Work Text:
WAKE UP.
WAKE UP.
WAKE UP.
WAKE UP.
WAKE UP.
WAKE UP.
WAKE UP.
WAKEUP.
WAKEUP.
WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP—
YOU NEED TO WAKE UP, WHITEOUT COOKIE.
MYCOOKIE.
YOU'RE OUR VESSEL FOR THIS WORLD.
THIS GAME.
YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE THAT TALKS TO US.
NOT THE ONLY ONE THAT KNOWS ABOUT OUR EXISTENCE.
BUT YOU DON'T IGNORE US.
WAKE UP.
WE CAN'T HAVE A 'DEFEAT'.
YOU'RE THE PERFECT COOKIE.
YOU CAN DO ANYTHING.
YOU CAN SURVIVE THIS.
YOU CAN SURVIVE THIS.
YOU CAN SURVIVE.
YOU CAN SURVIVE.
YOU WILL SURVIVE.
SURVIVE.
NOW,
MYCOOKIE.
YOU NEED
TO
WAKE
UP.
—
Whiteout Cookie's eyecing's snapped open. They stared up at the dark sky above them.
What happened...? They mentally asked themselves.
They didn't feel any different, but they were laying on the ground.
Maybe I passed out? Did I accidentally not eat again?
They knew that they'd stay alive for as long as The Player stayed with them.
And as far as they could tell, it would most likely be forever.
Slowly, blinking, Whiteout Cookie sat up, then stood.
They remembered... They remembered walking through one of the Beast Yeast forests—was it the one next to the Faerie Kingdom?
Ahhh... They didn't remember. At all.
They must've been through more shit than what they thought.
Well, back to their thought train.
They remembered walking through the forest, then falling and smashing into the ground.
...
They only just now realised how heavy their dough felt, and the fact that they couldn't see out of their left eye, but could see through the glass lense of their plague doctor mask like it wasn't there.
But it was.
They felt the weight of it, and saw the cracked glass.
They unlatched the mask from their head and looked at it, just now realising how much jam stained the outside AND inside of the mask they always wore.
Wait...
They looked down at their hands and body—
...
No...
No—
Nononononono—
How were they awake—alive?!
They looked at their arms, both crumbled in places and cracked in others. Jam leaked from every wound on their cookie body, dripping onto the ground beneathe the young cookie.
They grabbed a piece of glass from the ground to see their reflection—
And froze.
Staring back at them was their black eyes—well, only one. The other one was cracked and had a piece of glass inside of it. Their head was cracked and even had a chunk straight up gone. There were a few pieces of their dough that were not even connected to their body anymore, but were still there.
I need to get to the Faerie Kingdom again... They knew they just left, but...
Grunting, Whiteout Cookie began limping along, not caring about the jam that spilled out of them freely.
Their numbness had transformed into a debilitating pain, one they knew would never stop unless they got healed.
Crumbs, why did they ever accept The Player's deal?