
He needed it to be somewhat normal. He wanted to feel somewhat normal. ‘Pure Vanilla Cookie’ felt ridiculous now. The chants in the crowds of Cookies who wanted nothing but his help, not himself, echoed in his head. He rubbed his temples as even the memory bought migraines. His name was to be not remembered, not known. Just his.
Rotting Orchid Cookie.
How ironic. It was a mirror of White Lily’s name. He hadn’t forgotten when she became Dark Enchantress Cookie. He’d helped her then, yet she hadn’t helped him now. And his staff used to be a orchid, before he’d become corrupted anew.
Pure Vanilla Cookie, curse the old hag, would’ve been horrified by this. His thoughts, his anger, his determination not for good but his own selfish desires to prevail. But, if anything good had come from truth being ripped away from his raw heart, it was that Pure Vanilla Cookie wasn’t his identity now. It was just an identity, one built of his love and other’s love for him. Now that was gone? This was what he was.
A monster.
How dreadful.
How akin to Shadow Milk Cookie.
He’ll be damned if he didn’t see Shadow Milk one last time before leaving, if only to shove his staff down his throat.