Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Now, people of Crispia, heed my words!”

The words rang out through the town square, reverberating unto itself and creating the guise of many men speaking as one. But no, the voice came from one man, one man alone. His arms raised in a glorious arc, the sun shining upon his face as a gem would capture the light. How precious, indeed. It swept up everyone within reach of his insidious voice like a roaring river, powerless against the rapids.

“The life you live is a lie!” He declared, his All-Seeing Staff raised above his head. With but a flick of the wrist, the spell seized hold of the audience. Shock, terror, curiosity, anger. Delicious emotions bled from the claws upon their neck. Transfixed, eyes wide, utterly unable to move. More prey, ensnared in his teachings. “Follow me, if you dare to seek the Truth!”

Impudent. Pretentious. Garish. Not a single disparaging remark that denoted the Sage of Truth—seriously, who proclaims themselves to be a Sage of Truth—was incorrect. However, it had to be noted what an overwhelming presence he was. Whimsical, intelligent, enigmatic. A showman first, a teacher second. Though one could implore the Sage to impart the Truth, he would dance and toy with the poor Cookie that dared to ask. He would rather show than tell. And so, yet another naive Cookie’s mind crumbled under the weight of the Truth in utter agony.

The Cookies were beneath him, an ancient being of impossible power and intellect. Though it was fun to watch them lose themselves in the maddening Truth, it was far more fun to string them along like pretty little props. Today was yet another performance, and he shepherded yet another swathe of sheeple under the fold. The cult bearing the misleading title of “school of thought.”

No scholar worth their salt would trust a single word this charlatan had to offer. For in his smile alone, one could see the cruelty lurking beneath his immaculate lips—jagged teeth, shining like mother-of-pearl. His countenance was eerily beautiful, as though sculpted by the Witches themselves, and stupefied all who gazed upon it. The Sage of Truth was a living statue, impossibly perfect no matter what angle you observe him at. A masterpiece that puts all to shame. When those lips part, and his voice rises in a crescendo of dramatics and dark promises, the audience are led helplessly into the wolf’s jaws.

And he was happy.

The Sage of Truth was happy to be pawed over by his adoring sheep, begging to eat with him at the table rather than the scraps they were fed by his feet. How cute! How irritating! How vindicating! He could not get enough!

How they swooned over every word, every beckoning to come taste the knowledge of good and evil. Captivated utterly by his presence, some followed their primitive instincts brought them crawling up the stage on their hands and knees in the hopes of reaching him. But no, those poor things, they shall never reach him. For he, the Sage of Truth, is beyond their grasp. Always.

None shall understand him. None shall know him. And none shall love him.

“Oh?”

In the midst of the maelstrom, the eye of the storm stood in shadow. Unmoving. Unsmiling.

The Sage faltered, hand outstretched in the midst of conducting the orchestra of emotion. Whoever dares to frown in his direction? Their face was so distorted by shadow that he could not parse even one defining feature. Curiosity melted into irritation. This was a dissonance in the perfect melody, one he must correct. And so he called out to them personally, beckoning them to lose themselves in the concerto as all the others had.

“Have you any counter arguments? Come hither, my friend! What say you to a debate? I never say no to a challenge!”

The Sage paused, his perfect composition faltering once again. That Cookie, whoever they were, had vanished with but a blink of an eye. Was he seeing things? The audience followed his gaze like clockwork. Soft murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“Aha…hahaha, goodness me! It seems my little friend has fled!” He carried on, his voice once again gathering strength and momentum. “What a shame! It appears there shall be no show for you all tonight—as disappointing as that is, I should like to retire to my nightly affairs before midnight. Pardon me, my darlings, but even a Sage of Truth needs a little privacy.”

And with this declaration, a chorus of howls and pleas reached his expectant ears. Ah, how easy the heart is to play. Just a few plucks upon the right strings and a Cookie becomes no more than an instrument.

“Oh, hush, all of you! Were this performance to never end, I would run out of material!” He scolded in a playful manner. “I am afraid the show is over!”

With a wave of his staff, he disappeared. The cries of the crowd, be it enraptured common folk or Truth-seeking aristocrats, all faded into silence. He leapt between space-time, a neat little trick of his, from the town square to his humble abode. If one might dare to refer to a mansion crawling with servants like fleas “humble.”

“Ah, home sweet home!” He declared, and his voice echoed down the grand halls to announce his arrival. He clapped his hands once, twice. “Servants!”

At once, a gaggle of Cookies besieged him. How their eyes glistened in his presence.

“My, you have gotten even faster!” He chuckled, pleased to see the ring of obedient idiots surrounding him. “Now, I have a simple request. See, there was a little accident in the dressing room. I shall lend you my spare key—just this once, mind you! I expect it returned by morning! Two of you shall enter, clean the mess, and leave as soon as you are finished. No more, no less. Understand?”

“And what of the rest of us, my liege?”

“Ah ah ah, be patient! I’m getting there, my dear.” The Sage grinned, tapping the impatient Cookie’s nose. Immediately, their knees buckled, like a puppet at the mercy of its puppeteer. “The rest of you shall resume duties as usual. I have some important matters to see to. Like evening tea! If you would bring a pot of my usual to my chambers, that would be just swell!”

With the viciousness of animals, they turned against each other. They fought for the right to enter such an intimate place as the Sage’s dressing room—could they be blamed? It was an honor no Cookie has ever earned! He watched, pearly teeth glittering in the candlelight. How adorable! With a jingling of keys, they immediately snap to attention. There they were, the dressing room keys, tantalizingly within reach.

“Oh, all of you, fighting over li’l ol’ me? Please! How barbaric!” He cooed, pressing a hand to his face with shock. He plucked a key from the ring and tossed it into the nearest servant’s hands. “You and your little friend there shall do it. Those of you who did not earn the privilege to enter, prepare my chambers for rest. Thank you!”

At once, the servants vanished. Seemingly, into thin air. But the realm of his abode, thrumming with magic, was exceptionally easy to manipulate. He was the master, and he was most powerful in such a place constructed by his own hand. But his servants understood how it works—just enough to do their job efficiently. There would always be mishaps or confusion after a change of the layout, however, which he would invariably have to help them out.

Oh, those servants always make for quality entertainment. Especially when one of them confesses their undying love to him in a romantic gesture. How sad that he had to reject them all! They were all so precious, and would undoubtedly make for a fun, if fleeting, affair. But ultimately, their worship of his every move became annoying after a time. Annoying. So annoying. Perhaps he was just in a sour mood.

There was no point in further rumination, now, is there? He has far more concerning matters to attend to. Like his sleeping habits, supposedly. Even after many sleepless nights, hallucinations were most atypical. His eyes were sharp as a knife, each stroke a calculated incision to expose the Truth. Yet in that moment on stage, talking to what seemed to be no more than a shadow, he felt unsettled. That shadow, whatever it was, existed, if but for a moment. But when he opened his eyes again, it ceased. As though his eyes were the only thing to sustain its continued presence, and averting them, even for a second, it would disappear.

What was that feeling of unease that plagued him so? To think even the grand Sage could feel such a way!

Time for conjecture, he supposed. Nothing quite so fun as wild speculations based on poorly understood phenomena! It pairs perfectly with blackberry tea—with half a cube of sugar and a dollop of cream stirred in, mind you. Those idiot servants better remember that. But if they did not, then he had ample excuse to punish them! What fun!

Alas, that was not the kind of fun the Sage of Truth was interested in at this time. He could rest his whipping hand a moment longer, surely? The first piece of a greater puzzle had shown itself. Perhaps even on accident? Whatever the intention, this was no trick of the light. But what, exactly, was the purpose of appearing before him? Especially after disappearing so unceremoniously?

Hmm. What a conundrum.

And “conundrum” was exactly how the Sage liked it! The more convoluted, the better! His only complaint thus far was a lack of fragments to piece together! He could not even recall what the shadow’s face looked like. The auditorium was too dark, and the stranger’s garb was tailored to blend in with the shadows it called home. Amateurish, really. What was the point of lurking in the shadows like a cowardly little creature?

Why hide from the gaze of others, when it is the only proof that you truly exist?

“Great Sage, your room is prepared.” A servant’s voice heralded her appearance behind him. “May I have the honor of escorting you there?”

“Ah, what sort of Sage would I be if I forgot where my own quarters lie? Fret not, little Cookie. Resume your duties in the library—I believe some tomes require tending. I would like to do so myself, but alas! I have exhausted myself utterly!”

“As you wish, Great Sage.”

And at once, she disappeared. The Sage watched, amused. How long would it take for her to come running back to him in despair, for any intrusion in their abode would cause the sleeping tomes great duress? What a mess she would have made for herself, then!

He, too, vanished. He was bound for his chambers, humming a tune under his breath as he passed through the labyrinth of magic. He emerged just before the door, and knocked to ensure no servants were lurking behind it.

“Are we all done in there? I grow weary of waiting, my dear little sheep!”

At once, one of his servants let out a squeak. The door opened unto a rather irritated Sage. But alas, upon seeing that sorry expression on their faces, he could not stay angry with them. Not when they were just so cute!

“We were almost done with the finishing touches, my dear Sage!”

“Please pardon us! We got carried away!”

“Shall we depart now, to afford you some privacy?”

“I care not for the finest details, little Cookies.” He lied. He did care for the finest details, but right now, all he wanted was to shed these heavy robes and enjoy the freedom to breathe. Something any other Cookie would be afforded by virtue of their existence. “Just go. I believe one of your fellows may be struggling to dust the library all by herself! Go on! Help her!”

“Yes, Sage!”

The Sage of Truth sighed with relief. He entered his bedchambers with silent steps, closing the door behind him and taking care to lock it. How lavish a dwelling it was. Silk and satin draped over every corner in shimmering arcs of cobalt. Gold accents danced upon every surface, blooming like golden flowers anywhere you look. It had only the necessities—a seating area set with blackberry tea and cakes, a fainting couch for all one’s fainting needs, an extensive collection of books upon the nightstand in a dizzying tower, a mirror that ran from floor to ceiling, a walk-in closet that existed between the boundary of reality, all the usual suspects.

Here, the Sage shed his garish clothes, and with them, his status. Here, he was a Cookie through and through. A powerful, majestic, and a really rather handsome Cookie, but a Cookie nonetheless. A Cookie by the name of Blueberry Cream.

That was his given name, to the insolent fools he was born to. Sage of Truth has a much nicer ring to it. Was it any wonder he chose differently? But it was nice to breathe once in a while. The robes made it difficult.

Blueberry Cream Cookie drifted to the mirror, fingers running along the surface of the glass. His reflection stared back at him, eyes of blue and gold glittering like gems in the depths of his sunken sockets. Framed by shadows, his flawless face betrayed imperfections his audience would never see. Imperfections he simply could not cut out or smooth over. Scars, creases, cracks in his dough.

Oh, what he wouldn’t do to keep this imperfect side of him hidden forever. If only he could be a mask, not the bearer. The performance would never end, and he would always be happy.

Blueberry Cream averted his gaze, unable to bear even a moment more.

Anger swelled in the void of his heart. Injustice! Cruelty! How dare the Witches curse him with a taste of heaven, only to be ripped away time and time again?! From whence such rage came, he knew not. But it commanded him to do something about it. And he followed its command without thought, seizing hold of the mirror and throwing it to the ground.

Gild bruised. Glass shattered. The shards cut into his hand, one final act of vengeance before returning to the ground in a peal of silvery sound. Drops of jam beaded upon his fingers, as one would affix jewels to an actor’s costume. How lovingly the traced the segments as they fell, dripping like tears upon the shattered remains of the mirror.

Seems he would have to purchase a new one tomorrow. Again.

The Sage, alone and with no eyes to witness him, kneeled before the empty mirror frame and began to gather the glass in his jam-kissed palms. The pain meant nothing to him. Nothing at all. But as the shards began to join together in one haphazard shape, layered and blooming like a flower of fragmented glass, something startled him out of his anger-induced haze.

Where was his reflection?

Blueberry Cream Cookie rubbed his eyes. And in an instant, that strange feeling dissipated. When he opened them again, a vision of his face dancing upon a thousand broken pieces greeted him.

He must be seeing things. He must be exhausted. Once again, he rubbed his eyes. A yawn emerged from his throat. Ah, there it was! Confirmation of what he wanted to believe! So with a snap of his fingers, his nightclothes danced all around him, and as he raised his arms, each piece slid over him. Magic! So convenient! And so fun!

That cheered him up, if only for a moment.

Blueberry Cream lounged down upon his couch, legs crossed and bared before an invisible audience. The sight was no doubt provocative, yet innocuous enough to pass off as natural. He waggled his finger in a silent tune to coax an inkwell and parchment to emerge from the organized chaos of his cabinets. They drifted upon the table, sitting between the teapot and his scone, eager to please as any servant. At least they did not talk. That got annoying, even if it was only to sing his praises.

“Hmm…my little mystery for today…” He murmured under his breath, forgetting to speak clearer for the audience. He remedied this at once with a clearing of his throat—despite the fact that the audience did not exist. Not that he knew of.

Guided by thoughts, the quill moved of its own accord to document each one as it passed through. The flow of thought was most precious, and were he to impede it by pondering anything too intensely, no new ideas would pass through the dam. Many scholars fall victim to such a phenomenon, thinking themselves in circles instead of coming to a conclusion, or failing to think outside of the box whatsoever. The poison is in the dose, and truth be told, the Sage may be a little too loose with his methods.

Of course, no conclusion could be drawn from two incidents that could easily be confused as a byproduct of exhaustion. Occum’s razor and all that jazz. But that feeling, that strange feeling that wells up in his chest whenever his thoughts turn towards that anomalous presence distinguished this from the trifles of mortal limitations. Nothing disturbed him so greatly as that shadow, standing tall above all other Cookies, unfazed by his magic and mind games.

Was it a detractor of his? Someone who intended to make themselves known in due time? What a coward! Strike clearly, strike truly, and strike so that those who bleed may die with your name upon their lips! That is the honorable way. That is the Sage of Truth’s way.

Perhaps they pursued his Soul Jam. Perhaps it was an assassin sent by the Witches themselves, to punish him for flouting their rules countless times. But that presence, though it loomed only in shadow, did not appear directly violent. Not yet. So, then! Was it an obsessive follower who was so driven by fervor that they began to stalk him? It would explain their shyness!

Hm. Perhaps these theories were a little too self-indulgent, even for Blueberry Cream’s tastes.

They sounded more like his plays than reality. Reality was always far more mundane—and far more cruel. But the thrill of peeling back layer after layer was just as addictive as its bite, as painful as it was. Could it be that his mysterious pursuer lie somewhere in between, one foot in the ways of reality and the other in the whims of…something else?

How exciting! Blueberry Cream Cookie giggled to himself, hugging one of the many pillows to his chest and rolling onto his stomach. Even if it was just another obsessed fan, this was far more interesting than the offerings of dough sent to his address or the frantic crawling of students upon his stage!

As if to underscore the excitement of the moment, thunder boomed in the distance. When did it start to rain? He drifted from the couch to the window, and parted the velvet curtains. Only darkness greeted him, the telltale sign of an encroaching storm. Blueberry Cream gazed into the gray skies and lifted his cup of tea to his lips. Lightning seared through the clouds, heralding the roar of thunder. And it came, precious seconds too late from acting as one with its companion.

The two of them are always together—though they never truly touch. Inextricable and distant, intertwined and apart. The Sage found it mildly interesting. Worth a moment’s contemplation, but naught more. Thus, he turned his attention away from the scene of the stormy skies above the kingdom and towards more interesting matters.

Such as his bed. Regardless as to whether that shadow was imagined or not, he was exhausted. Three sleepless days and nights had passed, and he was eager to change that. Mortal trifles like sleep were boring and a waste of time, but perhaps he could indulge now and then. Despite his title of Ancient Hero of yore…which, actually, he found rather irksome. Call him what you please, but must you always refer to him as “ancient?” Good grief!

Alas, alas! Now is not the time to worry about such things! Blueberry Cream Cookie slipped between the canopy of his bed and wriggled under the velvety covers. Here, he was cozy, and happy, and nothing can annoy him now. Save for the distant screams of his servants who were struggling to lull the tomes back to sleep. Nothing a spell or two could not fix!

So, with a drumming of his fingers to an inaudible beat, he restored his hearing ability to what it once was—utter silence—and allowed himself to drift off.

Chapter Text

When Blueberry Cream Cookie awoke that morning, he performed his routine. Perfected over centuries of life, he knew exactly how to start his morning.

Wake up at 6:00 a.m. sharp. Stretch for a few minutes to wake up the body. Freshen up with lotion. Brush and style hair. Then comes the makeup! But as he sat before his vanity to apply it, he nearly dropped the brush he held aloft.

His reflection was not there.

Blueberry Cream Cookie blinked at the mirror. Was this a dream? Some sort of prank? A distortion in his realm born from a lack of care? He could not leave his room without makeup! And though he knows his face so well he could certainly apply it without any visual aid, the mere idea was just terrifying. There existed a margin for mistakes, and that alone was enough to frighten him. Terror! Horror! And any other word denoting fear!

He left his seat and began to pace from one end of his bedchambers to the other. Alas! His perfect routine, thwarted! He chewed upon his fingernails, anxiety seizing hold of his vulnerable heart. No one could see him in such a state. No one! And thus began the search for a functional mirror. Apparently, they were in short supply.

His handheld mirror swirled with fog. His floor-length mirror displayed the room in all its decadence, but not the figure within it. His pocket watch only told the time, naught else. In a surge of frustration, Blueberry Cream threw it as hard as he could against the wall. Useless garbage. His anxiety only grew and grew with each passing moment, gathering like a storm around him—and lightning threatened to spear him. His dough coursed with electricity, spasming without reason. His fingernails bled under the pressure of his teeth gnawing upon them, on top of all else!

“Deep breaths, Sage.” He told himself, struggling to reorient in the center of the maelstrom. “You can get through this. Just put on some subtle makeup, and move on. You are already behind schedule, and breakfast shall be served soon. Why delay? You must be hungry! No problem can be solved on an empty stomach, but empty stomachs certainly cause problems!”

Pitiful, yes. But it kept him from losing that one last marble he clung to, as opposed to the full set most Cookies had. Blueberry Cream had lost so many over the course of his life. Could he afford to lose his very last one now, when he needed it most?

He drew deep breaths, pausing to count the seconds that passed between each inhalation, and exhaled. The storm retreated, but dull clouds loomed in his mind all the same. He really was exhausted, huh! How else could he possibly rationalize this disturbance? While he was intimately familiar with all major schools of magic, this was just weird! The manipulation of one’s reflection? What could that possibly achieve outside of psychological terror?

Hmm. Perhaps that is more accurate than he initially thought. If he were a mage that specialized in spooky reflection magic, why, exactly, would he use that? To frighten or disillusion someone. And to frighten or disillusion, say, a high profile figure who had authored his own School of Thought, would that not render them more susceptible to outside influence?

This could very well be a calculated attempt to influence or stifle his message. Ha! As if someone as powerful and intelligent as the Sage of Truth could be swayed by such cheap tricks. Perhaps he ought to keep a close eye on his peers…as though he had not been carefully monitoring their every move as is!

But at the same time, this may not be quite so simple. Though this theory was the most obvious choice, he feared that he may be too quick to settle upon such a blasé explanation. Especially for something as striking and odd as the manipulation of reflections. It was such a specific type of magic that it did not belong to any particular school. It was the kind of magic to be studied in secret, for fear of receiving punishment for practicing forbidden spells.

“Hm. I suppose I ought to head to the library once I fix up my face…” He muttered to himself, seating himself by the vanity once again—despite being unable to see his own reflection, the familiarity brought him comfort. And thus, his routine commenced once more.

The swish of a brush, the sweep of a brow pencil, the glide of lipstick. All very familiar to him, so familiar that he had perfected the performance without thinking. Even without the aid of the mirror to inform him of his appearance, this was, somehow, a blessing in disguise. He did not have to stare at himself any longer than strictly necessary.

Blueberry Cream waved his arms, and his sagely robes danced around him once again. He slipped out of his night clothes and into his robes without the slightest effort. His hat floated atop his head before perching there, as a bird would examine a branch midair before landing. His waistcoat fastened itself, and his sleeves smoothed themselves out. The only thought he spared was towards his monocle, taking care to affix it at the right angle upon his eye. Nothing could be off-kilter. His students would notice.

And with one last breath, the Sage of Truth was ready to make his grand appearance. Though his perfect routine was interrupted, the show must go on. Improvisations were fun, but not like this!

“Goooood morning, my precious little servants!” He crowed, perhaps a little louder than usual. “Who is ready for breakfast! I certainly am!”

One by one, his idiot followers appeared before him, each more battered and exhausted than the last. Still, they straightened themselves out in the hopes of impressing him—despite how sorry a sight they all were.

“My, my! What happened to all those pretty smiles? Whatever might be troubling you?” He crooned, hands on his knees to reach their level. This gesture was not to demonstrate pity, but to search for his reflection in their eyes. Nothing, nothing at all. All he saw was the shimmer of tears shining back at him.

“Oh, Sage, the tomes are unruly as can be!”

“We haven’t got a wink of sleep! They won’t stop wreaking havoc!”

“Sage, please, help us! We beg of you!”

Knowing that this was the intended consequence, Sage could not help but laugh. Poor little wretches. He sighed, dusted himself off, and readied himself to face the library’s wrath.

“This will only take a moment, my dears! Watch and learn!”

Raising his wand, the warren of rooms shifted from one layout to another, positioning the library doors right before them. Some servants fell to their knees at the sudden shift. The Sage, of course, was entirely unaffected. He watched them tumble with amusement twinkling in his eyes. He swung the doors open with a flourish, and watched the chaos unfold.

The library spiraled high into the sky, the pride of Blueberry Cream Mansion. Floating lanterns fluttered hither and thither, winking like fireflies in the endless tower. Sofas and coffee tables, each sculpted of glistening marble, created lovely seating areas to enjoy some afternoon tea and forbidden knowledge. Every wall was painstakingly carved into bookshelves, golden plate denoting the category of each shelving. But right now, not one shelf bore a book. No, they were all barren.

Rather, the books were flapping about like giant butterflies in the atrium. They scattered pages, spilled inkwells, and doing everything in their power to make a disruption. Some hissed with whispers of their forbidden contents, others fluttered in silence. Some were angry, driving themselves into walls or chandeliers. Others were calm, if a little irritated, and chose to rest upon the sofa cushions.

Hmm. Annoying.

The Sage of Truth snapped his fingers. At once, every single tome froze in place. Then, they drifted to their rightful places, as a guilty child would slink back to their room. He watched, hands clasped behind his back, thoroughly amused. He could feel the admiration and jealousy in his servants’ gazes.

“You see, my dear students,” he began with a smile that only served to mask his present emotions, “tomes such as these are classified as a Class AB in biology. In other words, they are inanimate objects that, through magical means, bear a level of intelligence. They are both alive and dead, in the same way a necromantic reconstruction would be. One cannot wrestle an intelligent creature into submission without resistance. Do you take kindly to being chased, jostled, and shoved into place? I thought not!”

At once, all seven of them lowered their heads in shame.

“The best way to fight magic is with magic. Instead of proving yourself to be a physical threat, why not use psychological spells to suggest they return of their own accord? Why not use a carrot rather than a stick, by rewarding those who did not leave or remained calm? The tomes cannot be handled lightly by mortals such as yourself, certainly, but simply putting them back to bed should not be a chore that requires my assistance.”

“Yes, Sage! We understand!”

The Sage turned his gaze upon the library once again. The last of the books have slid back into place upon their shelving. The storm of chaos had ceased. The lanterns drifted through the darkness, lights shining brighter now that the mayhem had abated. The library was exactly as it once was, save for the mess of ink and parchment knocked to the floor.

The silence brought some unsettling thoughts to mind.

“Hmm. Allow me to handle the rest. It seems a few of them are not sleepy yet.” He lied. “All of you, go prepare breakfast. Magic works up quite the appetite!”

“Yes, Sage!”

How was it a lie, exactly? Well, the Sage’s spells are perfection, equally art as they are science. Every last book slumbered in peace, save for a twitch now and then. His true intention was to search for knowledge upon a particular kind of magic. One that he never really dabbled in before. But did the servants need to know that? He thought not. The less they know, the better. For his own sake.

The Sage of Truth rose into the air, floating from one shelf to the next. They were alphabetized by default, but he found that would waste his precious time. Despite having an infinite amount of it, he would rather find what he was looking for. Thankfully, in the construction of such a vast archive of knowledge, he had the wisdom to include a system to remedy such an issue. A bell. He reached out for a string of gold dangling beneath the bell, and rang it.

“Ahem, ahem! Books on reflection magic, please present yourselves!”

And at once, three books zoomed into his arms. Each one was heavier than the last, so he beckoned for them to follow rather than strain his ancient dough any further. They obeyed without complaint—something that could not be said of Cookies.

The Sage sank into the nearest sofa, feet propped upon the edge of the table. There he lounged, pausing to yawn. The three books fluttered silently by his side, before landing in a stack by his feet.

“How come I had never met any of you before?” He mused to himself, examining their covers. Not one stood out in recent memory. For how long had he kept such books in his library, only to neglect them so? He almost felt pity for them. Almost. “Advanced Refraction Manipulation, The Window to The Soul, and…”

The last book gave him pause. It bore no title at all, bound by black leather worn with age. Nameless books have entered this library before—be it owed to a lack of cover, an accident in transport, deliberate obfuscation, or never receiving a name to begin with. He reached out to touch it, and the sensation felt like lightning shooting through his arm. A connection. His heart began to race. What on Earthbread was this, exactly?

Sage lifted it into his lap. By the Witches, it was heavy. So heavy that he could feel pins and needles tingling in his legs.

This book was burdened with something. A curse, presumably. Cursed tomes were child’s play to someone as accomplished as he. Against his better judgement, he laid his hands upon the cover and tried to pry it open. It would not budge. How typical.

“Say, who are you?” He asked the book—sounding rather crazy to the uneducated, but many tomes in the library were capable of speaking. This one, apparently, was not. It was worth a try, at least.

He ran his hands along the cover, trying to estimate its age and affliction. The material was coarse, crude, fraying at the edges. A thin layer of dust clung to it. Tsk, tsk, his servants had failed to dust properly. No wonder the books were so irritable. Another lecture was in order, it seemed. But aside from these details, nothing really alerted Sage to the nature of the curse that bound it so.

“Where do you come from, little one?” He asked it again. No answer.

Perhaps it spoke a different language. He proceeded to try fifteen other tongues, and none elicited an answer. Not Eld’rich, which was his first guess, nor Necronomin, his second. None of the common languages, nor the more obscure. From whence had this book come? And how did he not remember when or how he acquired it?

Hmm. How peculiar. Was it even a book at all, or something merely bearing the guise of one? If only he could open it. His curiosity burned, and the only cure sat in his lap, refusing to reveal its secrets. He tried a myriad of spells, from suggestion to coercion to force. All rained upon its thick cover and dissipated in an instant. As a hand placed upon a mirror—close but never truly touching. What stood between him and this damned book?!

Ugh. For now it will have to wait. Breakfast should be ready by now.

He rolled his wrist in a lazy arc, and teleported himself into the dining hall. Normally he would appear just outside the door to make a grand entrance, but he was too irritated to spare any thought towards drama. He just wanted to enjoy some good food, and forget about that anomalous entity for a little while. Perhaps some food shall refresh his mind.

“Great Sage! W-we were just about to call you!” One of his servants stammered, trembling before his angry visage. She feared the worst, of an incoming punishment for being too slow. “I hope…you like pancakes…”

But no, he was not angry with any of them. He was angry with himself. So he turned to her with a smile, effortlessly masking his annoyance as her fellow retainers came bearing breakfast.

“I do indeed!” He assured her, and what a sigh of relief that followed! To think a Cookie of her size could carry that much air at any given time! What a marvel of biology!

The rich scents certainly helped to assuage his irritation. Fruits freshly plucked from the vine, pancakes spiraling into towers high and drenched in berry sauce, and jugs of milk and juice. The servants laid every dish upon the table with haste, sensing his bitter feelings beneath the mask of a smile. Ah, what could be better? Nothing! Nothing at all!

“Ah, how wonderful!” He clasped his hands together, watching them layer pancakes upon his plate with barely restrained glee. Being immortal, he had no practical use for food. But it was a pleasure like no other, and he was eager to indulge. “Thank you very much, my dears! You certainly outdid yourselves today!”

The servants settled in their chairs, interlocking hands and bowing their heads. Ah, right, he almost forgot. As always.

“We thank you, O Mighty Witches, for this wonderful meal.”

He certainly would have invoked the Witches’ ire without his servants to remind him to pray at meals. He certainly would not want to make them regret their decision to bestow this mighty Soul Jam upon him. But it was naught more than eagerness to experience this lovely world crafted for him! He was a pious man! Truly!

The Sage of Truth tied a napkin around his neck, nice and dainty. All restraint was loosed, and he indulged in mortal delights. His servants ensured that he had the first bite before beginning their meal as well.

Mealtime proceeded uneventfully. Sage was a slow eater, owed to the fact he savored every bite. Enjoying art was an art form in and of itself. And while he was as picky as they come, he certainly knew how to make a good meal last. His servants had finished their portions long before he had, and began to clean up the leftovers as he chewed through another mouthful. Ah, pancakes. The breakfast of kings.

This cheered him up. Thoughts of the strange leather-bound book were far from him now, though they would return in due time. And return they did, with a vengeance.

Grading papers can wait. He had some experiments to do.

Chapter Text

The Sage of Truth whittled away the hours at his desk, hunched over the nameless book. Though he recognized a pulse, the thing seemed utterly dead to the world. No reaction to stimuli, be it physical or auditory. What a nuisance. Hours melted into one another in a slurry of aches and irritations. By the time the clock chimed midnight, he had made no progress in unraveling its mysteries.

No words in the Cookie language could describe the anger he felt in this singular instant. So he chose a different one. What better language to express his frustration than Bestial? And so he yelled a string of incomprehensible curses upon this infernal book and whoever sealed it so thoroughly. But to his surprise, the book shuddered, as though a gale threatened to lift the cover.

So it was sentient after all! Perhaps it understood what he would do to it, should it fail to open!

“Please open.” He said, throat working to produce the growls characteristic to Bestial. “Or else.”

As though conflicted between two directives, the mysterious tome shivered again. A moment passed, and the book opened itself unto him. The Sage of Truth laughed with triumph, eyes shining with the promise of knowledge. Knowledge hitherto unknown by any other Cookie! He flipped through page after page, hungry for its secrets.

Nothing! There was nothing written in the book!

After all this trouble taken to pry it open, no secrets lay beneath its cover! The temptation to throw it was there, but he understood that this must be some manner of red herring. Such thorough protection that deflected all of his spells, save for the spoken words of Beasts, must contain something special…it must!

“Tch. What a waste of time.” He mumbled, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. “I suppose I ought to just read the other two books if I want answers.”

But when he opened his eyes again, something had changed. A splash of ink, bleeding through the page. A scrawl, a singular word, tainting the perfection of parchment.

“Hello.”

Sage blinked. He rubbed his eyes. The scrawl remained. This was real. Undeniably real! He reached out to his side, plucked the quill from its inkwell, and scribbled a reply in delicate cursive.

“Hello!”

He waited and waited, breath held in anticipation. What was he communicating with right now? Another Cookie? The book itself? A malignant spirit? Whatever it was, he was dying to learn more! And learn he did, as a new stain began to flower upon the paper.

“Who are you?”

“I am the Sage of Truth. Who are you?”

“Funny.” It said, ink guided by definitive strokes. A rather plain manner of writing, somewhat illegible to the untrained eye. But in all his years of serving Blueberry Yogurt Academy as both a headmaster and as a professor, he had seen far worse handwriting in his time. “What a self-aggrandizing title.”

“Answer my question.”

A pause. Clearly, whatever entity it was on the other side of this conversation did not want to give up its identity so easily. The ticking of the grandfather clock was deafening, the only sound in a world of silence. Sage waited and waited, tension building in his chest as every second ticked forward. Finally, the flow of ink resumed.

“I am nobody.”

“That is very funny. You cannot be ‘nobody.’ It is simply impossible!” The Sage tutted. “If you are too shy to introduce yourself to me, then perhaps I ought to to help out. I know what you are. You are a Beast, and you do not like that I found your personal diary.”

Another pause. Sage giggled to himself, kicking his feet in anticipation of whatever response this self-proclaimed “nobody” would give to his hypothesis. Would it be angry? Would it be remorseful? Would it deflect or project? It was just tantalizing!

Finally, ink scratched anew on the next page.

“I spoke the truth. I am nothing, and no one.”

“Denial. Interesting.” Sage remarked in flawless penmanship. “So, what shall I call you then? Nobody? No one? Or should I make a whistling sound like a gust of wind every time I talk about you?”

Yet another pause. Sage giggled again. He could only imagine the other side pinching the bridge of their nose in irritation, perhaps groaning or muttering oaths to themselves. His imagination was not far from reality.

“Do not speak of me to others.”

“I shall speak of who I please, when I please, how I please! For I am the Truth! How could I sully my own reputation by lying about something so interesting?” Sage replied. “I am positive all my followers would love to know about my latest projects!”

“Do you make a habit of exposing forbidden knowledge to your subjects?”

“It is the Truth, and they are entitled to it, as is any other living being.”

“And if it drives them to madness?”

“So be it. I am the Ancient Hero of Truth, the deliverer of knowledge. What they do with it is none of my business, frankly, and if they were unable to handle it, that would not be my fault.”

“You should know better than to be so flippant about such a serious matter.”

“My cause is noble.” The Sage declared in solemn writing. “Can you truly say the same of yours?”

The ink flow ceased. It began anew moments later, each curve of the letters a tad shakier than before.

“You already know who I am.”

“Of course I do. There is only one being so irritatingly obtuse.”

“Stooping to the level of petty insults now? How Sagely.”

“Whether you confirm my suspicions or deny them, your lies will not shake me. You are the Beast of Deceit, and you have come to reclaim what you once lost. You are the one toying with my reflection. Is that not true?”

The Sage waited and waited. The answer finally came.

“Yes. It is true.”

“So I successfully annoyed you into giving up your guise!”

“There is no point in pretending now, is there?” The Beast asked. “Denial would fall upon deaf ears and a dull mind.”

“The tome only responding to Bestial was a dead giveaway, honestly!” Sage advised, as though he was not on the cusp of giving up mere minutes before this conversation. “Who can speak Bestial other than the Beasts themselves? Most Cookies do not even recognize the difference and simply hear their own language when it is spoken.”

“Only responding to spoken Bestial is the most effective lock and key against ordinary Cookies. You just happen to be…extraordinary.” The Beast clearly disliked referring to him as such, for it made the Sage smile like a fool. “Regardless, it would not do if our own subjects could not understand our words.”

“So you accommodate their lack of skill instead of teaching them how to do it themselves, then?”

“I take it that you disagree with our solution.”

“I do.”

“Among other things, I imagine.”

“I do indeed! What a smart Cookie!”

“Enough with the cutesy act. I know what kind of man you truly are.”

A thrill skittered up the Sage’s spine. Ooh, this was fun! He watched with rapt attention as the Beast’s words bloomed upon the parchment, unfurling in a coil of suspicion and anger.

“You are a performer, not a scholar. Your search for the Truth has resulted in countless casualties. You choose to hurt others for your own amusement. I cannot tolerate this any longer. I have come to beseech you at the behest of not only myself, but for all of Cookiekind: stop this at once.”

“What are you going to do to me, little book? Are you going to kill me? Oh, I am shaking in my boots!”

“You understand that this is but a warning, no?” The scrawl came slowly, as though trying to enunciate the words in a way that would penetrate Sage’s thick skull. “This is but a glimpse into the power I wield. A glimpse into the world of nightmares I can plunge you into, at any moment. Is this what you wish for?”

There was no hesitation. No thought. As soon as the Beast’s sentence concluded, the Sage of Truth had his quill set to the parchment.

“Yes!”

This gave the Beast pause. Undoubtedly, it was due to shock. Who would willfully submit themselves a to a Beast, a fallen Virtue of unimaginable power? But the Sage of Truth accepted the invitation with enthusiasm. He could only imagine what the Beast was thinking of right now. And doing so only stoked his excitement further.

“If that sounds so delightful to you,” the scritch-scratch of ink became more forceful, clearly a result of controlled anger, “then I suppose I have no choice but to offer it to you. You may act pleased, certainly, but I saw how frightened you were this morning. Is this really what you want? Or is this what you what me to believe? Be honest with me, Sage.”

“Frightened? As if!”

“Hmm. Let me see.” A pause, then the flow of ink continued. “5 minutes and 32 seconds of pacing back and forth, 39% of which included rambling to yourself, and 61% was comprised of time spent chewing your fingernails to stumps. Overall, you spent 27 minutes and 12 seconds panicking before resuming your routine. You spent 145% more time on the beginning phase of your routine compared to the average.”

Sage’s quill rested upon the parchment, but made no motion. Ink pooled upon the tip, seeping through the page. That familiar feeling crept up the back of his neck like beetles.

Dread. Pure dread.

“Do you get it now? I know you. I see you. Every shadow cast, every reflection, every involuntary pulse of your heart, betrays you to me. For as long as you live, you will never know solitude. I was here. I am here. I will always be here. I am your past, I am your present, and I am your future. Your life companion. And yet, you speak of me so…unkindly.”

Sweat beaded upon his brow. His raised his head, searching for the caliginous presence that had seeped into his life without detection. Shadows draped the library in mystery, in a thousand swirling shapes that looked like a Cookie. A Cookie that was not amused by his antics. When he eventually returned his gaze to the open book, new words had appeared.

“You think I can be seen so openly?” It asked, bearing a tone of mockery. “As though a Beast of Deceit would operate in the observable world? What a joke. Laugh for me, won’t you?”

Suddenly, his body spasmed, and a sound resembling a laugh was forced out of his lungs.

“Thank you. What a delightful audience.”

Suddenly, the Sage of Truth, such a perfect presence, was rendered small and helpless before something so impossibly vast. But he stood up to that which haunted him, throwing the book aside and calling out to the Beast.

“Speak to me face to face, Beast!” He commanded. “I should like to meet my tormentor in person, at least!”

No answer came. Not verbally. The book’s page turned, capturing his attention once again. Words bled anew upon the following page.

“As if I would honor someone as pathetic as you with my physical presence. Or is this too subtle for you to understand? Would you like me to put on a show for you, O Grand Sage of Truth? For I can do just that.”

Suddenly, the creeping dread intensified, its claws sinking deep into his back. Wherever the shadows lingered, they began to burn. His body twitched at unnatural angles, compelled to do so by some terrible influence. It was as though his very soul was being dragged out of his body—and the pain was excruciating. With one last terrible heave, the Sage gasped and fell to his knees.

His shadow did not follow.

Rather, it watched him descend in a heap upon the marble floor, hand over its mouth, his own voice laughing at his misery.

“What…what the hell did you just do to me?!” He hissed, his dough singing hymns of pain to his faceless tormentor.

“What do you think?” His shadow asked in a monotone, a very different cadence compared to the melodrama for even the simplest affairs that the Sage would use. It was jarring to hear these words beared by his own voice. “Simplest trick in the book, really. Shadow stealing is quick and painless. For me, that is.”

“Very funny.”

“I am glad you agree, Mr. Truth.” His shadow strode forward, mirroring his posture perfectly. “You invited me to debate yesterday, did you not? I accept. Unless you changed your mind.”

“Of course I want to debate!” The Sage of Truth insisted, assuming his typical bravado in an instant. With a flick of his dainty wrist, the pillows upon the couches rearranged themselves to maximize comfort. He lounged upon it as a cat would, stretching lazily upon its surface. “Come, come, make yourself comfortable! Tea? Coffee? Juice?”

“Shadows do not drink.”

“Ah. Right. Let the debate commence!”

A moment of silence came and went. Though it was impolite, Sage could not help but stare at his own body. A subtle glow always clung to his limbs, being the bearer of the Light of Truth, but it was ever pronounced without shadow to interweave between his limbs. He looked otherworldly, like a ghost that existed only by technicality. The dread sank its fangs into his stomach, squeezing it tight.

“…have you spared any thought towards the topic?” The Beast asked mildly, hands clasped in his lap.

“No! I expected you had an idea as to what you wanted to say, and I would jump off from there.” The Sage explained. “You seemed rather fired up there, friend. How polite of you to wait for me to start regardless! Shall I do the honors, then?”

“Fine.”

“Ahem! Knowledge is a fundamental right to all who seek it, regardless of the consequences. It is the responsibility of the seeker to care for their mental sanity.” He began, his cadence clear and concise—a far cry from his usual rambling. “As one cannot blame the water for eroding dough, one cannot blame Truth nor its keeper for the madness instilled in those not fated to understand it. It is a natural phenomenon, as natural as hurricanes and earthquakes. And those do not care for a Cookie’s feelings, for they are powers far beyond a Cookie’s.”

As soon as he began speaking, his shadow started shaking his head. How petty.

“I disagree. Knowledge is not meant to be shared if it means it harms others, especially to such a terrible degree. Those who ascend the Spire of All Knowledge never return; not as the Cookies they once were. I have seen the pain they endure. I have seen them turn from complex, intelligent and wonderful beings into incoherent ramblers and catatonic corpses time and time again.“

“Think of the bigger picture, my dear Beast.” His shadow twitched at that. “You and I are capable, if barely, of enduring the Truth in its perfect, raw state. I was once mortal, and as were you. If we swaddle our people with sweet lies, none shall ever discover the power we have, nor inherit the Soul Jam when we are gone.”

“Assuming we will ever be gone, that is…”

That drawl alone was enough for Sage to clue in on the fact that he was not particularly happy about being an immortal. Why, oh why? He could not understand it! The world was teeming with mysteries to unravel, skills to learn, Cookies to meet! Having an infinite amount of time to do so is just grand! Before he had the opportunity to rebuff such a sorry interpretation of immortality, the Beast carried on.

“That aside,” the Beast continued, “the Witches are the ones to make that call. Whether the Ancients shall be usurped by a new group is not an inevitability, but a possibility. You are making up spurious reasons to justify your actions and to obfuscate your true intentions: to cause others harm.”

“Ha! Ha ha! You really think that lowly of me?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Then step out of my shadow and assume your own form. Surely wielding my visage and voice is tiresome to you, if you feel so strongly about me?”

“Nice try.”

“Clever little rascal.”

“I know all your tricks, you pathetic weasel.” The Beast growled, its true voice mingling with that of the Sage’s. Those echoes were softer, ragged with age and exhaustion. And for some reason, hearing the slightest trace of the Beast’s voice set a fire ablaze in his heart. “Whatever you intend to pull on me, I will see through it. In embracing the Truth, you leave yourself nowhere to hide. The shadows of Deceit will always have a place for you, no matter how monstrous you are. But the light? The love light offers is conditional, transactional. If the Truth is too ugly, you will never be accepted.”

“Maybe so, maybe so. But in the comforts of darkness, the only love you shall ever feel is that of your own. The darkness cares not for who or what you are, certainly, but apathy is antithetical to love. Why not take that risk, step into the light, and see if you can be loved truly?”

“Not as I am now.”

“What if you simply had yet to meet the right Cookie? What if they were waiting for you to show your face, all this time?”

“If you are implying that you are that Cookie, or that you were waiting for me to show myself…”

“I was waiting for my inevitable encounter with Deceit, yes. But I know not if I am the Cookie who will finally understand you. Perhaps! I think it is possible!” The Sage pointed out, babbling like a brook. “But who knows? Only time shall tell! And we have all the time in the world, do we not?”

“Please stop.”

“Right, right. My apologies. It is not every day one gets to converse with a Beast! Who can blame me for being easy to excite?”

“I suppose it is understandable.” His shadows shifted, betraying some level of discomfort. “But you can stop…that. Whatever it is you are doing. Stop that. It feels weird.”

“Ah, alright. What exactly is ‘that,’ pray?”

“Moving on.” The Beast of Deceit ignored his questions henceforth. “You who proclaims the Truth, tell me: what is your true intention in spreading the Truth? What is your true intention in collecting followers like trinketry, stoking the flames of their fervor, and basking in their endless admiration while you destroy them from the inside out?”

“When you put it like that, I sound like a nasty piece of work!”

“Is this untrue?”

“Hmm, I suppose one could interpret it in such a manner. But were I truly so malignant, would the Witches have chosen me to uphold the value of Truth? Every day, I supposedly flout Their rules. Why have they yet to punish me for my ‘misbehavior,’ and allow me to carry on freely?”

“So you think a lack of consequence absolves you from guilt?”

“Not quite, my friend. Not quite.” Sage tutted. “So quick to assume malice of me! Is this how you treat all your companions?”

“You are not my companion.”

“Then why had you confessed to lurking in my shadow for countless years?”

“Egotistical and stupid. What a nasty combination.” His shadow sighed. “How obtuse must you be to assume I did so because I enjoyed your company? You know what I really want.”

“The Soul Jam.”

“Precisely. And, if you must know, my intention always was, and always will be, the reclaimation of my lost Soul Jam. Whatever twisted narrative you weave in your head has nothing to do with me, but all to do with you.”

“Ah. Just wanted to nip that in the bud, did you?”

“One could put it that way, yes.”

The Sage of Truth laughed at this. What a fascinating creature this Beast was. Tales from his fellow Ancients painted the Beasts as violent, uncontrollable, terrifying. But here this one was, sitting across from him and politely asking for the Soul Jam back. How cute! Whether or not he was deliberately restraining his power, the Sage was endeared by his rather blunt mannerisms.

“So, I gather that you shall not leave until the Soul Jam is restored to its original form?”

“I cannot leave.”

The Sage cocked his head to one side.

“I cannot leave, for I am everywhere. I am everything. Even in the harsh Light of Truth illuminating all, a mortal being cannot help but twist the Truth. We were never created to be objective, nor were we created to understand the Truth. Your perception, your personality, your past, all is but a blotch upon perfect impartiality, the undoctored Truth. And where Deceit exists, I exist. Where the shadows dance, I dance. No matter where you run or hide, I shall be waiting to embrace you in Deceit.”

“So you have no physical form?”

“Do I need one?”

“Hmm. Good question. Having a physical body can be a nuisance.” The Sage conceded, tapping his fingers upon his cheek. “But really, why must you insist on hiding? Are you really so shy?”

The Beast growled something under his breath, and what little the Sage understood, it was a curse upon his bloodline.

“Oh, that is not very nice.” He tsked, wagging a finger in his shadow’s direction. The shadow began to vibrate, as if about to erupt into a frenzy of rage. “Now, Beast, before we conclude our debate for today-“

“Recluse.”

“Ah?”

“Truthless Recluse.”

“That is your name?” The Sage of Truth felt a flash of emotion, transient as lightning and leaving whispers of ash behind. Whatever it was, it felt…good. Very good.

“What do you think it was?”

“I feel it matches mine quite nicely!” He grinned. “The Sage of Truth and Truthless Recluse! Like two peas in a pod!”

“Must you bring everything back to the subject of yourself? You are not that interesting.”

“But I was interesting enough to draw the gaze of the Beast of Deceit, right? Right? If I was not interesting at all, you would not be here.” He pointed out, and judging by the way the shadow sat across from him stiffened, he had struck the weak point in his armor. “So why do you continue to entertain my nonsense, mm?”

“You raise a very good point. I shall be taking my leave now.”

“Wait! Already? We were having so much fun!”

“You were having so much fun.” The shadow corrected, turning away from him. “This conversation was just grating. What a waste of my time. If you are not open to diplomacy, then I fear I shall have to resort to other measures. Measures that will not be as pleasant for me, or you.”

“Aww! Even with someone you consider to be an enemy, you still try to preserve them from injury whenever possible. What a kind Beast you are!”

“What did you say?”

“Shall I start from the beginning, the middle, or the end?”

“You think this is just a joke, do you?” His shadow snarled, pacing around him as a predator circles prey. “You think is a game? Something to entertain? Think again.”

The Sage of Truth felt a force wrest his ruffled collar, the shadow’s fist curling around the fabric. There he was, face to face with his own shadow—and for a moment, the Sage felt fear. Just a moment.

“I shall never allow you peace nor solitude. I shall never allow you rest nor comfort.” Truthless Recluse swore, his mere presence a miasma that curled down the Sage’s throat. “You have lived the last of your peaceful hedonistic days, Sage of Truth. And I shall author every last jolt of pain, every haggard breath, every twist of the nerve. This is my final warning.”

“Oh goody! I cannot wait!” The Sage chirped.

His shadow grumbled another string of curses in Bestial under his breath. With but a touch, the darkness slithered like a serpent along his body, settling in its rightful place. It coiled around his arms, his legs, his torso. Though it felt natural to exist with darkness again, the tightness in his chest would not abate.

The Beast was still residing in his shadow.

Chapter Text

Despite all that had transpired, the following two weeks were surprising. That is, surprisingly uneventful. The Sage of Truth learned to exist without his reflection—though this was a task far easier said than done. Every time he passed a mirror, glass, or a polished surface, he would search for himself in their depths on instinct. And invariably, nothing but gold and silvery light greeted him.

This never deterred him. He searched and searched for traces of the Cookie he knew was not there. He haunted the mirrors in his studio, the stained glass in the dining hall, the collection of glass statues on display in his showroom. Rather than the dead clinging to the living, it was the living clinging to the dead. But this, too, slipped through his fingers as though it were ectoplasmic, drifting further and further out of reach despite his desperate efforts to seize it.

A small part of his soul, stolen.

Well, he grew accustomed to the dread of performing his morning routine without the comfort of a reflection to gaze upon over time. As much as he loathed seeing his own face in its imperfect state, how could he achieve this perfection without knowing the imperfections intimately? This led to him spending hour after hour by his vanity, feeling along his own face for cracks or bumps to smooth over.

Thus far, not one of his servants nor students cared to comment on his appearance. So, presumably, he was doing a good job of it. Having the same routine for the past three or so centuries and executing it flawlessly every time might have factored in his success.

And speaking of, his students were not quite as troublesome as they usually were. One might consider that a good thing, no? Not to him. His classroom used to be so lively, full of chatter and spontaneity and thought-provoking debates. But now, they resembled obedient sheep. They snapped to attention at the thunk of a staff or a clearing of the throat, but their eyes remained glassy and unfocused. As if they were only chewing the cud, regurgitating what was given to swallow again the next day, without truly absorbing what they were given.

This worried him. Quite a lot. The Sage had a reputation to uphold, after all, and the ruminants that had somehow taken the place of his students were threatening to reflect very poorly on him come next assessment. This required a more thorough approach to lessons, with lots of direct engagement with his students and calls to action. But unless they were essentially forced into volunteering themselves, they invariably chose to huddle in the safety of the fold.

Annoying.

Aside from that, the highlights of his day came in the form of that nameless book. Every day, he would wake to it flapping around his room. Every night, he would fall asleep with it open upon his lap, quill still in hand. He seized any opportunity he could to speak with this new companion of his.

One that he felt a kinship with, the likes of which he had never truly experienced.

The Beast was intelligent, witty, with a sarcastic manner about him. Every inch of him was a mystery just begging to be unraveled. He still had no idea what the Beast looked like, save for that leather-bound book that threw itself unto his stomach to startle him awake if he dared to sleep in. The mystery was just enthralling! Would he resemble the Sage in appearance? Or would he be strikingly different? His dreams were besieged by such fancies, a Beast of Deceit lurking in each one. The form he took would change every time, but his voice remained the same. Soft, droning echoes of an exhausted old man.

He was not particularly disturbed by Truthless’s invasion of his dreams. Rather, he was intrigued. Because as soon as he woke up—usually to the assaults of a heavy tome upon his belly—he could describe all the lurid details to the real thing!

“I dreamt of you again, Beast.” He wrote, excitement urging his quill onward in swift strokes. “We were having a tea party!”

“How grand.”

“Ah, you think so too? I ought to prepare one for us in the gazebo sometime!”

“Are you being deliberately obtuse, Sage?”

“As always! Now, is that a yes or a no for tea?”

“What do you think?”

“That sounds like a no to me.”

“Congratulations. You figured something out on your own, you dunderhead.”

“Why thank you, thank you! I could not have achieved such an incredible feat without your aid, my dear Recluse!” The Sage of Truth paused to dip his quill in ink, but the book fluttered away with a bustling of parchment. Apparently it was sick of his nonsense.

“Ah ah ah, I am not done talking to you yet!” He tutted, and with a snap of his fingers, the book froze midair. “Did you really think you could just fly away from me?”

He plucked the floating tome and placed it back in its rightful place upon his desk. He pinned it down with one hand. It squirmed beneath his fingers, trying to flap its “wings”—to no avail. It was like a butterfly pinned to a taxidermist’s board. If only he could fixate it in a similar manner. But no, no, pins and nails are a little too brutish for the Sage’s tastes.

Words formed beneath Sage’s hands, and he adjusted his hold on the book to get a better view of them.

“Let me go.”

“No.” He signed this with a heart, pressing harder upon the struggling book in response. “I am not done talking to you yet! We still have so much to discuss!”

“Like what?!”

“Give me a moment, let me think about it.”

“You are just insufferable!” The Sage giggled as he imagined the Truthless Recluse seething with anger. “Let me go! I cannot breathe!”

This last sentence startled him out of his reverie. His hold on the book loosened, just enough for it to slip free and throw itself out the open window.

“What do you mean, ‘cannot breathe?!’” The Sage of Truth shouted after it. “Hey, come back here!”

But the book had disappeared into the afternoon, no doubt in the search for a dark place to sulk in. This was not the first time he had managed to escape Sage’s clutches; it was doubtful that this would be the last. Regardless, he knew to set aside his activities for the day to chase the stupid book down. And as he hastened to prepare himself to be viewed by an audience, the book was flying further and further away. Oh, bother.

With his hat perched haphazardly atop his head, only anchored by one hand to avoid losing it, Sage began teleporting at random. This was the first time his servants had witnessed him so bothered. Outside of the last time Recluse had escaped, of course. Sage was not one for physical exertion or activity, so running all over the mansion in search of that pesky book was just torturous. Thankfully, he could afford to be rather liberal with his mana expenditure to speed up the process. He could teleport into the courtyard, search one area, and teleport to the next without care. Whether he chooses rely on physical or mental strength, he, invariably, exhausted himself in the pursuit.

Eventually, after this game of hide and seek reached the half hour mark, The Sage of Truth finally discovered the corner Recluse chose to shelter in. He scooped it up at once, despite its struggle, and hauled it back to the library.

“Oh…come now! If you wanted to stretch your wings…or enjoy some time alone…you should have just…said so!” He scolded the wiggling tome in his arms in between gasps for breath. “Running away…only makes me want to…chase after you!”

A rustling of pages, a whisper of anger. Sage rolled his eyes at this. The Beast could not verbally communicate like this, whether the book was the form he assumed or the means in which he communicated with him from afar, but the touch of Deceit was more than enough to “awaken” an inanimate object. Hence its lively behavior.

“Here we are! See? So much room to fly about, and plenty of dark crevices to squeeze into. Why you like tight, shadowy corners is beyond me, but I can accommodate your needs. All you must do is ask. Ideally, in a polite manner.”

The book suspended itself before him, flipping open to a random page and showing the words Recluse was so desperate to tell him.

“‘I hate you.’ Aww. That is not very nice, is it?” Sage sighed, pretty little lips pouting. “I suppose I shall have to attend to my evening duties alone, since I am so despised in my own abode!” He worked the Beast’s hopes up, only to bring them crashing right back down. “Ah, but one more question!”

The book sank, its pages rustling. The closest he would get to hearing a sigh from the Beast.

“When you said you could not breathe, did you mean to imply that you are inhabiting the book as a physical vessel, rather than using it as a means to communicate long-distance?”

After a rather lengthy silence, a single word appeared on the page.

“Complicated.”

“Go ahead, try me!”

“See to your duties. Maybe with time I shall be able to provide a more coherent explanation than whatever I have on hand presently.”

“Well, that is no fun!” The Sage of Truth rolled his eyes at such a flimsy excuse. “You are the Beast of Deceit! Surely you know how to explain your own magic!”

“You want me to be honest? I do not want to answer your question. Are you satisfied now?”

“Not at all! I swear on my best suit you will tell me exactly what this magic is, and why, by the end of today!” Sage pledged, hand over his Soul Jam as it pulsed in tune with his heart. “If I guess correctly, you have to tell me as such. And as a reward, you will have to show your face. Do you accept my challenge?”

“Fine. If it means I get to enjoy some peace and quiet for a time. This is a library, for the Witches’ sakes, why must you be so noisy?”

“This is my private collection. It is not exactly public, now, is it? You only have to worry about my servants coming and going.”

“And you claim to campaign for every Cookie’s right to forbidden knowledge? Whilst hoarding all of this in your disgustingly opulent mansion?”

“Too many thefts by just letting Cookies run amok! It runs on a borrowing system like any other library, but you just have to send a request slip before you can actually receive the book. You have no idea how much I have suffered trying to keep this place open—only for the public to start damaging and stealing important tomes.”

Recluse paused. Of all things Sage has claimed, from fantastical to bizarre, this seemed the most believable. Many Cookies were not good at caring for books.

“I suppose I can understand that.” He conceded. “You still let Cookies borrow from your collection, even after that?”

“Of course! Knowledge is meant to be shared! I just have to take extra care to ensure that my books end up in capable hands. One must prove that they are mentally sound, magically adept, and a follower of mine before they have the privilege of accessing my collection.”

“A follower, huh?”

“Oh, I knew you would latch onto that.“ Sage tsked, adjusting his hat with a soft peal of bells. “Listen, in order to be registered as a donor or borrower, a Cookie have to be verified and approved by me personally. By default, that would sort of make them a follower of mine. For once one glimpses into the Truth, they can never turn back.”

“I did just fine.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I will, if you will.”

“Hmph! Fine then! Go play with the other tomes.” The Sage of Truth waved him off, which only made the book bristle with fury—however that manifested on a book, that is. “The performance evaluation is today. You know where to find me if you need me.”

And with that, they parted ways.

While the Beast was not occupied with any one thought, the Sage was utterly enraptured in them. He drifted through the air, pondering how to force an answer out of the Beast’s taut lips. The question of the day was “How does Truthless Recluse communicate with him?”

The book, obviously, was a catalyst of sorts.

Perhaps it was a manifestation of Recluse’s own mind, its thoughts appearing on the paper immediately after thinking them. But truly, was Recluse such an open book? No. There had been many instances in which Recluse pauses to think through what he wants to say before any words would appear. This was unlikely.

It could be something akin to a touchstone—a magical artifact that could transmit a Cookie’s message from one stone to the other. Many used it during the Dark Flour War to communicate with Cookies from other kingdoms, or, most notably, to communicate with spies in enemy territory without being detected. While considered antiquated now with the invention of the telephone, touchstones are easier to use to communicate from remote areas. Wherever the Beast’s physical dough is, it must be very far away.

His third theory was the wildest of all, owed to the fact that he understood it the least. Truthless may be demonstrating another form of this “reflection magic” by not possessing the book itself, nor using it as a tool, but possessing the shadow. However that worked, he had no clue! But he was eager to learn! After the performance evaluations, of course.

Those were going to be something of a chore, but at least his servants had volunteered to help prepare the studio for all the magic that would be bouncing off the walls. All those mirrors were helpful when he was practicing dance or modeling outfits, but with magic involved? Not quite so much. He was not asking for any offensive demonstrations, but there was always the potential for mishaps with magic involved. Which was partially why he liked it so much!

When he arrived at the studio, his servants were bustling about to prepare the stage for the performances to come. He watched as a steady trickle of students filed into the room, each one paler than the last. Though he tried to cheer them on with some words of encouragement, nothing seemed to penetrate the fog that clouded their eyes.

Whatever was going on with them? The performances were about to start, and not one of them looked prepared! He fought with all his might to maintain an easygoing smile, but it started to slip when the first performance began. Haphazard, sloppy, and only barely managed to pass by technicality.

The second was the first failure of many.

And so was the next, and the one after that.

The Sage of Truth watched in silent woe as his students barely scraped by. Just what had gotten into them?! This was annoying. No, not annoying, it was…painful. It hurt his heart to watch them stumble, even after all the studying, the tutoring into the late hours of the night, the lectures and notes given. All of this painstaking effort in the hopes they may blossom, and now look at them! Floundering a conjuration spell as though they had never performed one in their life!

Well, now it was annoying. Annoying. Annoying! What was their problems? So stupid, so vacant, like empty-headed sheeple! These are what Crispia calls scholars and prodigies? Good gracious! So many of them need to be knocked down a few grades before reattempting this evaluation!

The Sage of Truth’s perfect smile began to unravel. By the end of the first hour, it had vanished without a trace. He sat in his director’s chair, watching yet another tragicomedy unfold before his eyes. It would end in disaster, he would snap his fingers to clean up the mess, and beckon the next Cookie to come on stage.

It repeated unto itself ad nauseam. By the second hour, he began to understand the inclusion of “nausea” in such a phrase. Watching their combined efforts shiver and buckle under the pressure of two advanced spells was just sickening. What a pathetic show.

After another half hour of enduring some mediocre but passable presentations—and a handful of terrible ones—the performance evaluation was over. And the results were not pretty. He dismissed his students with a thunderous expression. So much of their final grade rested on this evaluation.

And would you look at that. 38% had failed utterly, and the rest had scraped by a hair’s breadth. What had become of his students? Why? Why? Why were they failing him, their professor? What a load of idiots! He ought to fail them all now! Struggling on to the bitter end would only be a waste of time for those who failed if they do not achieve immaculate scores on the final assessment. And with the state they are currently in…

It was as though they were diseased. Something was clearly awry.

So he bit back his anger, and decided to extend some clemency. He promised a day off’s rest on the morrow, and they would reconvene the following day to discuss options for those who had failed to demonstrate mastery. Though he could not silence the strict side of him that insisted upon their expulsion, he could ignore it. Barely.

And thus, he was eager to turn his attention towards more entertaining matters. Such as that Beast he was keeping in his library! Although he was not quite in the headspace to ponder his means of dragging the truth out of him, he was confident in his ability to do so. As he cruised through the air towards the library in a rather unhurried fashion, he went over the facts.

Thus far, the Beast had demonstrated three different means of existing. And each one was more fascinating than the last. How else could he use that magic of his?

Truthless maintained that book form of his constantly. Perhaps he was the curse that burdened it so heavily. He clearly was not trapped in it, however, as he had demonstrated during their myriad of encounters. He leapt from shadow to shadow as a butterfly would flit from flower to flower as he pleased; though he seemed to be rather content with remaining within the confines of the book. Only when he deemed it necessary to abandon it—usually to threaten Sage into compliance—did he dare to emerge from the pages.

He was just as capable of possessing and manipulating shadows with his every whim, but refrained from doing so for reasons beyond the Sage of Truth. Why not? If Sage was the one blessed with such unfathomable powers, he would be wasting all his time scaring people! But given every single counter Truthless had provided during their debates was predicated on his own love and protectiveness towards Cookiekind, he would rather abstain from such frightening magic.

And that apparition on the street corner. Knowing what he knows now, that phantom audience member was certainly another one of the Beast’s attempt to get under his dough. But was that really the Truthless Recluse’s physical form? Come to think of it, he could no longer recall what exactly that Cookie looked like. He doubted that some petty jab would be worth bringing his physical body all the way here.

Hmm. How interesting. If that was a hallucination or an interaction manipulated by Deceit, then none of the Beast’s attempts to communicate with him have even betrayed his physical appearance. Why was he so shy? Perhaps it was a personality trait of his, which made sense given what the Sage has seen of him so far. But it does not seem to be born of a lack of will.

The Beast has always been here, in some form. Be it the darkness lurking in every corner, a book without any words, or a student that does not exist. He seems to be some form of parasite, latching onto an object or Cookie to express his sordid beliefs. In fact, he seems to have parasitized the Sage as well, given what had transpired when he stole his shadow.

Does Truthless Recluse even have a physical body at all?

This revelation struck him like lightning, a flash of inspiration that rendered him still. He floated before the library’s doors, the question reverberating in his skull as the echoes of thunder.

No wonder he called it complicated. His physical body was whatever object he was possessing. The Recluse was but a ghost, an apparition. When he said he could not breathe, his physical body—the one he had parasitized—was being smothered, and Truthless could feel it. To what extent, he did not understand. But it was enough to warrant freaking out, it seemed!

The Sage of Truth finally prepared his answer. Now it was time to confront the Beast, and see what sort of embarrassing reaction it would have upon realizing the Sage had him all figured out.

Chapter Text

The Sage of Truth snickered to himself, elated to finally have the upper hand. That idiot Beast was going to eat his words! And Sage would be the one shoving them down his throat, piece by piece, forcing him to swallow it all! With this victory, he would be most handsomely rewarded: a vision of Truthless Recluse’s face.

How many Cookies have witnessed such a face? Would the Sage of Truth be the very first of them all? It was a thought he reveled in, far more than he really should have. For as he sighed and swooned over the idea of making a fool out of the Beast, he was rendered vulnerable.

“Oh, Great Sage!” A servant’s head emerged from the wall to his right, commanding his attention at once. He yelped, a most undignified sound that left him burning with embarrassment. “Your apprentices are requesting an audience!”

“Really? Are you certain those are my apprentices? He assumed a graceful smile, but what lay beneath was an untidy mess of emotions. Disappointment in being delayed, but hopeful that she spoke the truth.

“They really believe so! Please hurry, one of them is going to chew my arm off!”

Definitely his, then.

With a wave of his staff, the Sage landed light as a feather before his visitors. Indeed, one of them was poised to rip his servant’s arm off. Her brother was busying himself with pathetic attempts to pry her off of the innocent Cookie—to no avail.

It had been 8 years since the pair had departed from the Blueberry Yogurt Academy, under the promise that they shall reunite as experienced mages. The Sage of Truth had taken the two under his wing as young children, and here they were now, all grown up. As difficult as it was to let himself grow emotionally attached to Cookies, these two had left an impression on him. A very deep one.

Black Sapphire, with his silvery tongue and tendency towards cowardice, had grown so much. Here he stood proud and tall—goodness, his dough must have risen at least a foot since he had departed—as opposed to the small, shy Cookie he once was. And Candy Apple, while it appears she has not grown in the slightest, had certainly improved her costume designs. Her passionate and impulsive behavior seem to have endured in their absence.

“MASTER BLUEBERRY CREAM COOKIE!!” She cried, releasing the servant’s bloodied limb and dashed into his embrace. One he did not offer, nor did he reciprocate. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. “I MISSED YOU SOOOO MUCH!!”

“Candy! Get off of the Great Sage!” Black Sapphire Cookie snapped before turning to the victim and tending to her wounds with fervent apologies and disinfectant.

“Ahaha! Ha! Ha ha! Hello there, Candy Apple Cookie.” The Sage of Truth grimaced, his laughter coming in short bursts of staccato. He leaned in close to her ear to hiss a warning. “Do not call me that in front of the servants. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Soooorry…hehe…” Candy Apple Cookie giggled, playing with the fraying hem of her dress. “I just get so excited!”

“You could afford to get a little less excited.” Black Sapphire advised, winding bandages around the servant’s arm. “If you didn’t bother the Great Sage so much, we might have been afforded more opportunities to visit.”

“Haha! Please let me go now, Candy Apple Cookie.”

“NEVER!”

“My sincerest apologies, Great Sage.” Black Sapphire bowed, cringing before his sister’s impudence. “We have finally returned from our study abroad, and Candy Apple insisted on paying you a visit. Have you been well in our absence, my liege?”

“Quite!” He tactfully omitted one of the reasons—that being that these two were not staying under his roof. One could not focus on anything with those two running amok. “It looks like you two have been on a wonderful adventure! But adventure can run you ragged. Look at all those tears in your clothing! Come, come, we must have that mended at once.”

At his ushering, the two of them followed. Candy Apple still clung to his sleeve, while Black Sapphire maintained a respectful distance. Instead of teleporting there, he deigned it more appropriate to stroll through the corridors instead. It afforded them ample opportunities to chat, after all!

“So, wherever had my two little apprentices been gallivanting?” He asked, his hand instinctively feeling for Black Sapphire Cookie’s hand. It was just another habit, one formed early in their apprenticeship. And with that familiar warmth clinging to either side of him, Sage felt the passage of time unravel in an instant.

They were the same little lumps of dough he had saved so long ago. Ones he found himself inexplicably fond of.

“We visited the Flourgrain Kingdom first!” Candy Apple cried, snuggling up to Sage’s arm. “It was sooo cool. But it was so dusty and foggy all the time, and all the Cookies there were so mean! But Black Sapphire liked it. Maybe because he’s just as mean as they are!”

“They were not being mean, Candy. They are a very disciplined and proper society, and they don’t like it when tourists disrespect their culture. You really should’ve kept your voice down when we were visiting the Thousand Altars, or we wouldn’t have been kicked out! It was the one place I wanted to go!”

“Then you shouldn’t have brought me along! That was boring! Why should I care about a buncha crumbled Cookies?”

Yes. She really had not changed in the slightest.

The Sage of Truth sighed, listening to their tales with fondness. One would recount a story, and the other would immediately refute the manner in which it was told using their own perspective. They had terrorized many kingdoms in their time abroad, it seemed. At least Sage was not responsible for shepherding them.

“Ah, here we are!” Sage chirped, opening the door. “Come in, come in.”

With a flick of the light switch, he illuminated a very familiar room.

It was in pristine condition. The bunk beds were still standing, their blankets smoothed out and with plushies perched upon the pillows. From floor to ceiling, stars sparkled upon the walls. A large toy chest sat unopened in the corner, yet no dust clung to its surface. A model of the solar system hung from the ceiling, spinning in silence. The curtains, embroidered with golden filigree, concealed the window facing the courtyard. Just next to it, a rocking chair sat motionless. The same one he would sing Candy Apple to sleep in. The same one he would read bedtime stories to Black Sapphire in during those sleepless nights.

And it was the very same one he perched upon now, ten years later, with a smile that spoke every affection he harbored for his apprentices—though his lips remained still.

“You kept this place clean? After all these years?” Black Sapphire asked, his throat tightening.

“I knew you two would come home.” He replied. “It did not matter when.”

Candy Apple Cookie was already clambering to the top bunk, delighting in the menagerie of plushies waiting for her. She hugged each of them tight. And while plushies were not quite so appealing to Black Sapphire’s tastes, he still found comfort in the little bat spreading its wings upon his pillow. All of which bore the Sage’s personal touch. Each and every one was tailored to their tastes.

It was hard to hide in front of them. The Sage of Truth breathed slowly. There was no point in maintaining his performance any longer. And thus, the mask slipped off.

Blueberry Cream Cookie was waiting for them, with an imperfect smile.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Candy Apple Cookie cheered, rolling onto her stomach and kicking her legs in the air. Her new dolls surrounded her on all sides, as though besieged by them. “It’s been way too long since I got the top bunk back!”

“You’re still on about that?” Black Sapphire snapped. “You got the top bunk for the past two decades! I can’t have it for even a couple weeks at the inn?”

“Nope!”

“Alright! Enough bickering, you two!” Blueberry Cream chuckled. “You must be starving! Why waste it on pointless arguments?“

“Ah, not quite yet.” Black Sapphire shook his head. “I’d…I’d rather stick around a little bit. I missed this place.”

“Getting nostalgic, are we?” He purred as he plucked his hat from atop his head and laid it to rest upon the dresser. “Me too. It has been a while since I had come to visit. Far too long, really, but I did not exactly have the luxury of time to spend reminiscing.”

“I can imagine. You are a very busy man, Great Sage.”

“Oh, enough with the formalities! As long as we are not in the company of the servants, you can call me by my actual name. I understand it must be more familiar to you.”

“Yay!” Candy Apple celebrated. “So, Master-“

“You can drop the Master thing at any time, dear.” Blueberry Cream sighed, regarding her with fond amusement. “And I encourage it.”

“Aww…”

A moment of silence passed, the three of them basking in each others’ presence. It was odd to be together again, after so much time spent apart. Now that they had grown up, they were not so quick to cling to him for comfort or praise. But still, they vied for his attention all the same. As do any other Cookies, really, but they were special to him. In a way that he could not truly translate into words.

“Ah, before I forget! The two of you need a bath after so much traveling.” He teased, though it was born from genuine concern. “Leave your old clothes in the basket next to the door, alright? I will collect them for mending later.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that! I know all about how to mend clothes! Mostly because Black Sapphire is an idiot and he keeps bumping into stuff every time he sees an attractive Cookie.”

“CANDY! KNOCK IT OFF!”

“Did I tell you about the time when we visited the Faerie kingdom, and he saw Elder Faerie Cookie for the first time?! Kyahaha, priceless, I tell you!” Candy Apple Cookie giggled, the sound partially smothered by Black Sapphire’s protests. “He fell straight into the river and he nearly drowned! And that Faerie Knight that came to save him when he passed out? When my brother saw him, he immediately passed out again! He’s such a dork!”

“CANDY APPLE COOKIE, I SWEAR TO THE WITCHES IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP RIGHT NOW, YOU WILL NEVER SPEAK AGAIN!”

“Sounds like anemia, honestly.” Blueberry Cream found the mental image amusing, but fainting was always a worrisome matter. Had his little one lost too much jam? By instinct, his hands felt along the Cookie’s forehead. “You certainly have grown, Sapphie, but your jam still gives you trouble?”

“Not as much as it used to. I think all the physical activity has improved my overall health.” Black Sapphire assured him, but he did not heed these words. No, he deigned it necessary to feel for a pulse before he laid his worries to rest. “The Spicelands are full of some of the best healers around, despite what a desperate struggle it is to survive out there. I had a spice treatment done, and it helped my jam flow a lot.”

“Yep! And he totally freaked out when he learned it was gonna be done by a pretty tiger lady!”

“CANDY!”

“What? She was really pretty! Like suuuper pretty. I almost got one myself, hehe.”

This kind of banter, this kind of chaos, all of it was so nostalgic.

“Oh, you little rascal!” Blueberry Cream laughed, shaking his head. “I missed you two so much. None of my servants are nearly as fun as you. Thank you for coming to see me again.”

Both Candy Apple Cookie and Black Sapphire Cookie sighed, wistful smiles on their faces. It was rare to hear something so earnest from their teacher. Candy Apple leapt down from her bunk, one of the plushies still hooked in her arm, and hugged him. Black Sapphire watched in envy, wondering whether he was allowed to. But with a nod from Blueberry Cream, he joined the embrace.

“Welcome home.”

Candy Apple Cookie sniffled. Soon, her sobs crescendoed into wails. And while he fought to hide his feelings, Black Sapphire’s cheeks soon glistened with silent tears. Blueberry Cream Cookie held them close, his smile never fading. Her cries rang in his ears, and his tears stained his robes. But what did it matter to him now? How big his children had grown!

“I am proud of you both, for pursuing your dreams with such passion. It only feels like yesterday that you bade me farewell. And now here you are, realizing your potential as fine mages. Oh, I cannot wait to see and hear about all the things you learned! I cannot wait to meet the Cookies that you two have become!”

“I can’t wait to share them with you. I hope that we will bring honor upon your name, as your apprentices.” Black Sapphire spoke the words that Candy Apple could not, for she was still hysterical. “And out of gratitude, for taking care of us when no one else would.”

“Please, I just…well, honestly, I do not know what got into my head that day.” Black Sapphire laughed at this confession. Blueberry Cream continued with a softer declaration. “But whatever it was, I could not be happier things turned out this way. Thank you both for changing my life, and giving me the chance to change yours. Thank you, Sapphie. Thank you, Candy.”

“I LOVE YOU, BLUEBERRY CREAM COOKIEEEEE!!”

“I love you too, Candy.” Blueberry Cream murmured, running his hand through her hair. “Let it all out, dear. It would not do to keep all that sadness inside, would it?”

They chatted well into the night after they ate and bathed. Blueberry Cream lounged in his rocking chair, threading a needle through torn seams in Black Sapphire’s waistcoat while Candy Apple recounted tales from the Salt Kingdom. Most of them were complaints, naturally, for the Silents were known for being, well, silent. But Black Sapphire always managed to remind her of some positives.

To make money during their travels, the two had taken up theater. Just like their old man! Candy Apple was invariably the star of the show, capturing everyone’s attention with her passionate performances. Meanwhile, Black Sapphire pulled all the strings behind the scenes, often opting to work entirely unseen through scripts and set design rather than appear on stage. When it was just the two of them, he would often act as her foil.

While the siblings has little in common, a dream of starting their own theater company was among the few exceptions. How he wished that dream would come true. To that end, he pledged to provide funding wherever possible to support them.

The clock chimed once, twice, thrice. Three o’clock. Blueberry Cream yawned and stretched out his weary back. A chorus of pops and crackles came with it.

“Ahh, I fear it is long past your bedtime.” He tutted. “Mischievous little imps, the both of you! Keeping your old man up this late! Come now, time for bed.”

“Aww, already? But we’re having so much fun!” Candy Apple pouted.

“He’s right, you know. You might not feel tired right now—lucky you—but you will in the morning.” Black Sapphire pointed out. He stretched, yawned, and snuggled beneath the blankets. “Good night, Blueberry Cream Cookie.”

“Good night, my precious.” He smoothed out Black Sapphire’s hair, exposing his forehead so he may give it a parting kiss. He then floated up to Candy Apple’s level, saw she was still splayed out on her bed, and sighed. “Oh my! Is it not yet bedtime for Candy Apple Cookie? Well, I suppose her bedtime kiss will have to wait!”

In the blink of an eye, she dove under the covers. There she waited in a cocoon of blankets, grinning wide and eager to receive the kiss she was owed.

“Ah, that is much better! Mwah!”

Candy Apple wriggled under her blankets with joy, like a little red caterpillar. Never too old for bedtime kisses, that one. Black Sapphire, on the other hand, was still embarrassed.

“Good night, my dears. I shall see you soon!”

They reciprocated in a tired chorus, out of tune with one another but conveying their individual personalities well. Blueberry Cream plucked his hat off the dresser, placed it upon his head once more, and disappeared behind the door.

Blueberry Cream was left lingering at the door, listening to his children argue over who was shaking the bed so much. The Sage of Truth walked down the corridors with a perfect smile upon his lips.

He was exhausted, yes, but he was happy. Those two were quite the handful. So much yet so little has changed since they departed from Blueberry Cream Mansion. Even after all that chatter and catching up, he had neglected to inquire as to how long they intended to stay. There was always tomorrow, right?

But tonight, he must confront the Beast.

Chapter Text

“Truuuuuthless!” The Sage of Truth sang, doors swinging open to reveal the arrogant man on the other side. “I found my answer!”

Silence. As expected. But it seemed Truthless was not prepared to receive Sage so soon after he had left. The spasming of a shadow in one particular corner betrayed his presence. It shrunk away from him as he approached, but it was too late. That grin of his was far too wide—the grin of a predator that had just found its next meal. But rather than lunge for the throat, he opted to toy with his food first.

“I know what you are! I know it!” He crowed, skipping and twirling around. “I have you all figured out! And I know you are in here, you old fool, stop hiding and go back to the book already so you can tell me if I am right. Which, obviously, I am.”

A moment passed, and a droning hum emerged from the corner. The shadows peeled away from the corner they clung to. They coalesced in a miasma of darkness and drifted onward, towards the tome they used to communicate. The Sage of Truth followed, smiling so wide his face might just split in two. What a fascinating thing, this Beast of his! He watched with rapture as the shadows enveloped the book, before melting into place. The light drove it to corners and gaps between pages, and there it sheltered from the glare.

When he opened it to a new page, words were already bleeding through.

“What is your answer?”

The Sage could not help himself. He answered verbally, arms raised to dramatic heights.

“You have no physical form at all!”

No words. He supposed that the Beast expected some level of evidence-based reasoning, and in lieu of a response, he gave it.

“You see, every time you appear or exert your influence, it is always through a medium. Be it a Cookie’s shadow, a physical object, or a reflection, you are always using a means to communicate that is not your own body. Which led me to wonder: if I had the ability to exist anywhere I so pleased, why bother maintaining a physical body? There would be very few benefits to reap, with costly and time-consuming downsides!”

Still, the Beast held his tongue. The Sage continued, wondering what he was thinking.

“Factoring your personality and all the facets you have shown me thus far into the equation makes this far more believable. You strike me as the silent type. Especially since you are giving me the silent treatment right now!” The Sage tapped the book, a little gesture to tease. The book bristled, as if infuriated by such treatment. “And given your preference for remaining undetected, what better form for the job than an old, seemingly empty book in the middle of a library?”

Even now, with the jabs and the teasing thrown in, no words appeared. Annoying, annoying, annoying! What was with this lack of response? Was Truthless Recluse going back on his word? Of course he was! To trust a Deceiver to keep promises was like trusting a hissing serpent not to bite you!

“Well? Are you going to tell me if I was correct?” He prodded again. And again. His annoyance seeped through every word, every movement. “Go on! Tell me I was correct, and then we can move on. You are merely prolonging this, Beast! Reveal yourself to me!”

In response, the book fell to the floor.

“Oh, typical!” The Sage of Truth fumed, hands on his hips as his accidental soliloquy continued. “You leave? Just like that?! Two-faced bastard! I swear I shall have my revenge for this!”

He bent down to pick up the book. The great burden upon it had been shed, the Beast’s curse undone by his words. Carrying it was effortless, as opposed to the great strength he had been forced to call upon beforehand.

“Recluse? Where have you gone?” He called into the empty library—and his voice returned the question, echoing down on him from above. “Recluse? Recluuuuse? Are you with me?”

Evidently not.

His anger faded before the swell of unease. It washed over him as a wave would cradle driftwood, shaping his emotions to its whim. In his heart lay a pearl of sorrow, the true face of his anger.

Vanished. Just like that. But he supposed it had to be expected of a Beast so afraid of confrontation.

The Sage of Truth thumbed the cover of the book, now resting in the crook of his elbow. Any sign of life had long departed. He had no way to track Recluse, no way to force him to uphold the agreement they had made. But he knew this was not goodbye, no, it could not be. This was just the beginning.

He abandoned the library. Nothing of importance remained there.

Distracted by his wandering thoughts, he, too, wandered from place to place. If the Beast no longer haunted the book, wherever had he disappeared to? Without any movement to betray its position, there was no way the Sage of Truth could find him. Not without incredible luck. If Recluse did not want to be seen, then there was no point in searching for him.

Whatever! Whatever! He did not care! Truthless Recluse would return to him in time. Though he still had so many questions, he knew that one could only extend their open palm to a creature such as he. Whether he accepts this invitation is, unfortunately, not something Sage can control.

But what would an open palm look like to someone like Truthless? Perhaps he shall learn, in time. For now, he ought to begin the afternoon lectures. His head already throbbed with the beginnings of a migraine. Those idiots better appreciate his efforts to teach them. He took care to prepare himself for his audience before departing with a wave of his staff.

“Welcome one, welcome all! Thank you for joining me today!”

Instead of preaching on the street corner, the Sage of Truth was perched upon his desk in front of a classroom. Behind him stood a chalkboard, the title of today’s lesson in cursive. Advanced Conjuration. He slid off the desk, landing on his tiptoes and performing a twirl. How he lavished his students’ attention—for as stupid as they had become, any attention was good attention.

“We are officially back to basics, because a few of you seem to have forgotten them. I must confess, I am a tad disappointed with the turnout of yesterday’s performance evaluations! Most of you performed…er, okayish, but I noticed a cornering uptick in failures. Whatever the problem is, it is my job to correct it! So we will be retreading ground today. Sound good?”

Silence. It did not sound particularly good.

“Righto! We better get started, or we might fall further behind schedule!”

And so, the class begun. The Sage had planned an entirely different lesson for today, but he was far too concerned with that ratio of passes to failures. Was the content too difficult? Surely not. Many of his students were accomplished wizards revisiting the academy to pursue further education, some were prodigies, and still more were diligent workers that never allowed a failure to slip by. That was how they managed to enter such a prestigious academy to begin with!

But overnight, 38% of his class had failed the assessment, and by extension, the class. The worst results he had ever received for a classroom—and he had taught hundreds of thousands of Cookies over the course of his lifetime. What gives? He sighed, plucked his monocle off his face, and misted it with his breath. He rubbed at it with his sleeve.

Was this his fault? What did he do wrong?

By the end of the lesson, everyone was exhausted. Plenty of successful conjurations had taken place, but somehow, it appeared that some students’ skills in this area had atrophied completely. How could it be, when this was material they had been reviewing over the past week? He had witnessed their competence first hand. How had it managed to deteriorate so rapidly, and so thoroughly?

“Alright, I understand you are all very tired. I am right there with you. So come up when I call you, and present your object. I will give it a couple tests and send you on your way. Got it? Got it! Okay, to start with…”

A myriad of objects were presented before him. A gramophone, a silver goblet, a bouquet, a horseshoe, a piece of coral, a serpent—he gave extra credit for managing to conjure an intelligent lifeform, as rudimentary as it was—so on and so forth. And with each student proving their understanding of the fundamentals, he dismissed class for the day.

The Sage of Truth sighed heavily. Oh, these Cookies. What is he to do with them? Was it anxiety that had ruined the evaluation? Why now, of all times, when it seemed to potentially be a certain someone’s fault? Was this Truthless Recluse at work? How? Why? His students had nothing to do with this! Why go after them? As he began organizing his desk in an anxious fit, he heard someone clear their throat.

“Um, Great Sage, sir. You forgot to call on me.” The student mumbled. “Here is my object.”

“Ah, yes yes, one moment.” He bowed low to reach his quill, which he had dropped in surprise. “My, you are a quiet one! I did not even hear you co-“

A mirror. The object was a mirror. Its blank gaze beheld him, yet reflected nothing. What was it seeing now, right this moment? Was it seeing anything at all? The dark glass reflected nothing, not even his beautiful face! What a shame that it could not bear witness!

“So…do I pass?” The student asked in a monotonous voice. A familiar vocal pattern, though the voice itself was far younger and sweeter than the one that echoes from the shadow.

The Sage of Truth furrowed his brow, hands preening on instinct despite seeing nothing at all. He ran his fingers through his hair and adjusted his hat. Cold comforts, really, but it was all he had. He knew what this was—another ploy to upset him—but it was rather pitiful. Did Recluse really believe he would not notice that? Or was it intentionally obvious? To make an even greater fool out of him?

Annoying! Annoying! Annoying! But nonetheless, the Sage plucked the mirror from the student’s grasp and nestled it away with the rest.

“Yes. You pass.” He smiled, eye twitching with the effort of maintaining neutrality. “Go. Your friends are waiting for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He watched the student depart in total silence. No footsteps. No breath. No creak of floorboards.

What on Earthbread was that thing? Was it an illusion? A hallucination? Or had Truthless Recluse honored him with a visit? He doubted it. Given how reluctant he was to even speak to the Sage, why would he go out of his way to visit in person? Whatever this was, it was something of note.

The interaction left a foul taste in the Sage’s mouth. Though he directed his attention elsewhere, his thoughts continued wandering towards that accursed mirror. He fought with all his strength to ignore its presence, but it was as though it was calling to him. Beckoning him to stare into the glass.

Eventually, he gave up on grading assignments and gave in to the urge. He opened the drawer, removed the mirror, and once again, searched for his presence. It revealed absolutely nothing—to be expected. But something felt different about it. The glass was dark, fog curling around the edges. That was not normal, right? But, truly, who is the arbiter of normalcy, and who do they serve?

Rhetoricals aside, the Sage of Truth could tell this was not a conjuration.

He did not want to prolong the interaction with whoever it was that offered it to him. But with thousands of years of magic practice, he could tell in an instant that it was not created by an ordinary Cookie. Either it was plagiarism, or it was a gift from the Beast himself. The timing was far too suspicious.

“Now, what do we have here?” He mused. “You are no ordinary trinket, are you?”

The Sage turned the mirror over in his hands, admiring every detail. For such a plain personality, Recluse had quite impeccable taste in ornamentation. Eyes gazed upon him near the hilt, the gems in their sockets glittering with malice. Fuchsia, blue, purple, gold, and green, all glaring in the light of the sun as it filtered through the curtains. He wondered if there was something on the back. There was not, just a crack in the frame. It was cold, so cold that a shiver ran through his arm upon touching it.

The next logical step—as is with any strange artifact—is to stick his fingers inside it. And he did so, in the name of science.

The Sage hissed. It was like plunging his fingers into icy water, gnawing on his dough like countless tiny teeth. He yanked his fingers out the chasm, shaking his hand out as a rush of liquid surged out of the mirror. The viscous fluid clung to his fingers, squirming as though it had a life of its own. Clouds of smog billowed around him, and he waved his staff to purify the air of its caliginous influence.

Well. Science has been committed. To what end, he knew not, but it certainly had.

Now that the disturbance had ceased poking and prodding it, the flow of fluid quickly ceased. He recognized this strange discovery as a key component in Dark Moon Magic. Dark matter. Said to be the tears of the dark side of the moon, an exceptionally rare and powerful substance that channels but a sliver of the celestial body’s power.

Of course. The Beast who likes to hide in shadows all the time would use Dark Moon Magic. Who would have guessed? Certainly not he!

“Hm. Interesting.” He muttered, swiping his tongue along his fingers for a taste. Hmm. Bitter, as expected, searing into the roof of his mouth with but a drop. “I suppose that is another entry crossed off my bucket list. Thanks, Truthless.”

He ought to confiscate this mirror. Whether it was plagiarism or a gift, he wanted to study it further. It evoked that same creeping dread as the Beast’s presence. Traces of him no doubt tainted such a pretty object. What if he were to purify it? Perhaps then it shall reflect things as it once had! The tower of paperwork piled haphazardly upon his desk was long forgotten. The Great Sage’s attention lay elsewhere. He swiped his staff from its resting place and gave it a wave, leaping through space from the Academy to his chambers. He cared not for making a dramatic entrance.

This little gift…what secrets lie just beneath the surface?

“How are you, my little mirror?” He mused, spinning in place with the mirror at varying angles in the hopes of capturing the light. Its dim surface did not reflect light at all. No wonder it could not show his face.

With the sample he identified as dark matter, the Sage of Truth already began to construct a hypothesis. The mirror was not a mirror at all, or at least, not intended to be. For when he pressed his hand against the translucent surface, he felt a sensation akin to that of Truthless’ shadow snatching trick. As though his soul was being lured out of his body. Even light was not spared from its hungry jaws.

Meaning that what he had been gifted was a weapon—or perhaps a prison. There was a chasm in the gild, after all. If things were able to enter, surely they would be able to exit. It would be an incredible challenge, certainly, given that this appears to function identically to a black hole. But the powers of a Beast are never to be underestimated.

Perhaps this was Recluse’s old dwelling. Perhaps he was imprisoned here, escaped, and bequeathed this strange artifact unto him as a twisted means of gloating about his escape. Which was equally terrifying and exciting!

Now was as good a time as any to present his findings to Truthless. He doubted he would receive a real answer, whether or not his theory was correct, but it was worth a try. At least to make him upset that he figured out the meaning of this gesture so swiftly!

Sage sat himself by his desk, and with a whispered greeting in Bestial, the nameless tome opened before him. He flipped through the inky remains of their last conversation—somehow, it had become smudged beyond legibility since they last spoke. Was the book intentionally censoring itself, or was that the Beast’s doing? Fascinating! A self-burning book! No wonder it was entirely blank when Sage had discovered it!

“Good evening, Truthless.” He began in beautiful cursive. “I have a question for you. It concerns that pretty little gift of yours.”

The answer came immediately, as though he was waiting for him this whole time. Perhaps he was. Ink flowered next to his greeting.

“What do you mean? What gift?”

“Do not start with that. You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“Since when does a Beast give gifts?”

“Now, evidently! I saw you enter my classroom, you gave me the mirror, and you left.”

A pause. The Beast was thinking. Who knows what sort of wicked thoughts roiled in that brain of his. When he finally wove an answer he deigned appropriate enough to give, several minutes had passed. All the while, Sage drummed his chipped fingernails upon the marble desk. What could possibly be troubling him? Was this interaction not quite as simple as Sage believed?

“Whatever you saw was not me.”

“Hmm. Too vague an answer. Try again, please!”

“You are not entitled to answers from me.”

“Every Cookie is entitled to answers from you, my dear Beast.” The Sage struck through the sentence Truthless just wrote, to spite him, before carrying on. “We deserve to know the Truth. The whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth.”

“That is your opinion. I, on the other hand, think it is far too dangerous to allow the Truth to fall into the wrong hands. Such as yours.”

“You really hate my guts, huh!”

“It took you this long to notice?”

“No, a mere observation. But I have enjoyed our banter thus far. You are a most fascinating study.”

The Sage waited for Truthless to respond. 33 seconds passed before he wrote a reply. Who knows what was transpiring in that infinitely vast mind of his? How deeply Sage craved the answer. To splay apart those dark corridors of his brain and bear witness to whatever depravity unfolds within their recesses.

“The feeling is mutual, but perhaps not in the same way.” Truthless Recluse confessed. A blot of ink bloomed upon the curve of the letter f, betraying some hesitance in revealing such information. “Perhaps after enduring countless hours in your company, I have learned to find your whimsical and unpredictable behavior interesting. As one would observe an insect.”

Again, that thrill. That shock of electricity shooting down his spine, leaving a tingling euphoria dancing upon his nerves. What an honor! The Sage of Truth piqued the Beast of Deceit’s curiosity, enough to warrant visiting him! Talking to him! It was like meeting an idol! Was this that dreamy feeling his followers would experience upon meeting him? Suddenly, all of their strange and irritating behavior made so much sense. To think he had never considered this from their perspective before…

“My, my, I was never expecting to hear that from you!” The Sage chuckled to himself as he scribbled his reply, struggling with such intense emotions unfolding beneath his mask of neutrality. “I am honored, truly, to be the little bug in the palm of your hand. Am I cute?”

“Do not twist this. This is an admission of tolerance—if that.”

“Tolerance is good enough for me.”

“And if I grow bored of your antics, shall you retreat from my striking palm? Or shall you let yourself be crushed beneath me?”

Sage faltered.

“Who’s to say? It depends on how much I like you.” He answered at last. “For now, this is our tenuous bond. Insect and observer. But watch out, my dear Recluse, even the tiniest insect has mandibles of its own.”

“Why are you not approaching this as my equal?”

“The life of an insect and a Cookie are equal, Recluse.” He dipped his quill into the inkwell before carrying on. “Have you not seen it yourself? The fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, stirring up a storm across the continent?”

“That is usually used as a metaphor, Sage.”

“But in all your countless years of life, think! Was there not a time where enough butterflies spread their wings and summoned the almighty gales? When neither they nor anyone else knew of the sheer might those little things wielded? It must have happened at least once.”

“This is a weird hill to die on.”

“No, it is not the hill I will die on. It is the hill I will kill you on. Perhaps not in the soundness of my arguments, but in sheer annoyance or boredom. Ask my philosophy class, they will be the first to complain!”

“I gathered as much. But you contradict yourself. You spare admiration and love towards insects and life forms of similar intellect, so why the disdain for Cookies? Especially given that you are one of them, with or without your Soul Jam to distinguish yourself?”

It was simple, really.

“Because I like insects, and dislike Cookies.”

“What a straightforward answer.” Once again, the Beast paused to contemplate his next words. “But why? Why do you dislike Cookies, despite proclaiming yourself to be their shepherd, their teacher, and their champion in all things regarding Truth?”

“I suppose it sounds strange. But think of it like this.”

The Sage began to draw a depiction of a butterfly upon the page. Unflinchingly anatomical, segmented and stiff. It was not intended to be any particular kind of butterfly. Just an abstract of what one recalls them to look like. Next to this drawing, he sketched out a faceless Cookie. It was as barebones as could be, with no icing or features.

“Cookies are unique individuals. Endless factors shape them, from their environment to their flavor to their ingredients, as well as their past experiences and how they were raised. They are fluid, transient, always maintaining a defined shape, yet shifting like water as their dough breaks and mends and changes. You have to worry about ‘being a good Cookie,’ of upholding morals and helping your fellow Cookies.”

“Insects are not quite so complicated. They live and die in comparatively short periods of time. They live for two purposes only: to eat and to mate. While Cookies seek methods to control, hurt, and crumble one another, the insects exist in rigid rules defined by things far beyond them. All they do is survive. There exists no morality, no fear of making the wrong decision. And in this, they are truly free. A freedom that Cookies such as the likes of us can never truly have.”

Again, the Sage had managed to confound the Beast. Perhaps not necessarily out of shock or confusion, but his uncertainty in how to answer this was palpable. Whispers of ink began to sink into the page, but failed to shape into actual words. Clearly, something in his little lecture struck a chord with Recluse. Finally, the answer came.

“I understand.”

It was not as vitriolic as he anticipated, given that he had compared Cookies to insects and directly implicated him in this comparison. In fact, it was almost…gentle. If the written word could carry the subtleties of gentleness, to the point even could Sage feel them from such simple words.

“You know what I mean. Morality is such a chore.” The Sage of Truth carried on. “Look at you, struggling to cling to what little you have left. Would it not be more freeing if you just let go? If you forget about the safety and wellness of all these Cookies who decided to disobey you regardless of your warnings? Fools who can only learn from example? Would it not be freeing to let the Cookies decide their own fate?”

“I cannot agree with what you are saying. Without me, without Deceit, the Cookies would be powerless before the Truth. They would have no safety in the darkness, no comfort in the night. It is my duty to provide this protection.”

“And what good is comfort to the likes of them? They never accepted your comfort, did they?”

Droplets of ink pooled upon the surface of the page, but no words etched themselves into the book. Once again, he was frozen before the paralyzing light of Truth. How he wanted to say something, to refute the Sage’s cruel words and find solace in knowing he was on the right path. But no answers came.

The silence deafened them both to the creaking of flooring, the ticking of a clock, anything that might disturb such an intimate moment between them. For Sage had penetrated the fatal weakness in his defenses. If only he could watch the poor Beast bleed out.

“Are already done with our debate for today?” Sage inquired, his lips curling into a smile.

“I have other business to take care of.”

“Go on, lick those pretty wounds clean and then return to me. I shall gouge them anew, if you so desire, for the Truth is unchanging. No matter how many times you crawl back to me, the answer shall remain the same. Carry on with your piteous defenses, it matters not to me. But if you still insist on getting in my way…”

The Sage of Truth’s smile widened, baring those teeth for the predatory incisors they truly were.

“Well, do not say I never warned you.”

Chapter Text

Another day, another lecture recited to blank faces. Another day, another act of terror upon him by his apprentices. Another day, another day, another day. They just kept flying by, with the Beast remaining by his side. Truly, he would have expected Truthless Recluse to grow weary of his antics at some point. But there he was, waiting for him on his bed as he always did.

The Sage of Truth entered his abode with a yawn, passing the mirror without a second glance. A flash of color followed his movements. He paid no attention to such subtleties, owed to his drowsiness. All he wanted was to lie down and sleep.

“Hi, Truthless.” He whispered to the book laying upon his pillow. “You like my pillows? You can keep one, if you like.”

He knew that the Beast’s words, whatever they were, could not reach him if he did not open the cover. Truthless could wait. He began to disrobe, sighing with relief as the weight of the gold and frills cascaded down his body. His nightwear danced out of his closet. But as he reached out for his robe, he noticed something.

Something in the mirror.

He was poised to receive his velvet robes, one hand outstretched. The other hovered in an uncertain arc near his torso, fingers tensed and twitching. His expression was bewildered, his posture straight and stiff. And that expression was the same, the very same as the one Sage bore now.

But that was not the Sage of Truth. No, this was a stranger, mirroring his every move beyond the glass.

A stranger draped in solemn robes, dark velvet devouring him from every possible angle. Golden accents glittered along his sleeves, his dress, his cape. They coalesced into a very familiar shape, the shape of a Soul Jam that belonged to someone else. Upon his head, an enormous hat with pinpricks of gold, its shape reminiscent of a Vanillian crown. The stranger was composed of tan dough, creased and scarred from countless years endured in solitude. He was ludicrously tall, gaunt, bones jutting out of him at sharp angles.

His eyelashes, white as fluttering feathers, brushed his cheeks with every slow blink. Beneath them lurked his irises, one a faint blue, the other gold. Even they seemed to have faded with age, sculpted by the tides of time into something smooth and dull. Shadows were carved deep beneath his eyes, betraying the burden of countless sorrows untold. And those lips, framed by defined creases—no doubt from frowning so much—were so thin, so worn, and decorated with the permanent scarring of his own teeth, for he had bitten it one time too many.

As the Sage dared to draw nearer, so too did he. As his brow furrowed, so too did his. As his hand came to rest upon the glass, so too did he. A perfect reflection.

“Are you the Beast of Deceit?” He asked, his jam threatening to boil over with excitement. Though the reflection’s lips moved in time with his, the voice did not reach him. Not yet.

“Are you the Beast of Deceit?” The echoes came from a great distance, as light would travel lightyears to warm his face. Only whispers could reach him here, from the other side of the glass.

“Are you unable to speak to me?”

“Are you unable to speak to me?”

“Ah. This will get annoying very fast.”

“Ah. This will get annoying very fast.”

The Sage sighed, rubbing his temples with irritation, and his reflection did the same. Even with this drawback, he was finally able to witness the Beast’s true form! This was Truthless Recluse! He was right after all, and he could rub it in his face as he pleased! And, being the Sage of Truth and all, he had to be honest. The Beast was beautiful.

Of all the visages his own dreaming mind would ascribe to Recluse, this was the best among them. He was beautiful. So beautiful. So very beautiful.

His reflection waited for his next movement, eyes gazing into his. Their breathing harmonized, a soft puff of condensation misting the glass that separated them. Sage’s hand drifted along the mirror, and Truthless followed. It felt strange as it was intimate, to be seen and mimicked in such a way.

How was he following Sage’s movements so well? Were they no longer separate entities?

He unleashed a flurry of rapid gestures, ensuring that they were unpredictable. And his reflection replicated every single one without a flaw, stopping and starting at the same random places he did. When he stumbled, Truthless stumbled. When he righted himself, Truthless righted himself. And when he succumbed to a coughing fit from the sudden exertion, so too did Truthless.

This was exceedingly strange.

“You are quite the fascinating study.” He murmured, fingers trailing along the glass in lazy arcs. And the words rebounded moments later, in a voice unlike his own. Goosebumps prickled along his dough as the sound reached his ears. “I wonder…is this really due to your own limitations? Or is this intentional?”

After all, a being so mighty should not be so restricted in their power. Surely one able to communicate through the written word of a book could also do so from beyond a mirror. Was Truthless attempting to lull him into a false sense of security? Or was this magic, so poorly understood by both him and the wider community, a far more difficult feat than it seemed?

Regardless of the answer, he knew he had to figure it out himself.

“Say, Truthless, if that is you in there…” Sage began, pausing to listen to the echoes, “…can you move on your own? Or are you entirely dictated by my whims?”

The reflection’s eyes flickered to the left and right. The only independent movement he has demonstrated thus far—but more importantly, confirmation that this was the Beast, and he was listening to whatever Sage had to say.

“Ah! So you can hear me! I was starting to wonder if I was going mad!” The Sage of Truth sighed with relief, and so too did Recluse. “Would you mind if I asked a few questions? So I can understand this strange constellation we find ourselves in. Look upwards if so, and look downwards if not.”

Those pale eyes turned upward. In any other circumstance, it would be a demonstration of irritation or boredom. But now? A rush of excitement flooded the Sage’s veins at the implications.

“Thank you for your cooperation, my dear Beast!” He grinned, clapping his hands—and Recluse mirrored him, albeit with less enthusiasm. “Now, my first question. Is this your true body? Use your eyes to answer.”

Truthless Recluse paused a moment after repeating the question back. He stared straight ahead, thinking, before eventually settling on the answer of “no.” Whatever the true answer was, it was far too complicated to be fully illustrated in a singular word.

“I see. In that case, do you even have one? A physical doughy body, like any other Cookie?”

This was an easy one. Recluse pointed his eyes downward.

“Did you used to have one?”

Another easy answer. Yes. Sage would honestly be very concerned if it was not! But his next question was not quite so easy.

“Do you miss it?”

Truthless Recluse stared straight ahead, as though waiting for another question to come. Given how swift his responses were previously, there was no way he failed to hear it. Sage considered this a non-answer, an “I don’t know.”

“Alright. Well, let me think…” The Sage tapped his fingers upon his cheek, and so too did Truthless. “If I asked you to step out of the mirror right now, would you?”

An emphatic no.

“Could you?”

Truthless did not respond.

“Could it be…you are trapped?”

Again, no response. He stared straight ahead, as though he never heard his questions to begin with. They did not fall on deaf ears, no—but his beckoning urged mute lips. And suddenly, the Sage of Truth felt something. A twinge of pity.

Yes, he chose not to answer. But it seemed that Truthless was trapped. Perhaps not in the mirror itself, no, but in this existence. With no body to call his own, no freedom to go where he pleased. Suddenly, those threatening words he spoke the day they met took on new meaning.

“I am trapped with you. For as long as I live, I will never know solitude. You were here. You are here. You will always be here. You are my past, you are my present, and you are my future.” Sage whispered, listening as the reflection recited these words back to him. “But you are just as trapped in this existence as I am. You are doomed to stay by my side, forever. I am your past, I am your present, and I am your future. All this time, we were together. I just had not seen reality for what it was.”

If only he could see the Beast’s expression twist into something terrible. Rage, fear, disgust, anything would do, really! But no, he was a perfect reflection of the Sage—forlorn, tinged with pity.

“Say, Beast, if you would do me the honor, could I ask you one last question?”

His eyes rolled upward. So he was still listening.

“Can you feel anything?”

Truthless Recluse watched in silence as Sage pressed his hand against the glass separating the two. He mirrored this movement, hand upon his like a second shadow. It was cold, smooth, impersonal. It felt odd to be so close to another Cookie, and yet be so far.

“Can you feel anything?”

It was as if the echo was the answer; the question that unraveled itself.

“No. I cannot.” Sage sighed, his hand moving away from the glass. “What a shame.”

The Sage of Truth was, despite receiving such a tantalizing revelation, rather disappointed. He turned his attention to the book, wandering out of view of the mirror—out of the view of Recluse—and opened it. Perhaps he had written something in there?

As he leafed through page after page, the truth stood before him. No. Nothing at all. In fact, as he lifted the book into his arms, he realized the great burden had been lifted. For Truthless Recluse was no longer residing amidst its pages, the curse that had sealed it shut and the blight that rendered it so heavy had abandoned it. For a time, at least.

“Truthless, were you always capable of this?”

He turned to the mirror, where the Beast was stood with an arm hooked around nothingness. His eyes did not move, not for some time. Something about this question bothered him. Eventually, he decided to turn his gaze downward.

“No? Then why now?”

A slight dulling of expression. As if to ask why he expected to receive any answer beyond the demonstrated capability of yes and no.

“Can you still write to me, then…?” He mused, eager to receive a more conclusive answer than gestures. “Pardon me, Truthless. Allow me to test this now.”

As he plucked his inkwell from its place upon his desk, the book suddenly became unbearably heavy. Sage dropped, struggling to stay upright from the sudden force. Pearls of sweat shone upon his brow.

“Good gravy!” He exclaimed. “It never gets easier with you, does it? One moment, my dear Beast, allow me to set you down. Goodness, you are heavy.”

He laid the tone upon the edge of the bed, laying astride his stomach and kicking his feet in the air. He could see Truthless reflected in the exact same pose. Then, he whispered a greeting in Bestial to open the Beast up to his hungry eyes. Had he written anything yet? Goosebumps prickled along his dough, tingling with excitement. And indeed, he had. Four words.

“Do you like it?”

What a bizarre question.

“You seek my approval, Beast?” Sage asked. “That is quite unlike you.“

“Answer me.”

Well, there was only answer he could give. One truthful answer, that is. He could lie as freely as he pleased—but why would he? Such an earnest question coming from the Beast of Deceit was endearing. While the urge to tease intensified, the urge to lie did not.

“Although it is no Sage of Truth, I do. I like it. Thank you for showing me.”

No response came. Presumably, Recluse was using this lull in their conversation to think. Or perhaps he was swooning beneath the faceless pages, pleased to receive such praise from him! Sage interrupted his thoughts with one of many questions he postulated while Recluse was unable to answer, in the hopes of receiving something more conclusive.

“Say, you always echo whatever I say in your reflection’s presence. Why is that?”

Another pause. This gave him something new to ponder, and ponder he did. After a minute’s time, ink began to flow from the other side of the page.

“What did you expect? A reflection can only reflect. It does not exist, not in the way you do.” Truthless answered in the same plain scritch-scratch he always did. “All it can do is mimic, in the hopes of being you. But it ceases to exist as soon as you look away. It cannot be real, it cannot be touched, it cannot be known. Not in the way that corporeal objects and creatures can.”

“You sound a little bitter there.”

“This is the truth.”

“And you, the arbiter of Deceit, are championing the Truth?”

“Would you rather I lie to you?”

“I am assuming you already have, plenty of times. It is merely a matter of discernment. What is a lie, and what is the truth?” Sage smiled upon the pages of the book, and in the mirror, Recluse smiled too. “Really, it is quite fun playing that guessing game of ours. Because despite what you seem to think of yourself, you are not incapable of speaking the truth. You simply refuse to abide by its rules in totality, as I do.”

“You have lied to me as well. You are no saint.”

This accusation sent a thrill coursing through his veins. Fun! So much fun! None of his idiot students could ever dream of making him feel this way!

“Perhaps not!” Sage chuckled. “But you, being a creature so vast and impossibly powerful, pose an imminent danger to myself and others. In a way, you force my hand into spinning such lies—ones out of care for myself and other Cookies.”

“Then you and I are not quite as different as I once imagined.”

This statement startled Sage into silence. His quill quivered between his fingers. Slowly, he lifted his head to face his reflection. The colors of his reflection’s eyes…did they match his own, or were they inverted? Were they quite the same faded tone? The same downturned shape, framed by crow’s feet?

“Hmm…I suppose we are not that different at all.” He murmured, resting his weary head upon his hand. Truthless mirrored him without thinking, eyes fixated upon his counterpart. “As night and day have their differences, their presence in the world is equal and beautiful. And as dusk and dawn, we can only meet in the traces we leave behind.”

To be gazed upon by the Beast of Deceit in such a way, in such a place that he was no longer concerned with maintaining appearances…the joy this brought him was downright sinful. How valiantly he fought the urge to hide himself among the pillows, to squeal like a young girl in the presence of her idol. What fun! Truthless Recluse was always the highlight of his day!

He rolled over on his back, turning the world upside down. His smile widened into something imperfect, something genuine. Truthless followed his movements, a whisper of that same smile upon his lips. The world was upside down. It made no sense. Truthless made the least sense of all. But t his moment brought him peace.

His worries for his students, his apprentices, his appearance, all of it vanished in the haze of dusk. As day melted into night, here, the two could bask in each other’s presence. For a brief moment in time, they were just close enough to see each other.

“Hah…you make a fool of me, Truthless Recluse.” The Sage of Truth sighed, fixing his mask back into place. The imperfections vanished, but whispers of his true feelings remained. “Something about this feels good. I wish I could say what. But I feel good. Thank you for sharing this moment with me.”

The lazy smile reflected upon the Beast’s face vanished for just a second, and surprise took its place. Surprise? The Sage of Truth did not change his expression at all. Upon seeing this, it was his expression being dictated unto him by his reflection. But in the blink of an eye, he settled back into his role as directed by his companion, and his smile returned.

Odd.

“Say, you look good when you smile!” Sage declared, twisting back around to sit upright upon his bed. “I like it! Would you smile a little more? For me?”

As the echoes of his voice reflected back in Truthless Recluse’s own, it almost sounded as though he was complimenting Sage, rather than the other way around. Oh, the things he could do with this reflection of his. So long as Truthless did not object too much, he could make him do or say anything! In fact, he ought to test this out now!

“Oh, Sage! You handsome devil!” He purred, sauntering up to the mirror in a seductive manner. Recluse mirrored this, although with notably less enthusiasm. Sage pawed at the mirror, nails running along the glass with desire. “Give me some sugar, you pretty little thing!”

The echoes that washed over him, a monotonous droning in his ear, sent shivers running through his body. Ooh, that felt good! What else could he make the Beast say until he finally puts his foot down? The possibilities were endless! With the snap of a finger, the Sage of Truth immediately switched characters. From a lecherous loner to a foolish apostate, returning to him on their hands and knees and begging for forgiveness.

“Oh, Great Sage, I was wrong! I was wrong for doubting you! For you are the Truth, the living Truth!” He wailed, clasping his hands together and willing false tears to sparkle in his eyes. Recluse, again, followed his every move. “I am but a fool, led astray by the temptations of Deceit! Please, enlighten me of the ways of Truth!”

The echoes came once again, its affect flat—yet trembling ever so slightly, to reflect the emotion his script dictated. Recluse’s eyes had glazed over. He was clearly nearing his limit with the games, but the Sage had yet to have his fill.

“Oh, Great Sage, I love you.” He whispered, caressing the mirror with a lover’s tenderness. He could not help but press himself against the glass, as though embracing Recluse in this farce unfolding before him. The velvet robes drifted along his shoulder, exposing it. Rather than follow his gaze, the Beast’s eyes fixated upon the drifting fabric. “Please, say you love me back. Say the words I so desperately want to hear. Say you love me, too.”

Suddenly, the doorknob twisted, unveiling a rather bewildered Black Sapphire Cookie.

“Ah!” Sage turned to look at his apprentice, robes threatening to expose more vulnerable dough. He was still pressed up against the mirror in a most compromising manner. This looked bad. Really bad. “Sapphie! I-“

“My apologies for intruding, Great Sage!” Black Sapphire babbled, hands flying to his face. “Goodness, I thought you were just-“

“This is not what it looks like! I promise!”

“Whatever it is, I really don’t want to know!”

“Sapphie, as your mentor, your superior, and the Great Sage of Truth,” he hissed, struggling to maintain his dignity as he fixed the wayward velvet, “please, never speak of this to anyone.”

“I won’t!” His apprentice assured him at once. “I just wanted to ask if you were going to join us for dinner…”

“Dinner. Right.”

The dusk was fading, and night would soon reign over the skies. He glanced back at his mirror, Truthless watching him in silence. Would he see him again? Was it worth the risk of leaving his side?

“I will join you shortly. Please give me time to dress myself.”

“But of course, Great Sage.”

Chapter Text

His fears were unfounded. For as the Sage of Truth departed from his chambers, his reflection followed every step of the way. He flowed from gold to glasswork, transient form rippling like rushing water. The details would melt together, but the silhouette remained clear. Walking side by side, inseparable, yet never touching.

And so it was. Sage expected this to be a once-off, especially after how much he pushed the echoes of Recluse to say degrading things. But Recluse remained by his side. Was it devotion? Or was it dictated by another’s whim, the Sage merely serving as the cage that keeps the Beast trapped?

That would explain his dislike. But it would not explain…other things.

“Still here, are you?” Sage murmured to the shimmering golden surface of the door handles to the library. A distorted Reclsue was gazing back at him, expression unyielding. “My, I thought you would have grown sick of this by now. But here you are.”

The words rebounded back to him in soft murmurs. The Beast’s voice was clearer than yesterday. Much clearer.

The Sage flashed a radiant smile at his reflection, but Recluse did not smile back. His control over his own body, or whatever remained of it, was growing stronger. Perhaps with time, he would be able to converse with him without the aid of the book! Such a development was exciting as it was dreadful. For Sage had been sticking his fingers between the bars of a Beast’s cage, and it was merely a matter of time before he finally snapped his jaws.

And how dreadful would that be? What on earth would he serve as penance for his arrogance? Exciting! Fun! Thrilling! Come what may, he was eager to receive whatever revenge Recluse was fantasizing about in that strange mind of his!

Little did he know, Truthless Recluse’s revenge was already underway.

The Sage of Truth entered the library, nameless tome in hand. He had no intention to read, however. This was just one of many places he liked to spend time with Truthless in. The location mattered not, truly, but he found it most enjoyable in such a secluded place. He could say whatever he wanted, and not a soul would dare to interrupt!

He whistled a jaunty little tune, floating through the spiraling tower without aim nor goal. His eyes were on the gild of the shelving, where fragments of Truthless Recluse followed his every movement. Their whistling harmonized in one clear note, songbirds serenading one another in the lonely library.

“Say, Truthless Recluse,” he began, pausing before the bookshelf labeled D through E. His reflection halted, face distorted in the engraving upon the label. “What if I took you outside? I suppose it would not mean much to you, given your, ah, predicament. But I do recall promising teatime to you. Where would a better place be than the gardens, hm?”

Recluse mouthed something in return. From what little of his lips Sage could read, he assumed he meant to say “I do not care.”

“Oh, come now. I care.” Sage sighed, hand against his forehead in a display of drama. “And besides, I think it would be nice. If it means naught to you, then it means the world to me. You may be my reflection, but we are still opposites.”

The Beast rolled his eyes.

“Alas! It seems I got far too used to hearing you echo everything I say! I forgot just how disagreeable you can be!”

He nodded.

“If only you could speak on your own.” Sage lamented, drifting once more from shelf to shelf. “I would like to hear that sultry voice of yours whispering in my ears more often. I think if you tried, you would be a wonderful singer. And it would entertain you in that purgatory of yours, too! I am a genius!”

Truthless Recluse did not follow him right away. He stood, wavering slightly as the distance grew between them, watching Sage glide through the air with silent contempt. But before he could notice that his reflection had been abandoned, Recluse returned to his side.

“I can teach you all about it! This delightful voice of mine is not all natural, you know. It took me many years to truly master my own sound.” Sage offered, careening through the darkness with the playfulness of a dolphin. Truthless barreled forward, dizzied by the sudden motion. How was Sage so graceful? All this floating was making him nauseous. “But, in all honesty, singing is not my greatest talent. Speaking, yes! But all those countless pieces I have composed remain soundless without a voice to sing it. Woe is me.”

“Woe is me.” Truthless echoed, intending to mock rather than agree.

“Indeed!” Sage nodded with enthusiasm despite the sarcastic tone his reflection took. “Woe indeed! So be a dear and give these pieces a voice, will you? It really sounds boring, being someone else’s reflection. So why not? You have nothing else to do other than follow me around.”

Truthless Recluse grimaced at the thought. Why should he? But in the other hand, why should he not? He really had nothing else to do. Even after escaping his former prison, he had been thrust from one jail to the next. And this one came with a really bothersome cellmate. If he did not comply, Sage would no doubt continue to pester him.

The Sage of Truth hovered an inch above the ground, staring straight ahead. A welcome respite from all the twirling from before.

“Well? Will you be my canary?”

In the distorted depths of his reflection, something resembling a blush bloomed across his cheeks.

“Yes.”

“Huzzah!” The Sage performed a victory dance, before suddenly stopping mid-twirl. “Wait, yes? Yes?! You can speak on your own after all! So I was right! You were trying to lull me into a false sense of security!”

Truthless Recluse closed his eyes as Sage thrust himself forward, peering into the golden frame that held him captive. What a bother.

“Sort of.” He clarified. “It is not easy, which is why I chose to echo you instead.”

“All the more reason to be my pretty little songbird!” Sage chirped, an irritatingly perfect smile upon his painted lips. “This will help you strengthen your voice! Which is dearly needed—you sound like a dead leaf whistling in the wind. How long has it been since you spoke on your own?”

The sigh that reached the Sage of Truth’s ears said it all. It had been far too long.

“It feels strange…” He confessed, further indicating just how long it had been. “I am so accustomed to being a silent presence. Why would I want to speak? My mere presence poisons and corrupts other Cookies. The mortal mind cannot endure exposure to raw Deceit.”

“Except for me! Because I am so very special!”

“Right, whatever.” Truthless scoffed. “That aside, I must admit, it has been bothersome trying to communicate with you through the medium of literature. And you are not nearly strong enough to haul the book around with you, should it be necessary. Which, as an aside, why would you abstain from using magic to make it easier?”

“Ah.”

“You…you never thought of it?”

“Not necessarily!” The Sage coughed, his cheeks turning a tinge pink. “Recall, if you would, the first day I spent with you. I tried a myriad of magic spells to force the book open, and all of them either dissipated upon impact, or rebounded upon me in some fashion. I presumed your presence amidst the pages rendered normal magic useless, or otherwise ineffective.”

“But that was in regards to opening the book. Simply carrying it would have been easy with a levitation spell.”

“Come now, come now, I was not about to have a levitation spell backfire on me!”

“Just admit it.” Truthless Recluse smirked, this tiny revenge tasting oh so sweet upon his tongue. “You never even considered something as simple as that.”

“Fine! Fine! Hands in the air, guilty as charged!” Sage confessed, throwing his hands up. “But really, who could blame me for presuming it would backfire? You are a Beast, after all! Whatever countermagic you imbued the book with was so potent, none could know what would come of trying to manipulate it with spells.”

“Countermagic? I never used countermagic.”

“Ah.”

“I presume what you are referring to is my presence.” Truthless coughed. “Simple spells cannot affect me, the shadows that haunted the book. What you were attempting to do was manipulate me, the curse that bound the vessel shut. Of course it would not work. But the vessel itself is not impervious to magic.”

“Oh, that explains it far better than mere countermagic!” Sage’s eyes glowed with wonder as he received this new tidbit of information. He leaned in closer, closer, his breath brushing the surface the gild that held his reflection captive. “My, my! Beasts really are something else! Even I am not fully immune to such magic—though it is certainly ineffective. You, on the other hand…I wonder what kind of magic does affect you?”

“Too close.”

“My apologies.” The Sage of Truth withdrew at his request, but remained far too close for Recluse’s comfort. “Now that we have finished warming up your voice, my dear canary, will you accompany me to the studio? The sooner we begin, the better!”

“Fine. Do your worst.”

And oh, he certainly tried.

First, Sage whisked him away to choose a composition suitable for a beginner. After much deliberation, he selected two pieces to start with. One he dubbed Shadow of the Moon, a simple piano piece, and the other, Birdsong, something he described as “a little challenging, but doable.” Truthless read the sheet music over his shoulder, and he discovered exactly what he meant. It was a much faster pace, but featured minimal input on the Beast’s end and only comprised of sound, not words. Challenging, but doable.

After the decision had been made, Sage teleported to the studio. It was entirely barren, compared to the clutter that accumulated in every corner from when the performance evaluations had taken place. Mirrors danced along every wall, allowing Truthless ample space to move. This he appreciated, though he was still confined to Sage’s movements.

The Sage of Truth waved his staff, conjuring a grand piano from nothing and perching upon its accompanying stool. Truthless followed, as though he was the one sitting upon it. But he felt nothing beneath him. The birdcage came with no such luxury.

“So! Before we begin, we have to perform warm-ups, and get a feel for your unique voice. Speaking and singing are two vastly different mediums, my dear, so it is necessary to understand your individual style and delivery. One can sing anything they please, oh yes, but their voice may not be suitable for certain styles.”

Truthless Recluse was already regretting this. But he had nothing better to do, really, and it was not as though he was entirely unfamiliar with this sort of thing.

“Now, listen to my voice. When I finish, I want you to mimic the sound as best you can.“

Sage drew a deep breath, and began with a low note. He held it for a second, before gesturing for his canary to try. And try he did, but his voice was not quite so clear nor confident. Sage listened, clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and motioned for him to try again. The next one was even more disappointing.

“Oh, darling, I need you to try.” He muttered. Truthless twitched slightly at the nickname. Why now, of all times, did it unsettle him so? “You cannot just mumble your way through this. You need to try. Songbirds sing to be heard. Let yourself be heard.”

“I am trying. You know I am not used to…this.”

“Ah ah ah. You are speaking. You need to sing. Remember, breathe from your diaphragm. Breathe slowly, let your chest expand, and sing.” He instructed patiently. “Are you nervous, or are you refusing to try?”

Truthless bristled at this. Who is he to say he is not trying at all? Pompous prick. But he tried again, now fueled by spite. He followed the instructions, breathed deeply, and sang. His voice came clearer, wavering slightly towards the end but a marked improvement.

“There we go! Good little birdy!”

“Would you stop calling me that?”

“Aww, are you embarrassed?”

“Enough nonsense. Is that good enough for you?”

“Not at all!” Sage grinned, eliciting a groan from his reflection. “But we are just starting, after all. You need to get comfortable first, and then we can start with an actual piece. Now, follow my voice.”

This note was an octave higher. Truthless breathed slowly to calm his nerves before mimicking the sound. To his surprise, Sage nodded along.

“Oh, was it…any good?” He asked, surprised to hear no complaints.

“Good enough. Let us continue!”

And continue they did, from do to fa to ti, crescendoing into the greatest heights Truthless could manage and lowering to his deepest lows. The Beast’s voice grew stronger with every new exercise. As much distress as it brought to him to realize this, he was not exactly…bored. The uneducated viewer might even dare to say he was enjoying himself. But we are not uneducated, and that would be ridiculous.

“There we go! Good job!” Sage clapped as he finished a particularly clear note. Truthless shied away from his gaze, so unused to praise. “I am starting to get a picture of your style here, and I like what I am seeing. Now, what say you to trying an actual song?”

“Already? I thought we were just going to practice today.”

“We have all the time in the world, my little bird, if that is what you need.” Sage smiled, the words surprisingly gentle. For the Sage, anyway. “But I would like you to try. Making sounds and singing a composition are worlds apart. I will sing it for you, first, so you know how it flows.”

With a snap of the finger, Sage conjured a stand to place the lyric sheet upon. He angled it towards Recluse, so he could follow with his eyes as he progressed through the song. These lyrics. They seemed to whisper something deeper in Sage’s mind. To think that he would expose such a vulnerable piece of himself to anyone, let alone a Beast who hates him.

“Listen closely!” He warned, though there was no bite to his words. In fact, he sounded rather playful. “There is only so many times I can play the same piece! Now, are you ready?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sage cleared his throat, stretched his fingers, and positioned them upon the keys. Truthless mirrored his movements. Sage began slow, for he, too, had not played in a long time. The silvery sound filled the room, each note reverberating in Truthless Recluse’s ears and resonating in his heart. As though it was not the piano his fingers were dancing upon, but his heart.

Such a sweet sound. The kind of sound he had not heard in countless millennia, a gentle sound played only for him to hear. His hands guided by the Sage’s, drifting from one key to the next without the slightest effort.

And then he began to sing.

“Oh, light,
In your eyes, the moon shines bright,
From beyond the abyss of endless night
The world turns to ash before your gaze
For the moon fire dances with grace
Guided by your beautiful face,
To my heart you lay waste.”

Sage said he was not good at singing. What was this, then? As simple and soft as it was, it felt…nice. It felt really nice. As though he were singing such tender words to Recluse, as their hands moved in tandem upon the keys.

“Oh, if only
I could be the shadows that cling to you
The dark side of the moon
The night sky that cradles you
The stars that witness your beauty
Oh, if only
I could taint your beauty with my touch
I could hold what is beyond my reach
I could bring darkness to light
And make you truly shine.”

What was this song really about? Did Sage really write this?

“Oh, light,
Oh, light,
If only I could make you truly shine.”

His fingers slowed to a stop, resting upon a low note to conclude the song.

“Not much, is it? Well, I gave up halfway through composing it.” The Sage of Truth sighed. “The Cookie I was composing this for…he no longer exists. And those feelings I had for him, too, no longer exist. I laid them to rest a long time ago.”

He turned to his reflection with a sad smile, a question forming upon his lips—but died before they could leave them. Truthless Recluse was crying.

“Ah! Are you okay, dear?” He asked, hastening to the mirror to tend to him in the only way he could. “I apologize. Was that a little too…um, much? I really had no idea you-“

“No. I do not care about that Cookie, whoever they were, and I do not care about you.” Truthless mumbled, his throat taut and trembling. “But it has been so long since I heard music like this. It feels so nice. I cannot remember the last time I heard something that made me feel…anything, really.“

“Oh. Thank you.”

“It is the truth.”

“And does that make it mean any less to me? Not at all.”

Truthless lowered his gaze, frantically blinking away the tears. Sage realized he could not move on his own to wipe them away, and guided his own hands to his cheeks, making rubbing motions at his eyes. Truthless followed, catching the tears shimmering upon his face. Precious little pearls, a treasure beyond price—but a sin to bring them forth. How dare Sage make his canary cry!

“We can try a different song, if you would like.” Sage offereded awkwardly. He was not anticipating such a reaction from a Beast who had proven time and time again to be numb to such poignant feelings. “I have plenty. I just knew this would be the easiest, er, from a technical standpoint. I suppose not quite in the emotional aspect.”

“I am not emotional.” Truthless grumbled. This only confirmed that he was, really, and this made Sage chuckle.

“Why are you crying then, my dear?”

“I…I do not know.”

“Do you feel that, perhaps, the lyrics resonated with you?”

Truthless Recluse paused to think. Did they? What did that even mean, from Sage’s perspective?

“I suppose I should have guessed. Being trapped in someone’s shadow, someone’s mirror, without a body to call your own…of course a song about yearning to touch and hold someone else would speak to you…” Again, Sage’s voice betrayed pity, as did the way he gazed upon the Beast on the other side of the mirror. Infuriating. “Hmm. We should probably pick a new composition, then-“

“No. I want to try.”

“Oh!” This took Sage by surprise. The Beast was positively full of them! “Well, if you insist, we can do it. But if you think you would have an easier time with a different piece, inform me at once.”

“What do you take me for, a crybaby? I will be fine.”

“It is okay to cry, Recluse.”

“I told you, I will be fine.” He insisted, his tone turning aggressive—presumably from the shame he felt from being seen in such a vulnerable way. “Start the music already.”

“As you wish, little bird.”

Their position reset, fingers resting upon the same keys as they once had. Truthless turned his gaze upon the written lyrics. They were so…sappy. He could say them, certainly. Could he sing them?

He focused on steadying his breathing as the opening notes came flowing forth. If he cried again, it would just be embarrassing! But the guidance of Sage’s hands, moving rhythmically from key to key, soothed his anxiety just enough. Just enough that his breathing steadied, and he was capable of singing along.

“Alright, start in five seconds.” He murmured, so Recluse could ready himself.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Oh, light…
In your eyes, the moon shines bright,
From beyond the abyss of endless night
The world turns to ash b-before your gaze
For the moon fire dances with grace
Guided by your beautiful face,
To my heart you lay waste.”

It was shaky, lacking in any confidence, and tended to trail off between each line. Embarrassing, compared to how well he performed in the exercises. All that confidence had vanished in but a blink. But despite this, Sage was not frustrated. In fact, he was still smiling. He was proud.

“Good.” Sage whispered encouragement. “Next verse in ten seconds. Are you feeling okay?”

“I am fine. I told you.” Recluse hissed back, his cheeks beginning to burn. “Do not baby me.”

“Just take it slow.”

The Sage of Truth nodded in Recluse’s direction, indicating it was his time to start. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the taste of bile creeping up. He mustered up what little confidence remained in his voice, and tried to sing again.

“Oh, if only
I could be the shadows that cling to you
The dark side of the moon
The night sky that cradles you
The stars that witness your beauty
Oh, if only
I could taint your beauty with my touch
I could hold what is beyond my reach
I could bring darkness to light
And make you truly shine.”

“There we go. Much better.” Sage’s smile widened—and for some reason, it did not appear to be false, or another performance. It was just that. A smile. “Finish up for me now?”

“Oh, light,
Oh, light,
If only I could make you truly shine.”

“Perfect. Thank you.” Sage’s fingers stopped, and the music ceased. He leaned his elbow upon the edge of the piano, facing Recluse with that infuriatingly gentle expression once more. “You did well. Your control of your voice is decent.”

“Just decent, huh.”

“You want more praise?”

“I never said that.”

“Ha ha! You are so easy to tease, little birdy.” He purred, hand over his mouth to mask those giggles he could not help. “But I think you can improve far beyond this. You just need to have greater confidence. You may be suited to compositions such as these which require very little tonal inflections, but what are you to do as soon as you have to sing high and low, and adapt to different tempos?”

“Die, I guess.”

“No! You are impossible!” Sage laughed. “This is why I deigned it necessary to start slow and simple. I feel I should have consulted you first about my choices, however…but that is something for next time, right?”

“Assuming there will be a next time?”

“Well, as far as I am aware, Earthbread is not set to explode tomorrow, so we should be free to do as we please. Do you want a next time?”

Truthless considered this prospect. Did he want a next time?

“…I have nothing better to do.”

Chapter Text

The studio became their new home. Whenever an opportunity arose to practice with Truthless, he would seize it. Music billowed through the Blueberry Cream mansion. The thrum of strings, the whistling of flutes, the drone of the piano, all coalesced in a masterful symphony under Sage’s hand. While he himself could only play one instrument at a time, his magical prowess was far beyond such trifles. One mind, an entire orchestra, effortlessly weaving elaborate tapestries of sound with a flick of the wrist.

Despite his talent, he played for one Cookie, and one Cookie alone. And that Cookie was the centerpiece to all his compositions. His voice could not be heard by others, but it resounded in his heart as a pebble skips across the water, leaving countless ripples cascading along the surface.

“Truthless, are you ready?”

“Ready.”

“Alright! Let us begin!”

Guided by his left hand, the strings began a delicate hum, ebbing and flowing as the waves upon the shore. His right guided the woodwinds, a symphony of flutes and clarinets harmonizing as one. He raised his hands higher, higher, higher, and as they reached their apex, the music ceased, and that was Truthless Recluse’s cue.

Oh, what a wonderful voice. It rose from the depths of his chest with a quavering quality, soft and silken to the ears yet carrying a subtle growl. His monotonous mannerisms carried over to his performance, owed to his age. But even his flattest drone was gentle, its timbre tender. He lacked power and confidence with more demanding compositions, but he was learning fast. And with the Sage of Truth himself as a tutor, what more could he want?

It was a match made in the ovens, a pairing orchestrated by the Witches themselves! Oh, if only others could bear witness to his most prized pupil! The Sage swooned, his songbird’s serenade distracting him from his role in the performance. And one by one, the instruments began to falter and fumble. Truthless stopped singing.

“Sage? Are you okay?”

“Ah? Oh, right! My apologies, dear!” He laughed, which swiftly devolved into a coughing fit. How his cheeks burned as he ran a finger along the sheet music, trying to find his place again. “Right. Where were we…?”

“Oh, hurry up with it, will you? I was actually starting to find my flow.”

“Sorry, sorry!”

“Why are you so nervous today? I thought you were the one in charge here.” Truthless smiled—oh, what a wicked sight. How he reveled in watching Sage lose his composure. “Unless…you want me to show you a thing or two?”

“No no, I am! I most certainly am!” He babbled, the mounting pressure becoming too great a burden to bear. “Just give me a moment! I lost my place!”

Suddenly, his whole body froze, as though turned to stone. His breath caught in his throat as it tightened around a cry of surprise. Something cold crept up his spine, slowly coiling around his arms and through his fingers. He shivered uncontrollably. What the devil was happening to him?!

His fingers twitched and furled, his index finger pressing into the sheet music. Guided by the dark force within him, it dragged slowly along the notes, moving backwards until it found its place.

“Right here.” Truthless said. “From the top.”

“How…how did you…” Sage breathed, turning to face the Beast with an expression of awe and terror. The Beast smiled back at him, showing his teeth. His heart fluttered beneath his chest as he struggled to put into words such an exhilarating feeling. “What just…happened?”

“What do you think?”

“You…you can control me?” He asked breathlessly. “But you are my reflection! How did-“

“Are you stupid? Or are you just baiting me into explaining the intricacies of what I just did to you?” Truthless Recluse cocked his head to the side, his dimples on full display with his sneer. Witches, why was he so pretty?! “Do you really want to be spoonfed the answer? That does not sound like the Sage of Truth I know…”

“No, no! I was just…surprised…”

“I am your reflection. And you are mine. Does that make sense?”

“You…you mean to say that you can dictate my role unto me as I have unto you?” Sage asked, his voice quivering with anticipation. “So I answer to your whims, as you do to mine?”

“Would you like me to demonstrate?”

Truthless Recluse did not wait for an answer. His revenge could not wait a moment longer. After all those painful moments of enduring whatever embarrassing schemes the Sage had dreamt up, the opening act revenge could finally be performed. And oh! Oh, what plans he had for that arrogant fool!

He thrusted his hand in the air, and Sage’s body responded in kind. He rose from his seat, and the Sage followed, limp as a doll. He began to dance, mirroring Recluse’s movements. Twirling, guided by unseen hands into a promenade, his feet drifted along the floorboards as light as a ghost. He was puppeteered by the Beast, dancing in the palm of his hand.

And—Witches forgive him—it felt good.

Sage was afforded just enough clemency to maintain control of his head and face, which he turned to gaze upon Recluse. Recluse locked eyes with him, a cruel smile upon his lips and exposing teeth. This was just the start. He could do anything he pleased with the Sage of Truth. But here he was, playing with him like a doll.

At Truthless Recluse’s command, the music began again. But it was carried none of the bombastic energy Sage’s composition had. No, it was a solemn, sinister reprise, the shadow cast by the piece. Moonlight streamed through the window, the only light in the room engulfed by darkness. The spotlight, the one witness to this strange play unfolding in the studio.

“You understand now, do you not? The true nature of our relationship?” Recluse asked softly, that tantalizing growl sending shivers down Sage’s spine. He spun Sage around, the two parting for a moment before returning to the glass once again to step in time to the music. “You and I are not master and pet. You can call me your little bird as much as you please, but I must remind you who is really in control here.”

“I…I understand.”

“Good.” The shadows that clung so tightly to his neck loosened, allowing him a moment to breathe. “In all your time wasted upon singing songs and struggling with your students and babying your apprentices, you ignored every last warning. Now look! Listen! Who is really in control now? And who let this happen? Who let the Beast into your life, and turn you into his vessel?!”

“I did.”

“You should have turned back when you had the chance, you idiot! Now look at what you did to yourself! A puppet in my hands!” And with this condemnation, he led Sage into a dip. His hair cascaded onto the floor and his neck arched most painfully. “And you…you are not even remorseful, are you? Look at what I have done to you!”

Sage tipped his chin upward, gazing into the Beast’s eyes. How those pupils pulsed with fury, with hatred. Yet his tone was so strange. As if he was angry with Sage for letting this happen. As if he was angry with Sage for giving him the chance to seize power. As if he was angry with Sage for treating him as a friend.

“I see it. I see it all.” Sage answered, smiling on regardless. And despite it all, he raised his leg high into the air, performing an ever more provocative version of Recluse’s play. “But Recluse, my dear Beast, why did I let this transpire? Why did I trust you, knowing that playing house with you would merely lead to my own downfall?”

“I am asking YOU!”

“You will not understand if you do not approach it from my perspective.” He tutted. “Put yourself into my shoes, my personhood. If you were me, why would you let this happen?”

Truthless Recluse faltered, eyes following every curve of Sage’s body. From the indents of his ribs hugged by his waistcoat, to the dips of his hips, to the arch of his leg as it raised high. How did he even do that? He was under Recluse’s control! Was he…was he faltering already?

Nonetheless, he allowed himself to entertain Sage’s question.

“You…you did it because you were curious.” He answered. “Is that not true?”

“Mm, yes, I suppose.”

“What kind of an answer is that?!”

“Well, it is not incorrect, per se, but a mere fraction.” Sage answered, and Recluse raised him from the dip and into a standing position. Together, they waltzed once again, the rhythmic steps serving to calm Recluse. “Would you like the entire Truth, my dear Beast?”

“Of course I do.” He scowled, hand ushering Sage forward before twisting him into another twirl. If only this damned glass was not keeping them apart. He would rip into that stupid scholar without mercy. “What makes you think otherwise?”

“You would not like the answer.”

“Try me!”

“Alrighty! But do not say I never warned you, my sweet songbird.” The Sage grinned, teeth glittering in his jaw. “The truth is…I like you.”

The music sputtered to a stop. Every single instrument clattered to the floor, creating a cacophony of noise. Recluse’s power over him faltered, allowing Sage to move freely. And what did he do with this power returned to him? He began to dance again, leading Truthless Recluse through the steps to a new beat.

“I really do. I think you are just fascinating. Like a bug!” He carried on, hands drifting along the glass and ushering him forward in a far faster gait. “I delight in your company, your presence, your voice. I think getting to spend every day by your side is just a treat. One that even I wonder if I truly deserve. But alas, my greedy self cannot help but indulge in you!”

Truthless Recluse panted with exertion as their dance drew him near to exhaustion, eyes wide and wild. Sage smiled in return, the imperfections emerging one by one. He slowed their silent waltz to a stop. His hands upon the mirror, betraying his yearning for Recluse’s touch.

“Please, Recluse. Allow me to indulge in you. Allow me to satisfy my greed. Allow me to placate my loneliness. Whether you hurt me or help me, all I need is you. You, my pretty canary. You do not belong in such a cage. All I can do is pray that your powers swell beyond that which traps you behind this glass. And I shall do whatever is necessary to see this happen.”

Warm. He feels warm.

Truthless Recluse’s hand lingered upon his cheek, feeling those pretty pearls threaten to spill down his face. Why? Why is Sage not afraid? Why is he still smiling even now, when he knows how dangerous it is to let the Beast do as he pleases? Why is he welcoming the one and only threat to Truth, his Deceit, in open arms? Why? Why? Why?!

“Oh, my dear Recluse…” Sage sighed, fondness oozing out of every curl of his tongue. He ran his hand along the mirror’s surface, haunting his damp cheek. “Let yourself feel. You do not need to hide from me.”

Truthless let out a strangled cry, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders trembled with sobs, chest heaving with every gasp for air. Oh, the poor Beast. He was not truly angry, nor truly sad. He was afraid. And suddenly, such a mighty and tall figure became so small, so weak, in the face of a few kind words. His knees shivered and collapsed under the weight of his emotions.

The Sage of Truth knelt beside him, his smile tinged with pity. Poor Beast.

“There, there…” He murmured, stroking the glass in the vain hopes that Truthless might find comfort in such a gesture. “I know. I know you are scared. But please, let me help you wherever I can. Even if it is a canvas upon which you shall express your rage. I can close my own wounds.”

“I do not want your help!” Truthless wept, his nails clawing at his face as though the tears drove him mad with pain. Something akin to jam bubbled to the surface, an oozing fluid dark as night. “I do not need your help! I want to be alone! No one should have to suffer in my presence! And you, you are just a stupid old man with a savior complex!”

“I do not suffer.”

“And what of your flock? The Cookies you endanger by keeping me here?”

“So it was you, then. The one causing their failures.” Sage’s smile faded, until but a whisper remained. “Was that intentional on your part, my dear?”

“No.”

“I believe you.”

“You? Believe me? The Beast of Deceit?” Truthless forced himself to laugh, and really, all he could muster was a pathetic spasming of his throat. “Why? I give you nothing. No evidence. And yet you just believe me, because I said so?”

“I believe you, because you are one of the kindest Cookies I have ever met.”

Truthless lifted his head, tears glistening in his eyes. Such praise; did he really deserve it?

“You, the Beast of Deceit, endlessly exerting yourself in the name of protecting the simple-minded. You shroud the Truth in Deceit, all in the name of protecting others from what you know to be dangerous. You come to me, not just in the name of reclaiming what you have lost, but in the name of all Cookies. To protect them. And yet not a single other Beast has ever fought so valiantly to protect others.”

Sage’s finger drew lazy circles around his reflection’s cheek, smiling on.

“You and I may never reconcile our differences. I personally believe Deceit is not the answer. But I cannot ignore the fact that you torture yourself day and night, in the hopes of saving even one little sheep from the hungry jaws of Truth. Yet they continue to fall. They continue to lose themselves. The grief has numbed you utterly to pleasant emotions. The pain has rendered you a shadow of your former self. And you still fight on, in the hopes that your sacrifices were not in vain.”

Truthless Recluse whimpered, fighting his tears—to no avail. Again, he began to weep into his hands. Sage watched helplessly, wishing with all his heart that he could soothe his loneliness. But all he could do was speak to him, guide him through his emotions.

“I must say, such dedication is admirable.” He went on, knowing that Truthless might not be able to hear him over the sound of his own cries. “I am proud to call you my friend.”

Suddenly, he felt rather self-conscious. Were they close enough for such an intimate title? He cleared his throat, shifting his weight in an attempt to ease his discomfort. Well, he ought to ask, at least.

“Say, do you feel the same about us? That we…we are friends? Or at least, could be? In a perfect world?”

After a moment of struggling to control his voice, Truthless turned his gaze upon the Sage of Truth. Oh, those pale eyes, so deadened to the pain yet brimming with tears all the same. His numbing only ran so deep, and Sage had brushed his fingers upon a well of repressed emotions. Even as they surged forth in untidy cries, the Beast was still so beautiful.

“Friend?”

“Yes. Friend.”

“Friend…” He bleated, hand hovering upon his chest where the empty Soul Jam socket was engraved in his robes.. “I…would that be okay? If I called myself your friend?”

“Of course, silly!” Sage laughed, endeared by his shyness. “Why else would I ask, if not to become your friend? Let it be so! Let us become friends, Truthless Recluse!”

“Okay. Let us become friends.“

“Ta-dah!” Sage waved his staff as though casting a spell, beaming from ear to ear. “Friends!”

He lowered his staff again, basking in the silence that washed over the two of them. It was awkward, certainly, for neither of them knew how to proceed beyond this point. But over time, he found even the awkwardness was something to be cherished. Truthless, on the other hand, was not quite so fond of it.

“So, what happens now?” He asked, his tears drying in the time it took to muster the courage to ask.

“Quite frankly, I do not know.” Sage confessed. “But I suppose we can just, er, play it by ear?”

“That sounds just terrible.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“Point taken.”

Another pause. Recluse fidgeted with his robes, smoothing out the silky fabric before scrunching it up again. Sage watched his fingers wrinkle such a work of art with a twinge of irritation—what labor it would take to remove them! But ultimately, whatever comforts Recluse is far more important to him than his own opinion of how he cares for his costume.

In fact, he would like to play with it himself. Perhaps remove a piece or two, to bare all of its secrets. The hat, at least, has to go. It looks far too big for Truthless to be comfortable.

“So…shall I take the reins, my dear friend? In this new and frightening world we call friendship?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay! In that case, shall we convene for tea tomorrow evening in the garden? I shall bring a mirror with me!”

“You seem very fixated on making this tea party happen.”

“It is what I do with all my friends!”

Truthless Recluse lowered his head, wisps of cream furling in such a way that hides his face. Shy as ever, poor thing. He wondered, for a moment, if such convenience was truly just that, or a conscious attempt to mask his emotions.

“…tea sounds lovely.”

Chapter Text

“Ahh, what a lovely day! Look! Look at the sky, Recluse!”

The Sage of Truth pranced in the gardens. He held a mirror of fine craft up to the heavens, as though presenting an offering to the Witches. But no, he was showing his friend the glorious blue world that he had not been afforded the privilege to witness in so very long. And in doing so, he appeared so jovial, the likes of which none had ever truly witnessed. Though he was afforded quite the rare opportunity to observe this, Truthless Recluse was not particularly amused.

“It certainly is.” He murmured.

“Come now, such a morose attitude will turn the clouds gray!” Sage scolded. “But you cannot stop me from being chipper, oh no! For I am not quite so fickle as they!”

“You are twice as fickle.” His reflection deadpanned. “I think the word you are looking for is annoying.”

“Oh me, oh my. You seem a little irritable today!”

“I am fine.”

“Aha! So far better than usual?”

“No, I said I was fine. What part of such a simple word do you not understand? To think the Witches awarded such a dull man with my splintered Soul Jam. What has this world come to?”

“But that is where you are wrong, my friend. For but a vague discomfort far exceeds the melancholia that hounds you so!” Sage elaborated, pouring a cup of tea first for Truthless, and then himself. “Would it be too presumptuous to assume it was our singing lessons that have improved your emotional wellness so dramatically?”

“Do you really need me to tell you that?”

“And do you really need to think things so thoroughly? My dear Beast, you love to ‘logic’ yourself into endless circles around me. Pray, would it not do you a greater service to enjoy my presence and cease the endless questions?”

“So, with that in mind, I shall satisfy myself with the answer of ‘yes,’ and move on.”

“Whatever contents my little bird.”

“I am not your little bird.”

The Sage of Truth sighed. Must he always be so difficult? It seemed a bit of convincing is in order.

“Well, what similarities do you share with a bird, Truthless Recluse? You are beautiful, sing, and call a cage your home. You yearn for freedom. You are light as a feather. And despite your beauty, you feature a powerful bite the privileged few witness at its most brutal.”

“Privileged? Are you implying you like the idea of being bitten by me?”

Sage’s throat sang with a peal of laughter, so bright and clear as the ringing of bells.

“Intellectually, yes! Emotionally, absolutely! Physically, I suppose I would just have to find out. Could you demonstrate?”

“Ew.”

“It is all for science, my dear, all for science! I assure you!”

“You know well enough I cannot even move my extremities on my own, let alone enact violence upon something on the other side of the glass.” Truthless groaned. “As much as I would like to, that is. I can only harm you in other ways.”

“A crying shame. You would love to gouge this pretty face into an unrecognizable pulp, no?”

“What a freak.”

“Regretting becoming my friend already, are you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Too bad! No take backs! We are doomed to be friends, forevermore!”

As torturous as that sounded, Truthless did not feel quite as morose as he would have under any other circumstance. Sage had softened him. His tongues were not quite so sharp, nor were the words furling upon them. His pain, too, had dulled. Although he was captive, a Beast prowling the other side of reality, his keeper pampered him in every way he could.

These tea parties were one such example. Though he could not eat nor smell such delights, Sage still prepared a cup of tea and a plate of cakes for him. He still arranged the table in such a way that his mirror could stay upright, facing the beautiful world just beyond his reach. He still kept him company, regardless of what he said or did.

He was a friend. And frankly, Truthless did not know how to feel about that.

“What sort of tea did you make this time?” He asked, watching as his friend stirred three cubes of sugar into his cup. Quite the sweet tooth.

“Midnight blueberry! A bit tart, so I like it balanced out with sugar and just a drop of milk.”

“Is that not cannibalism?”

“Ha ha ha! If it is cannibalism, why does it taste so good?”

Truthless furrowed his brow. Sage is so strange. Cookies are so strange. Since his fall, the Beast never fussed with food. Normal Cookie behavior like eating and drinking became so perverted to him—but consuming ingredients that gave them their flavor was always strange. Right? He was not alone in that, was he?

“Oh, honey, am I making you squeamish? I apologize.”

“No, I just wanted your opinion. Even when I was a Cookie like any other, I always found it strange…” Truthless clarified, watching Sage bring that cup of tea to his lips with fascination. What did it feel like to consume one’s own ingredients? “Other Cookies would happily consume the things that gave them their flavor. Is that not cannibalism by proxy, even if it is not baked into a Cookie?”

“You always ask such interesting questions, little bird. But perhaps it would be best to stop chirping.”

Truthless opened his mouth, about to ask why exactly he was being advised to stay silent, but the pair of footsteps crushing grass and leaves underfoot answered him far faster than Sage ever could.

“MAAAASTER!”

Truthless watched as those pesky apprentices came running to meet their mentor, brow furrowed and gaze cold. Members of the flock, of Sage’s flock. That feeling stirring in the depths of his heart whenever he met the disciples of Truth was pity, and now was no exception. But these two annoyed him on a personal level.

“Greetings, my friends!” The Sage of Truth resumed his performance—his cadence as loud and boisterous as usual, but a most jarring experience for Truthless. He had grown so accustomed to the gentler mannerisms when it was just the two of them. “What brings you here?”

“We were looking for you!” Black Sapphire gasped, hand over his heart as he struggled to breathe. “We could not find any servants or students that might have pointed us in the right direction…”

“Is that so? Tch, slacking off again as per usual, are they…?”

“I suppose so. But we wanted to ask you somethi-“

“Hey, that can wait!” Candy Apple Cookie interjected, pointing a claw at the mirror sat opposed to Sage. Oh, the fury upon her face would make the devil himself weep with fear. “Why are you having a tea party with yourself?! Why didn’t you invite ME!?”

Ah.

The Sage of Truth cleared his throat, blushing a delicate pink as he realized just how compromising a situation he had, once again, thrust himself into. How had he neglected such an important detail? This looks bad! Really bad! Really, really bad! His mind conjured a thousand excuses, but each and every one failed to exonerate himself.

“Well, er…” How rapidly his facade was undone, lying in ribbons by his feet. “I must confess, it is difficult to explain! Very difficult! Please do not put your dear old man through such an arduous task!”

“That is the weakest counter argument I have ever heard.” Black Sapphire sighed. “What is going on with you? I know you are self-absorbed even at the best of times, but this is beyond that! I never thought I would see the day I’d have to seriously ask this…”

The Sage of Truth gulped. He knew exactly what question was poised to spring from his apprentice’s pursed lips.

“Sage, are you in love with yourself?”

“NO!” Sage yelled, delicate hands curling into fists. Truthless Recluse mirrored his every movement in the confines of the glass, invisible to the unenlightened. “No! I love myself, certainly! But that is too far, even for me!”

“Do I need to bring up that time I saw you pressed against the-”

“No, no, no, a thousand times no!” Sage laughed, hysterics straining his throat. “Please, forget about that! It really was not as simple as you think, nor as damning!”

“You’d rather have a tea party without us!” Candy Apple wailed. “You’d rather play music without us! You’d rather eat without us, and read without us, and teach without us! It’s been weeks and we’ve barely gotten to see you! You filthy liar! You never missed us at all!”

The Sage began to protest, but as her accusations began to sink in, he realized how much he had neglected his duties to his apprentices. The last time they set aside time to enjoy each other’s company was…

“March 22nd, 17 days ago.” Truthless Recluse whispered.

“Oh, whose side are you on?” Sage hissed back without thinking, earning him confused glances from both his apprentices. Oops.

“Great Sage…do I need to even explain?” Black Sapphire stammered. “You’re always talking to yourself. But who, exactly? All these things I have heard you say…they sound like there is someone on the other end of the conversation. Someone we can’t see. Especially that mirror-”

“Enough about the mirror! Enough!” The Sage of Truth cried. “Why is it so difficult to trust me, hm? Am I not the Sage of Truth? Is it impossible to believe me at my word, as your beloved mentor and caretaker? Children, please, some matters are only for the adults to take care of!”

“We are not your children anymore, Sage. We deserve to know.”

The final blow. He knew he was defeated. He bowed his head before his apprentices, knowing he had wronged them in his neglect. But how could he even begin to explain what was transpiring between him and his reflection? Especially if they could not see nor hear Truthless Recluse? Perhaps some experiments were in order.

“Fine, fine, let me try something. If you pass this test of mine, I shall answer your questions. To even try to explain that which you cannot perceive is a fool’s errand.” Sage plucked the mirror from its place, with Recluse frantically shaking his head in the depths of the glass. “Here. Hold it.”

Candy Apple received the mirror first, staring into it with watery eyes. She squinted, rubbed the glass, turned it over and over in her hands, before passing it off to her brother. Her brother took far more time and care in examining the trinket. But he, too, was unsuccessful.

“What are we even supposed to be looking for?” He asked, misting the mirror with his breath before rubbing at it with his sleeve. Oh, Truthless did not like that. “It looks like a normal mirror from every angle. Is this a trick question, Sage?”

“Ah! Looks like you cannot see after all!” Sage laughed with relief, snatching away the mirror and cradling it in his arms. “What a shame! It seems only I am the one to be burdened with the knowledge of its secrets!”

“But that’s an ordinary mirror!” Candy Apple pointed out. “That one has been in our bathroom forever! I remember stealing it from you when I was a little Cookie!”

“Ha ha! Ha! Ha ha ha! Ha! Funny, right? Even the most mundane of objects become extraordinary to the likes of me! What a fascinating creature your old man is!”

Every other Cookie in the conversation cringed at his cheap tricks. So much for the Sage of Truth, right? He turned his gaze upon the mirror. Truthless Recluse stood rigid before him. He knew what the answer to this question was, but he asked it anyway.

“What do I do?”

“Speak my name.”

“What? I thought you wanted to-“

“Do it, now. Before it is too late.”

“Oh, if you insist...” Despite his confusion about Truthless Recluse’s sudden change of heart, he obeyed without complaint. “…Truthless Recluse.”

Black Sapphire and Candy Apple turned still as stone, gazing blankly into the distance. Every last trace of anger vanished from their faces. Their questions, their worries, all of them ceased to exist. After a moment of silence, the two returned to life.

“Ah…Sage. Sage of Truth. Hello there.” Black Sapphire smiled, his voice faltering upon every vowel as though learning to speak for the first time. “What a fine afternoon.”

“Wow…” Candy Apple performed one of her twirls, stumbling on each step. “Pretty!”

Sage gazed upon them, horror seizing his heart. What had he done?! He threw aside Truthless and grasped Candy Apple’s shoulders, shaking her gently in the hopes of snapping her out of the daze. She giggled placidly and tried to spin again, as though she did not realize Sage was holding her in place. Black Sapphire watched, smiling vacantly as though staring straight through them.

“Calm down.” Truthless Recluse sighed. “They will be fine, you have my word. This is normal.”

“Normal? This is anything but normal! What the devil did you do to my apprentices!?”

“My name is powerful enough to invoke delirium in those who hear it, but naught more. They will be vulnerable and require supervision for an hour or so, but the delirium itself is not dangerous, nor does it alter their memories beyond this interaction. The poison is in the dosage. Constant exposure will cause lasting damage.”

“So, what you mean to say is…” Sage relaxed his grip on Candy Apple Cookie, allowing her to return to her endless twirling. “You temporarily wipe their memories with your name alone?”

“Yes. Spoken or written, normal Cookies cannot comprehend the nature of the Beasts’ names, let alone their true selves. For some, the effects are unintentional. But for me, this is a precaution. To prevent anyone from discovering me, my domain, or the Truth I guard there.”

“I understand.”

A moment of silence came and went.

“Judging by the look on your face, you do not seem particularly pleased.” Truthless tilted his head to one side. “Why? Had I not saved you from an uncomfortable conversation?”

“They deserve to know the Truth.”

“Oh, not this again. Sage, are you just stupid? Look at them! Delirious! Dead to the world! This is just from hearing my name! What makes you think that your apprentices can comprehend me, even in the loosest of terms?! Showing them the Truth would destroy them utterly! Do you value me, your ideals, or your children?”

“I never had the impression I had to choose, Recluse.”

“And that is why you, your apprentices, and your students are all suffering now.”

“I am not suffering!”

“And what of your apprentices? Your students? We have been over this countless times! You choose to blind yourself to their suffering! Even those you call your dearest friends!”

The Sage of Truth sighed, striding to the table and lifting the mirror into his arms once more. He stroked the golden frame. His reflection gazed back, hand outstretched as though to meet Sage’s touch. But alas, alas, they were but a breath apart. So close, yet so far.

“I never promised I was a good Cookie, nor a moral one.” He confessed. “If I have to choose between them and you, I will always choose you.”

Truthless Recluse, the mighty Beast of Deceit, cowered before his gaze.

“…why?”

“Because I like you. You are my friend.”

“And if I were to destroy you? Destroy everything you have ever known or loved?”

“I know you better than that. Your fears shall not come to pass. And if they do…” Sage smiled on, as though he, too, was experiencing a level of delirium that numbed him to the severity of his situation. “Well, I think the world is worth sacrificing for you.”

Chapter Text

When Sage awoke the next morning, he was curled up beneath the duvet, holding himself as though embracing a loved one. Hmm. Perhaps he was just too cold. But the Sage of Truth does not sleep like this! So he righted his wrong, even if it was made in his sleep, and allowed himself a few minutes to warm up before beginning his routine.

Truthless, however, had other plans.

“Good morning.”

The voice disturbed his peaceful morning. Sage groaned in response, diving deeper into the safety of the blankets. But Truthless was persistent.

“Good morning, Sage.”

“What do you waaant?” He whined, voice muffled by the layers of warmth he hid himself within. “Do we have to get up now? Can it wait?”

“I spent 8 hours, 23 minutes, and 58 seconds staring at you while you sleep.”

“Bored, huh?” Sage popped his head out from the blankets, braving the chill of the outside world to search for Truthless. He was waiting for him in the mirror across from his bed, hands on his hips. “So you cannot sleep?”

“No.”

“What a shame.”

“Reflections do not need to sleep.”

“You are more than that, Truthless.”

“Not by much.”

“Oh, it is far too early to argue about this. Bookmark it for later, will you?” Sage yawned, stretching his arms to their fullest extent to rid of himself of the aches in his muscles. “I have a routine to start, and you seem intent on interrupting.”

“Interrupting?” Truthless repeated, that sardonic smirk back with a vengeance. “Is snuggling back under the covers like that part of your routine?”

“No!” This accusation brought Sage lurching forward, sitting upright to glare at his reflection. “I am just tired as of late! That is all!”

“Mhm.”

Perhaps Truthless Recluse had a point. What was he doing? The show must go on! He had slept far enough! And with his desire to perform overwhelming his exhaustion, the Sage of Truth sprang out of bed and began hustling about his room. All the while, Truthless laughed and mocked him.

Despite his jeeeing, Sage felt vindicated. Truthless was asking him to entertain! And who would the Sage of Truth be if not an entertainer? Here was his most difficult audience, asking for a show! He simply must impress!

“What has you in such a hurry? You might smudge your makeup there.” Truthless asked, mimicking the hasty strokes of a brush upon his cheeks. “Forgot an important appointment, did you? I did not take you for the forgetful type.”

“Did I…?” Sage paused, gaze drifting from the vanity to his calendar. Afternoon classes, night classes. That was all. Why was he in such a hurry? Just to be certain, he turned his back to the mirror and rolled up the sleeves of his blouse to ensure he had not jotted any notes down.

His arms were clean. Perfect. It was strange to see the dough unbroken.

“Haha, I suppose not.” He simpered, rolling his sleeves back down and turning to face the Beast in the mirror. “Shall we take our time then, dear?”

“We shall.”

The mumbled promise reached his ears in a gentle arc, one that simultaneously soothed the aching memories to slumber once more in the depths of his heart, yet excited his conscious mind. As he settled down before his vanity once again, Truthless’ eyes gleamed with unspoken questions. It seemed he was preparing to ask something.

“Sage, I have been meaning to ask…”

“Go on, go on. I, the Beacon of Truth, am at your service.” Sage hummed, once again dabbing blush onto his cheeks. The brush ghosted over his cheekbones, striking protrusions under thin layers of dough embraced by shadow. He was beautiful enough, with or without his alterations. “Ask anything, anything at all.”

“You are quite eager. Do you just like to answer questions about yourself…?”

“Yes!”

“At least you are honest. What I wanted to ask was…why do you even have this routine of yours?”

“It is comfortable.” Sage answered, plain as can be. This question was not quite so comfortable—but when did Truthless Recluse ask comfortable questions? It was as though he sought to rouse Sage’s anger with every word. “Why do you ask?”

“I assumed as much. You seemed really upset to have that routine disrupted.”

“I was.”

“Is this normal for all Cookies? To build a rigid routine and freak out whenever it is disturbed?”

“Is it normal for all Cookies to freak out when their reflection disappears?”

“I assume you mean to say that the answer to these questions is one in the same.”

“Yes.”

“You are not a normal Cookie, Sage.”

“Ah, you noticed!”

“I…I am veering away from what I meant to say. I mean, um…”

Truthless ceased his mockery of Sage’s routine, his arms now limp by his sides. As though he were the reflection now, Sage laid aside his instruments of beauty as well. Silence washed over the two of them. The waves lapped at his heart, eroding the confidence he had so painstakingly built.

“Go on!” Sage urged, leaning in closer, closer still, until his breath warmed the glass with condensation. Truthless withdrew further, face nestling within the safety of his starched collar. “Enlighten me, my dear Beast. What is it that you mean to say to me?”

“Back off, and then I will tell you.”

“Can I trust a creature of Deceit to keep his word?”

“For once, yes.”

“Or, is that in and of itself a lie?” Sage drawled, finger drawing a smiley face in the condensation gathering just above Truthless’ face. “Come now. Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“You just want to invade my personal space.”

“Ring ding ding! You are correct!”

“Witches above, you are insufferable. Whatever. It does not matter.” Truthless Recluse growled. Oh, how delicious. His anger tasted so very sweet. “I wanted to say…”

Sage squirmed with excitement, beaming from ear to ear. Whatever might his beloved Beast have to say? The suspense was killing him! Every breath, every avoidant glance, all of it built up to a crescendo of anticipation, and…

“I am sorry. I really am.”

As he spoke, Recluse’s thorns parted to reveal the vulnerable flower at the center of his heart. His eyes no longer bore malice, his lips no longer revealed hungry teeth. Sage watched him blossom, the petals so tiny and vulnerable to even the slightest touch. For a moment, he was rendered breathless. That moment passed in silence as he waited for the Beast to continue.

“I want to make it up to you. That is what I wanted to say.”

“While I am not above taking advantage of your guilt, whatever might you be guilty about?” Sage asked, his bewilderment most apparent. “How have you wronged me? All I can see is the insults and the stealing of my reflection, really. And even they have become something I have grown accustomed to. So again, how have you wronged me?”

“How have I not wronged you? Sage, look around you. Look at all the things you are losing, and what are you losing them for.” Truthless answered, the light of the room flickering before fizzling out. His anger plunged the two of them into total darkness, a world where only the two of them remained. “You will be left with nothing, and no one. I do not exist! I do not exist anywhere outside of your own mind! You are the one Cookie left to remember me! Even the other Beasts have forgotten my name!”

“All the more reason, then, to protect you with all I have.”

“Why?! Why do you refuse to open your eyes?!” Truthless howled with despair. “In doing so, you are sacrificing all the things you care about! What do you possibly gain from me that these Cookies, this mansion, your infinite trove of knowledge, cannot provide?!”

Sage thought for a moment. In the clarity of darkness, shadows obscuring the gleam of all his worldly treasures, the answer became clear to him now.

“Friendship.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am.” The Sage of Truth smiled, hand resting above the Soul Jam upon his chest. “I am entirely serious, Truthless. None of these Cookies understand me like you do. None of these luxuries satisfy my cravings like you do. Food, drink, comfort, they are but props to my play. I do not need any of these things to survive. I am not a Cookie, I am just a facsimile.“

Truthless Recluse’s breath trembled, eyes dancing with light in the darkest depths.

“That is my full answer, dear Truthless. Routines are performances, and performances are all that separate me from being nothing. “I” only exist in the eyes of others. “I” am the mind behind the character. “I” do not really exist in the same way that Cookies do. They give me life. They give me purpose. But one Cookie is all I need to satisfy my need. And you, my captive audience, you give me life. You give me purpose. You make me want to live.”

“You…you are real, Sage. You have a physical body. You think. You feel. You live.”

“Which begs the question as to what living really means.”

Truthless bowed his head, deep in thought. Sage lowered his chin unto his palm, propped up by his elbow. He watched in silence as his reflection struggled to provide a sufficient answer his postulation.

“I…I do not know.”

“Do you want my answer?”

“Fine, let’s hear it.”

“To live is to affect the world in a tangible way.”

“What? Is that definition not too broad? That means even inanimate objects are alive, despite having no cognitive abilities nor function beyond their own design.”

“Precisely!” Sage snapped his fingers. “Too broad! Too inclusive! Because there is not a single thing, living, dead, or otherwise, that does not affect the world in a tangible way! Even an actor confined to their role, or a bird trapped in a cage, can affect the world in some way. You and I are alive in some manner, for you and I affect each other.”

“We live through each other…? Is that what you mean to say?”

“Sharp as always.”

Truthless raised his head, gazing into Sage’s eyes in silence. Whatever emotion simmered beneath his dull expression, it compelled him to rest his forehead against the glass that separated them. Sage reciprocated—though he had to float himself a foot in the air so that their foreheads could meet. The scar of a star, a pale blue painted upon Recluse. The mark of a crown, cobalt gleaming upon Sage.

Funny, they were in the exact same place. As if they were meant to meet. He rested a hand upon his side of the mirror, and Recluse spread his fingers out to mirror the positions of each one.

“I am glad I met you.”

“I…I am too.”

“Ha! I got you to admit it!” Sage crowed with delight, ruining the moment for fear of becoming too entangled in the intimacy between them. “Haha! Ha! I got you! Silly goose!”

“If you are embarrassed, just say so.”

“Well I am! Thank you for…noticing…hey! Wait just a moment!”

Now it was Truthless’ turn to laugh, and laugh he did. It was not hollow, nor burdened with melancholy. It was just that: laughter. Oh, sweet canary, whatever could he do to make you laugh like that again?

“Anyway, as an apology for taking your reflection, I wanted to propose something.” Truthless cleared his throat, that beautiful birdsong stopping all too soon. “I know your appearance is very important to you. So what if I helped you? With your makeup and whatever.”

“My little bird…” Sage murmured, his heart fluttering as a butterfly would just before flight, “…oh, I would love nothing more!”

“I-I must warn you that I have no experience with this!” Truthless stammered, panic setting in fast. “So it will look terrible, I guarantee it! But I can try to help you, if you think it would…oh, I do not know, really, I just-“

“Even if it looks bad, it is the thought that counts!”

“That does nothing to reassure me!”

Alas, Sage’s perfect routine was thwarted once again. But he incurred this consequence willfully. He had no morning engagements, anyway, and he would rather this over anything else.

He washed his face of the makeup he had applied to present Recluse with a fresh canvas. Recluse watched with anxiety, flitting from one reflective surface to the next. Was this really a good idea? He had only seen other people use makeup before; he had never even considered the idea of using it of his own volition. Not on himself, not on others.

Was he good enough for the Sage of Truth, who had been doing this for centuries?

“Alright, let us begin!” Sage chirped, throwing himself back into his chair. With a flourish, he summoned his beauty implements in a dizzying maelstrom. What…what were some of these things? Truthless had no idea he had such an extensive collection—and for what purpose, given he rarely deviated from his routine?

“What kind of look do we want today?”

“Oh, er, I thought you would-“

“Ah ah ah! We are not having any of that. You are my artist, I am your canvas. You will decide.”

“Fine.” Truthless closed his eyes to the myriad of instruments all pointed straight at him. He felt intimidated. “Could you come closer? I want to study your face. So I can get an idea of what style would suit you.”

“As you wish!”

When Truthless Recluse opened his eyes once more, he let out a cry. Sage was close. Way too close. He gritted his teeth and ground them together. This is what he asked for, and yet he still felt uncomfortable.

“Um, would you…actually, never mind. I can do it.”

Sage gasped softly as the shadows upon his neck flexed, twisting it to the left and exposing his right side. Guided by the Beast’s mind, he tilted his head upward, then to the right. This was the closest they had ever come to touching. That realization set fire to his heart, raging in his chest and spreading in flashes of flame.

“Truthless?”

His reflection did not answer him—but perhaps Sage was the reflection now. He was staring at Sage, pale eyes caressing every inch with deliberation. From the curve of his nose, to the flush of his cheek, to the edge of his jaw. His expression betrayed little thought, but his devotion to every last detail was enough to make Sage flustered.

Flustered? The Sage of Truth does not get flustered! He is a calculated, enigmatic Cookie! But despite his role, that burning sensation spread like fire from the tip of his nose to the curl of his ears. No, no, no!

“Oh, my. Looks like I will not have to worry about applying any blush, right?” Truthless asked dryly. Sage let out an untidy sound—was that supposed to be a laugh? Or a cry? “I think I know what I want, but…”

“But what?”

“I am not sure how to achieve it, really. I have no idea what half of these products are supposed to do.”

“I can teach you.” Sage offered shyly—Witches, why was he getting shy now? This was so out of character! “Since this is your first time, you can show me what product you want me to use, and I can apply it myself. Perform corrections as you see fit.”

“I will try to do things myself as best I can.”

“Want it to stay a surprise? Me too!”

Truthless hummed softly in agreement. He had a vision in his mind, one that was far different from the appearance Sage usually took. He wanted to take full advantage of this opportunity. If this was the only one he would ever be offered, he had to make this count.

The Sage of Truth was effortlessly elegant. High cheekbones, thin dough, and a gaunt face. A pronounced brow that tapered into a lithe feathery shape. Lips thin and pronounced, the curve in the center reminiscent of a bow’s arch. His catlike eyes were heterochromatic, sapphire and gold, glimmering in the depths of hooded sclerae. Shadows danced in the hollows of his cheeks, creating a striking visage. Yes, he was beautiful.

But Truthless wanted to make him look cute.

Mostly because he had never seen Sage try to be cute. He could pull off a cutesy act, especially if it was in the name of getting what he wanted. But physically? His makeup was always so elegant, seductive even. Dark blue and bright gold, black shadows and sweet wine lips. Never cute.

“We start with foundation, yes?”

“Of course. Here you are!”

Sage twisted open a tub of it, and brought a brush to his cheek. The powder was a lighter color, one that highlighted the radiant blue of his dough. He waited for Truthless to act, frozen in place as though captured in a portrait. Even this scene was intimate enough to be a painting.

Perhaps it ought to be. That was his area of expertise.

When guided by Truthless’ hands, Sage immediately noticed the difference in their style. Truthless was methodical, measuring distance with his fingers before performing a set amount of strokes each time. He handled Sage with the utmost of care, as an artist would painstakingly breathe life into their art. But their art was alive, and not quite as cooperative as canvas or ceramic.

“Stop wiggling around.” Truthless warned.

“I cannot help that! I am used to doing this myself!” Sage protested, wiggling ever more. “I do not know what to do with my hands!”

“Nothing. You do nothing. Is it that difficult?”

“Oh, you are just infuriating!”

“Another word or Witch-forsaken wiggle, and I am going to freeze you in place. Neither of us would like that. Right, Sage?”

Sage stared straight ahead, wondering if acknowledging his terms would invoke his ire. Best to play it safe, right? Truthless sighed and carried on, switching from one brush to the next. He was following whim rather than a plan, despite how robotic his motions were. That was his natural state of being. Exact. Measured. It was his time as a healer that taught him to be so precise.

Sage wiggled no more, and that was a great relief. Tension began in his shoulders and face however, no doubt from his inability to express it otherwise. That was not much better.

“Please relax your face, Sage.”

“Do you think I am doing it on purpose?”

“Relax your face.”

“I am trying! Do not ignore that!”

“You are not trying enough. Now close your eyes and raise your brows.”

“Look at you. From a shy canary to a bossy bluebird in no time at all.” Sage pouted, but he obeyed as soon as the orders left Recluse’s lips. A rounded tip pressed against his eyelid, slowly dabbing color onto the surface. “I have to wonder how much of this is my fault.”

“Most of it, I think.”

“So quick to blame me. You are the one pushing me around!”

“Maybe you should have rejected my offer, then, if you did not want me to be in control of my art.”

Sage bit back his retort. Rather, it never arrived to begin with. In control of my art. Somehow, the phrase made him feel things. Lots of things. And thus, the squirming and protests ceased. There he stayed, silent, obedient, the perfect canvas.

Truthless noticed this shift in demeanor, but he would rather not acknowledge it. Nor the growing tension curling around them like brambles, thorns pricking his wrists and beads of jam weeping from the wounds like pearls.

Sage was happy not to answer any questions about himself, for once. He was happy to sit there and be a doll. An unthinking prop, as his body always was to him. The rhythmic brushstrokes brought him a bliss that he could not put into words, relaxing so much that he might just slip into slumber any moment. The careful angling of his face from one direction to another, watchful eyes ensuring he is never hurt nor discomforted, all of it sent him adrift in reverie.

This was not going as badly as Truthless anticipated. In fact, with a lifting of heart, he realized that he quite liked it. Perhaps pink was the Sage of Truth’s color after all.

He smoothed out the harsh cleft of his cheekbones with a delicate shade of it, three strokes for each side. Then he dabbed a little upon his nose—Sage was clearly trying to restrain a sneeze, so he only applied a tiny amount. Then he moved on to the lips. He selected a dreamy gloss, one that clearly had been languishing in the corner of his collection for ages. It would finally get to shine like it deserves.

Truthless Recluse pressed the brush upon Sage’s lips, and glided from one end to the other in a single motion. The liquid was a little cold, but the feeling of being dolled up in such a methodical yet intimate manner was just maddening. Especially at the hands of his reflection.

He understood that it was his own hands that lifted his chin, his own that guided the pen into the shape of a star, his own that touched him with such a reverent manner. Yet with Truthless on the other side of the mirror, eyes so intent and focused only upon him, the fantasy that there existed no mirror to separate them became more and more believable.

And even the slightest touch—no, the mere idea of it—induced a euphoria beyond anything Sage has ever experienced before.

“There we go. You are doing very well. Just a little more, and it will be done…” He praised in a whisper. Somehow, even after all these years of isolation and agony, he had not forgotten how to be gentle.

This cued a comically loud gulp from Sage as this woke him from his dreamy state of mind. What an idiot.

“What? Do you fear the outcome?” Truthless huffed softly. “Or do you want me to keep fawning over you and making you pretty?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Mm…” He paused a moment to inspect his handiwork. “Judging by that stupid expression on your face, I would say no.”

“Thank you for sparing me, O mighty Beast.”

“You are welcome.”

Such gentleness. Was this truly a Beast he was speaking to? Or had he lost his fangs long ago?

“There we go. All done. You did well.”

Sage smiled and batted his eyelashes for his audience, even going so far as to blow him a kiss. Truthless admired his work from afar, before daring to draw near once again. Makeup is truly a miracle. He had no idea how he accomplished it, but the Sage of Truth had turned from an elegant, sly professor to a pretty princess.

Pastel pinks and blues melted into one another, as paints would mix upon a canvas. His eyelashes received only slight attention—Truthless felt they were way too long as is. But that only added to his doll-like appearance, delicate and cute. He used eyeshadow to lighten the dark circles around his eyes, yet not completely conceal them. His cheeks swirled with blue stars and constellations, dusted rosy with blush. His lips glistened peachy pink, light dancing upon them as flowers would catch the sunlight.

“Say, would you like to dress me up as well? To complete the look?” Sage asked, his smile still sleepy with the innocent pleasure of being taken care of. “I have plenty of clothes I just never wear. No time for that and all. So why not take the time to try something on?”

“Oh, that is not necessary-“

“I disagree!”

Sage whirled out of the seat and into his closet, dragging the unprepared Truthless along with him. There they spent hours, modeling outfits and trying things on. Most of them were what one would expect from the Sage of Truth’s wardrobe; it was teeming with a gentleman’s preferred garb. But there were some notable outliers. These were costumes from past performances, gifts, and his own personal sewing projects.

“This? You want me to try this on, dear?” He asked, holding out a silken coat with flowers winding from the hem to the sleeves in a rainbow of pinks and blues. Truthless nodded, and he slipped it over his shoulders. “Ah, I remember this. T’was a gift from a colleague of mine. Member of the theater troupe I used to be a part of. Nice lady, that one…”

“And this. Try this.”

“Alrighty!”

“Mm. Not quite right. Could you change the color?”

“What to?”

“d992d2.”

“What?”

“…pink. Pale pink.”

“Oh. Goodness, I thought you were trying to kill me or something!”

“I might, honestly, to get rid of the witness.”

“Haha! Good luck with that!”

By the end of it, the Sage of Truth was prancing about in a silken suit, a pure white from the waistcoat to the slacks, featuring that floral coat as its main attraction. Sage seemed to approve, adding his own details like a pink ribbon around his neck and a rosette to sit above his heart. His Soul Jam became a fixture in his hair, a bow that tied it in to a low ponytail. Truthless stepped back once more to take in the sight.

Ah. He did that.

Now Truthless was starting to feel embarrassed. And Sage, hungry as a shark, smelled the jam in the water.

“Oh? What exactly did you do to me, Truthless?” Sage drawled, the effect of his grin softened by the pretty makeup. “Is it something you would not wish for me to see? You cheeky bastard!”

“No! No! I mean, technically, but mostly because of what you would…think of me.”

Perhaps he should not have admitted that. Sage’s eyes gleamed with the thrill of the hunt.

“Now you have me curious! I have to know! Describe it to me, please?”

“No!”

“If you refuse to even tell me what you did, I suppose I ought to find someone who will.”

“Wait, what?!”

“Toodles!” Sage crowed, abandoning Truthless in the closet to attend to his afternoon classes. They had whittled away so much time in dressing him up, he might already be late! Goodness! He seized his staff and whisked himself away, teleporting to the front door for his typical dramatic entrance.

“Good afternoon, everyone!”

The Sage of Truth stood in an empty room.

Chapter Text

Well, that was no fun.

Sage huffed and puffed but no student showed up. He was right on time! Yet not a soul attended the lecture! By the time the clock chimed half past one, he resigned to his fate. He was waiting for students who would not even show. But where, oh where, could they have gone? Where on Earthbread could a more interesting or important place be?!

He deigned it necessary to search the Academy. But it was empty, from the entrance to its deepest recesses. No professors lectured in their classrooms, no apprentices practiced in the training grounds, no guardsmen prowled the halls. Why, it was void of all life.

As though they had never existed in the first place.

The Sage of Truth is a composed, calculated character. But even the likes of him would unravel under such mystifying circumstances. Why would they just…leave? It was 1:45 p.m. on a Tuesday, for heaven’s sake! Oh, Witches protect them if he discovered they were all pranking him! Him!The Sage of Truth! Their headmaster, founder, AND professor!? Annoying! Annoying! Annoying!

He clicked his tongue with irritation, but seized the bridle of his anger to keep it from carrying him away. A spark of magic flew from his fingertips, a diffusion spell. A stabilizer that worked to dispel illusory magic.

Nothing. He tried again. Nothing again. Oh, botheration. Does that mean they really had abandoned him and his beloved academy? Sage gnawed on his nails, that flare of anger extinguished before the ugly truth—the last bastion against the dread seeping into his bones. Had they forgotten all about him?

Sage, too, abandoned the Blueberry Yogurt Academy. He understood that the answers he sought lay elsewhere.

A cloudless sky of blue cascaded over the horizon, cradling it in its warmth. Beneath, ancient buildings stood impossibly vast, artifacts of an ancient city that clung to the foundation of the new. Intricate spires of gold and cobalt thrust into the sky, as though to guard its people from the threats of the cosmos. Blueberry bushes flowered in preparation for the coming summer, their scent sweet and refreshing. The wind whistled through the streets, carrying no whispers of gossip nor cries of children.

His Kingdom of Truth, the Yogurt Kingdom, was empty.

Sage weaved through the maze of architecture, ancient and contemporary battling for dominance over the streets. Even the street lamps have extinguished, laying upon the cobblestones with molten candle wax weeping. With a tap of his finger, Sage lit each one anew, a blue flame dancing in the cages as they drifted into the sky once again. He watched with quiet awe as they sailed not with the wind, but in their own direction. As though guided by some invisible force.

Some fizzled out before they could reach their journey’s end, but the Sage of Truth was always there to thrust them back into the sky. And together they gathered, blinking blue fireflies, above the street corner he preached his Truth upon. One by one, they extinguished, corpses littering the ground underfoot. But it was not they he concerned himself with any longer.

That building. For how long had that building stood? Was it right there, all along? How could he possibly have forgotten a chapel as magnificent as this?

It bore no architectural conventions of the modern church, no. Its face was intricately carved with an artistic style beyond that which the architects of today would use, and of a material seldom used in construction. A pure white, with veins of vanilla extract coursing through the crumbly surface. It bore symbols and iconography of a religion long forgotten—no, he would know all about it if it had existed prior! This was new! This had to be new!

Its gardens were its most prominent feature, thickets of vanilla orchids burgeoning from every angle. The flowers coiled along the iron gates, which were carved into intricate spirals that promised both protection and hostility, depending on which side of the gate you stood upon. And as the Sage currently stood, he was feeling that hostility.

Is this where his students had gone? Sage laid a hand upon the heavy oaken doors, breathed deep, and pushed them open.

He found them. He found them all sitting in quiet rapture among the countless silhouettes in the darkness of the chapel. Slack-jawed, stupid, unthinking. The exact same expression he would be met with every time he tried to teach them a concept they could not grasp. But here, the answer was fed to them, explained in metaphors far too simple to express the complexity of these concepts.

No wonder they abandoned him. The Truth was too difficult for Cookies to grapple with.

He wanted to scream. To slap some sense into them. But that was not Sage’s style, nor did he believe them to truly be at fault. He knew what this was. This was the Beast’s work, without a shadow of a doubt. The stench of Deceit was thick in the air, so thick it hurt to draw breath. Despite the stinging sensation in his Soul Jam, he knew he had to endure it. Just long enough to understand what was going on.

“Sage…? Is that you?”

A lost lamb. A student of his. Suffering from chronic illness, she had fought with all her might to secure her spot in Blueberry Yogurt Academy’s flock. A diligent, dedicated woman with an affinity for curative spells. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, hair brushed and braided. She looked well. Far healthier than usual, in fact.

“What are you doing here? I thought you hated the church!”

Another voice, another student. This one was a gifted young man, far younger than his peers yet no less talented. Born into a rich family, they invested every coin they had into propelling his career as a mage. He dreamed of being a scholar and professor, just like the Sage of Truth—his lifelong idol. But his insecurities held him back from realizing his full potential. He carried himself with a confidence that was a far cry from his shy demeanor.

“Shh! Ask questions after service!”

That was one of his fellow professors, who had pursued her career out of a single-minded determination to reach the Truth. She was baked from the same dough as he, a stubborn old fool yet one of the most brilliant minds of this generation. Despite the harshness of her admonishment, she was smiling. Professor Poundcake never smiled.

How long had it been, exactly, since he had last attended the Blueberry Yogurt Academy? They all looked different. Different than how he remembered, that is. Perhaps it was his own forgetfulness, after all. He could not blame Truthless for everything. That would be unnecessarily petty and paranoid. They were friends, after all. Truthless would never seek to hurt him.

Perhaps this blind faith in a Beast was the most ridiculous religion of all. To think that even he, the Sage of Truth, would allow himself to become blinded to reality. But it feels so nice. It feels so nice to believe that even he could be guided, coddled, cared for. For who protects the shepherd? Who lets him lay to rest his crook a moment to sleep?

Even though he knew those sweet promises woven like spider silk through the recesses of the churchgoers’ minds were but a lie, he could not help but close his eyes a moment and wonder…

Could he, too, live a happy life? Could he, too, be protected by someone else?

It was that same blissful feeling that Truthless brought him, with the sweep of a brush. Which only made it more suspicious! What were they doing, attending sermons on a Tuesday afternoon instead of attending classes?! And this fog that had descended upon him and his fellow attendees, it eroded the defenses. This must be the power of Deceit at play! The Sage clenched his jaw and tensed his muscles, fending off the urge to melt before the warmth that surrounded him. He could not succumb. Not like this.

Annoying! Annoying! So annoying! He repeated the word in his mind over and over, anything to focus his hazy mind away from the temptations of submission. He had to remind himself of his righteous anger, lest it be lost to the warmth curling in his chest.

Admittedly, he had played into the Beast’s jaws time and time again. But seeing what he was doing to his people, his flock, painted him in a far darker light. So what if he got caught up in the makeup and the singing and the dancing? He was a friend, after all! But ooh, he was being very difficult right now!

The service concluded just as Sage could endure no more. He let out a yawn, rubbed his eyes, and trudged out of the chapel with a heavy heart beneath his fingers.

“Sage! Sage!”

“Ahh?” The Sage of Truth spun around to face his students, who all pranced up to him with smiles abounding. “What can lil ol’ me do for you?”

“What did you think of the sermon today?”

“Ooh, what a toughie! I nearly fell asleep.” He confessed, to shock and horror. “Next question, if you would be so kind?”

“You get all dressed up, walk into Sunday mass halfway through, just to fall asleep?!”

“Sunday mass?” Sage repeated, reciprocating the angry reception. “I should be angry at you, actually, for skipping classes! It is Tuesday! Tuesday afternoon! Advanced Cookie Psychology, from 1:00 to 3:00? Remember?”

“What do you mean? It’s Sunday!”

“Sunday mass would not be happening if it wasn’t Sunday!”

“Advanced Cookie Psychology isn’t until next Tuesday!”

“Huh? But I…” Sage sputtered, taken aback by the resounding refutation. Was he forgetting again? How come? He checked the calendar this morning! It was Tuesday! But risking his reputation on a matter as trivial as this was not ideal. So he stilled his lips, lest he say anything further incriminating.

And once he assumed this reticent manner, the demeanor of his students shifted from anger to concern.

“Sage, are you feeling ill?”

“You have been working really hard, you know. I always see you bustling around in the halls and teaching classes. Maybe you should take a vacation.”

“Vacation?! I do not need a vacation!” Sage laughed, his voice hitching with hysteria. “Ha ha ha! Silly! Very silly! If anything, I ought to be devoting myself further! Now, if you will excuse me, I ought to hurry home now. Those papers will not grade themselves!”

“Already? But we are having Sunday brunch! Won’t you come along?”

“Knowing you, you’re just going to fling yourself neck deep into work again. You need a break!”

“Vacation! Vacation! Go on vacation!”

“Enough, enough! All of you!” Sage cried. At the startlement of some of his students, he realized his anger was escaping his control again. He breathed deeply, quashing the uprising once more. “I need some time to rest. Alone.”

“Are you certain? Look at you, all dressed up. And you look so cute! It must have taken ages to prepare! What a waste to hurry home!”

“Cute?” He echoed softly. He rested a hand upon his cheek, where he felt the powder clinging to his dough. What exactly did Truthless do to him? Was it…even worse than he anticipated? And he had thrown himself into the public eye like this?!

“Yes, cute! You look like a princess!”

“Forgive me for saying this, Great Sage, but I think pink really is your color!”

“How is that more extreme than calling me a princess!?”

His students refused to honor him with an answer. Rather, they seized him by either arm and dragged him along with the rest of the brunch procession. No escape—that is, if he did not want to harm his image. He could just teleport away at any time, but oh! How rude of him! His students would never let it go if their shepherd had abandoned them.

But were they even his flock now? They seemed to think so. While it was but a cold comfort, Sage found some assurance in the way they spoke to him. It was the same as they always had.

“This way, Your Highness! We’re having strawberry waffles with cream!”

“Fine, fine, today is my vacation day.” Sage sighed, his exasperation evident yet stifled for the sake of his students. He did want to spend more time with them, after all. “Guards, take me away!”

While they could take him anywhere in the world, Sage’s mind never strayed from his worries. Nothing could cure him of his melancholy, not even sugary treats. While he had perfected the art of concealing sadness, anger was not quite so easy to fend off. And now, he was besieged by both.

Sage picked away at his portion for half an hour, opting to listen far more than speak. What a rare occurrence. His hypothesis as to what was unfolding before him was forming, yet it still needed a foundation. He had to adapt to his changing circumstances, and to do so, he had to seek out references from those who had.

He understood that the crux of the confusion came about from his own perception. Were this an intentional sleight, Truthless appeared to harbor an end goal of causing fear and uncertainty in his memories and cognition. The less he trusts his own mind, the easier it is to disarm him. He could smother him in Deceit without a struggle, then, were he to give in to the temptation of comfort.

Interesting. Very interesting. But was this really intentional?

Truthless was always lost in varying shades of melancholia, professing guilt and apologies. He claimed to be “poisoning” others with his mere presence. What exactly did he mean by that? It appeared not to manifest as a physical illness, no, but a mental one. One that affected Truthless Recluse himself most of all, being steeped in Deceit for countless years. And the second closest Cookie to Truthless? The Sage of Truth.

Of course he would be experiencing adverse effects. Why was he even surprised? He was not! Not really! But his surprise was not directed at the phenomenon itself, per se. It was the method.

Why a church, of all things?

Truth be told, he did not want to let himself think of it any longer. Ah, nothing but bad memories brewed in churches. For him, that is. A champion of Truth would inevitably learn the feeling of a noose around one’s neck sooner or later. Many identities of his had died as martyrs, exonerated centuries after their deaths when those idiots finally realized he was right all along.

But that aside, one of them mentioned how busy he was in the classroom—which was particularly odd, given he had been scolded by his own apprentices for being so reclusive days prior. How did they see him? Was this a lie? Or was there another Sage running around Blueberry Academy? Surely not. Truthless did not have that much power over the world. Yet. His powers seem to be strengthening day by day, and Sage was only weakening to his affections.

Was he really trapped? Or was he just hiding?

The Sage of Truth took one last bite of his brunch, smiled, and excused himself. He had far more pressing matters to worry about than food.

He teleported hom, to no room in particular. He began to wander, floating down the corridors aimlessly. Concurrently, he was wandering down the maze of his own mind, cultivating his budding theory.

The idea was not necessarily a foreign one. Truthless Recluse’s story—and alibi—always struck Sage as strange. Why would a Beast of such immense power be trapped in such a position to begin with? Why was he sealed away in such a different manner in comparison to his fellows? The others had been banished to the Silver Tree, but Truthless was never sentenced to such a fate. This seemed far worse, in fact.

What was the difference in crime to warrant the difference in punishment?

Was it all a lie? Was Truthless never trapped to begin with? As the forgotten one, the Beast stripped from the right to be remembered, he could evade any punishment or judgement for his gospel of Deceit. And that mirror, that strange mirror he had gifted him so long ago…

What he presumed was his former prison might never have been. Was it meant for Truthless, or was it meant for Sage? Or was this all just paranoia talking? Goodness, all this thinking was making his head spin.

Sage knew that he was drawing nearer and nearer to the Truth. His Soul Jam flickered with unease. Once he finally gathered the evidence he needed to expose the lies, he had to confront his friend. His only friend. And that might be the end of it all.

The end…was it really drawing near so soon? Were they not worth the dignity of a happy ending?!

No, no, he had to stay focused. This was his fault, after all, for daring to entertain the idea of befriending a creature so vast and complex. But staring into his eyes, seeing him standing just out of reach, it drew him in as a moth to a flame. Even if his wings burn to ash, even if his world crumbled before this unknowable, untouchable thing…he wanted to chase it all the same.

Sage sighed. He did not want to see Truthless right now. He had to unravel this tangle of emotions first. Instead of turning right, towards his bedchambers, he turned left, towards his children’s.

It was exactly as he remembered it. Thank goodness, he could not take much more of the memory games. He was getting old, alright? Even someone as powerful as the Sage of Truth cannot recall the details of every single memory, every single piece of knowledge he had acquired over the millennia he had lived through. Alas, that explanation did little to assuage his dread.

He sank into the rocking chair, gazing at the ceiling. The mobile spun around and around, an endless dance of stars and planets orbiting the sun.

Nothing really changes, does it?

For as powerful as he is, Sage cannot change the fundamental nature of Cookies. Perhaps that was the most frustrating of all. Generations had come and gone, yet they make the same mistakes. They learn the same lessons. They leave behind the same warnings, only to see the same play reiterated with a different cast of characters. History is not a lesson, it is a template. And Sage was starting to tire of the same old story.

Cookies will always seek comfort first. Cookies will always fight for themselves. Cookies will always abandon their morals when their own dough is at risk. Why should he care? Why does he care? They’re all a bunch of mindless sheep, chewing the cud. He can teach them, he can warn them, but do they ever learn? No! In a generation’s time, all would be undone, and they would chew the same cud all over again.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid Cookies.

Sage felt tears bubble at the edges of his eyes, his pretty makeup streaking down his cheeks in a most egregious insult to Truthless’ work. Oh, bother! What was the point of crying over this? It was not as though those stupid Cookies needed him! They never did! Why waste time on lamenting a fact that would never change?

But he could no longer heed the director’s orders. No, the performance was over. Sage wept in silence, his face contorted in a ugly grimace, yet his throat smothered whatever sound threatened to pass his parted lips. A talent honed only by practice.

What was the point of all this bitter struggle, anyway? What was the point of even showing up to lectures? The Cookies do not care. Why should he?

“Great Sage?”

Oh, bother! What now? Sage sucked in a breath through his teeth, and faced the voice without expression. Forcing a smile would just be dishonest—but come to think of it, when had he ever cared about being honest? Perhaps when it came to matters of his apprentices. And indeed, there they were.

It was Black Sapphire, his silhouette dark against the light of the hall. The door was opened but a sliver, as if he was afraid to see his mentor like this. Candy Apple was on the tips of her toes, struggling to get a better look.

“What is it, Sapphie? I am a little busy here.” He spoke softly, but the rawness of his throat shaped his words with sorrow.

“I understand. Candy, stop biting me. We should leave him be.”

“No! No!! That’s not fair!” Candy Apple cried between a mouthful of her brother’s arm. “Master is sad! We gotta help him!”

“Referring to him as Master will only make him more sad, Candy.”

As soon as he loosened his grip, she fought her way free and dashed into the room. She barreled into Sage, clambering into his lap and squeezing him in a tight hug.

“I dunno what’s wrong right now, but you gotta tell me! Please! Let me cheer you up!” She begged, her own eyes welling up with tears. “Pleeeeease! I can help!”

“Candy! Get off of him!”

“No, no, it is alright.” Sage smiled. “Thank you, sweetheart. I just feel a little weak right now. That is all.”

It was a lie by omission. His tongue burned from speaking dishonesty—and from the bile crawling up his throat—but he knew not to burden them with his worries. They were grown up now, but how much would they even understand? He held Candy Apple in a gentle embrace, rocking back and forth in the chair as though he were the one to console her.

Black Sapphire idled by the doorway, unsure of what to do. He understood the underlying meaning of Sage’s answer—the meaning being “do not pry further.” But still, he wanted to be close. To comfort him in any way he could.

“Sapphie, it is okay. Come, sit with me.” He beckoned. “It has been far too long. Perhaps this is not the nicest of circumstances, but I have been meaning to spend time with you two again.”

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?” Candy Apple asked. “Didn’t we have that tea party together yesterday?”

Sage froze.

“Yes, we did. And we played Shadow of the Moon in the studio.”

“How nice.” Sage murmured. “How very nice.”

That was the song he and Truthless had sang together. Was he replacing his presence somehow? By swapping his character for others to assume? What the devil was he seeking to achieve with this? He understood the intention to disorient or sow distrust, but this?! Sage knew it was him! He saw him!

The Sage of Truth breathed deep, lifted Candy Apple out of his lap, and set her on the ground. Before she could scramble back, he rose from the rocking chair and strode past Black Sapphire, who was still lurking by the door.

“Thank you, my dears, for your kind words. But I…I have someone I must speak to.”

Chapter Text

“Ah. There you are.”

Truthless greeted him as he entered, first upon the doorknob, then from frame to frame, and finally settling in the mirror. He shifted from one surface to another like water flowing from river to sea, shaped by whatever prison he happened to occupy. Judging by his choice of words, the Beast had been waiting for him to return. Sage did not answer him, not immediately.

“How was class?”

His voice was light, but his words stung. Oh, already with the barbs! As if Sage needed that right now! But since he wanted to play this game, Sage could reciprocate with a few of his own.

“Why did you neglect to inform me that it was Sunday?”

Truthless paused. That tone was sharper than he was accustomed to. Though he neither flinched nor cowered, he seemed surprised to be addressed in such a manner.

“I thought you knew.”

“Did I not say that I was preparing for classes out loud?”

“I thought you had Sunday classes. I took you for a secular man, given how little respect you offer the Witches. Do you observe the Sabbath?”

“Apparently we do.” Sage sighed, combing his fingers through his hair. He gazed into the mirror, and Truthlsss Recluse gazed back. Oh, if only he could see his reflection again. The closest he could get was to ask Recluse questions about his appearance. “Do I look…bad?”

“Absolutely terrible.”

“Thanks, Truthless.”

“Did you want me to lie?”

“You had refused to comment on it of your own accord.” He clarified, tone turning brusque. “Had to confirm.”

“Well, there is your confirmation. You are welcome. Shall I clean it up? It is my mess, after all.”

“No, no. I can take care of myself.”

“But you cannot see where the mess is or when it is completely cleaned.”

“And whose fault is that?”

With this remark, Truthless fell silent once more. He observed in silence as Sage floated over to his sink, splashed his face with water, and rubbed at his cheeks with a cloth. No comments. No mumbling. Nothing. He was but an observer, as any reflection ought to be.

“Say, Truthless,” Sage said after washing his face thoroughly of the streaks of makeup, “can you follow me from one place to another? Or are you restricted to my abode?”

“I am everywhere.”

“That does little to answer my question.”

“I follow you everywhere you go, albeit unwillingly. You could ascended the tallest mountains and I would be there, trapped in the ice. You could descend the deepest caverns, and I would be there, drowning in cave water.”

“So you saw, then?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

Truthless cocked his head to the side as Sage began to reapply his typical style of makeup. Somewhere in the abyss of his heart, he felt a pang of sadness. All that work, undone as if it had never happened in the first place. And now, he realized that perhaps it was not just surface level. He was losing Sage’s favor.

“Well…what?”

“Well, is this what you were apologizing for?”

So this was what it was about, then. He was expecting an apology? Had he not received plenty?

“The Kingdom is under my influence. For as long as you stay here, time and reality will only continue to unravel.” Truthless Recluse sighed, as though even he were a victim to his own powers. In a way, he was. “Which is why I kept pestering you about leaving me alone. If you carry on like this…”

The sentence remained unfinished, unspoken words heavy in the air.

“Say, Truthless, do you really feel sorry?” Sage asked. “For the collateral caught in our friendship?”

“Of course I do. What kind of question is that?”

“But does this not serve your own goals? You seek to swathe the innocents in the comforts of Deceit, to protect them from me, the devil tempting them with the knowledge of good and evil. Why do you lament these changes? Are they not your dearest wish?”

Truthless said nothing.

“Or is this a lie, intended only to convince me that your loyalty ultimately lies with me? As your friend?”

“Nothing I say will convince you otherwise. But we are bound. You will never be truly rid of me, and I shall never know peace until you crumble. Whether you think of me as friend or foe, the truth remains that I cannot leave your side.”

Truthless Recluse was as unhelpful as ever. He had to change tactics.

“Oh, really? A non-answer? How predictable.” Sage tutted. “Then shall we bring in a third party to testify?”

“What?”

“Come with me, my dear. I think I know someone who can help us with our little predicament.”

If anyone might remember Truthless, it would be the vanquisher of Beasts. The man of legend, the Queen of the Fae, Elder Faerie Cookie. Surely he would still recall the banishment of the final Beast? Surely he would be able to resist the seduction of Deceit?

And with this reasoning and nothing better to do, Sage began to pack his bags.

“You… are you bringing me to the Faerie Kingdom?!” Truthless cried—from his peripheral vision, Sage saw a flash of fear upon his face. Oh, how delicious. “You cannot be serious! That is a declaration of war!”

“How so, dear? I only intend to unravel your mysteries.”

“The Fae despise me! Bringing me to their doorstep is the equivalent of threatening them with a…a…” Truthless stammered, struggling to conjure up a weapon that would rival the magnitude of himself. “I do not know! Something terrible! Sage, you do not understand! Elder Faerie would hurt you!”

“Whaaat? But we are old pals! He would never!” Sage wheedled, feigning confidence that he really did not have. “Unless he is anything like you, that is.”

Truthless flinched.

“Now why exactly are you so afraid of Elder Faerie Cookie, unless he was the one to seal you away to begin with?” Sage postulated, waving his wand about as he prepared all the essentials. “My dear Beast, your panic only leads me to one conclusion. You are afraid of the answers I shall find in the Silver Kingdom.”

“Please, Sage, I beg you…”

The Sage of Truth smiled on, the pleas of his reflection falling upon deaf ears. He hummed a tune to himself as he folded some spare robes into his bag. Ah, all packed. Not that he needed any of this. He was but a hop and a skip away from there, so long as his staff was in hand. Handy little thing!

“Are you ready, Truthless?” He asked.

“No! Please, no! Anywhere but there!”

“No need for the drama, my dear. It will be nice and painless! For me, anyway.” Sage hummed, rifling through his drawers until he happened upon that trinket he confiscated. That mirror. Even now, the glass was dark as night, churning with a black fog.

“And you are bringing that thing along?! You must be suicidal!”

“Oh? Does it hold significance to the Fae?”

Truthless Recluse shut his mouth. Looks like that was a mistake on his part. What a fool!

“Alright! Let us be off!”

And if the outburst on Recluse’s part was a mistake, the decision to go to begin with was Sage’s. He believed this to be a simple matter. He and Elder Faerie had collaborated on projects before, why would this be any different? Elder Faerie was nothing but a pleasure, an intelligent and charismatic leader worthy of the utmost respect.

If there was any Cookie he could trust to be objective about Truthless, it would be him. It had to be him. For who could he possibly turn to, when no other Cookie knows that a fifth Beast exists among the ranks of the fallen Virtues?

Sage waved his wand, and the two disappeared as one. Off to the land of Beast-Yeast. While the sheer might of his magical prowess could bring him anywhere he pleased, entering into the Silver Kingdom was not possible without Elder Faerie’s permission. He had to do the formalities of appearing at the front gates first every time—what a hassle.

He began searching for the entrance to the Kingdom in the heart of the jungle. It was alive with the buzzing of insects drunk on honey, of beasts prowling the undergrowth, of birds calling in the canopy above. Yeast spores drifted hither and thither, propagating in abundance. The warm air clung to his body, sweat pouring down his cheeks as he weaved through the thicket like a needle through fabric.

Even with the common mirror that held Recluse and the strange artifact seeping with miasma stowed safely in his bag, he could hear his protests.

“Sage, you are a fool!” He hissed, to which Sage merely hummed in reply. “You do not understand what you are doing, not in the slightest! Turn back! Turn back, I beg of you!”

“But what if I do this in order to understand? I just do not know any better!”

“Do not plead ignorance when I have warned you countless times! Elder Faerie will not accept that excuse!”

“Mm, but I know one that he will.”

“And that is?”

“Like I would tell you!” Sage laughed, drawing a growl of fury from deep within the bag.

That was the end of their conversation. The Beast understood there was no stopping this tragedy from unfolding. A thick miasma seeped from between the bag’s clasps, yet another feeble deterrent to Sage’s progress—or perhaps a manifestation of the dark emotions brewing within him. Hard to tell.

Oh, Truthless, it hurt to treat you like an enemy. But this was your fault.

Sage closed his eyes a moment, floating amidst a patch of wilted silver bells. With a raising of his arms, he breathed them back to life—the first of many guarding seals undone. Normally a Faerie would have to perform this task, but it appeared no usher anticipated his visit. Hmm. Odd. Were Elder Faerie’s visions of the future becoming less frequent? He would always predict when a visitor to the Kingdom was upon their doorstep correctly.

Nonetheless, he followed the trail of flowers as they illuminated the way forward. His mind wandered. What was Truthless Recluse so afraid of, anyway? What could Elder Faerie have possibly done to drive even someone as aloof and apathetic as he into such a spiral of fear? Unless, of course, he was performing. Was he appealing to Sage’s sensibilities by appearing so afraid?

Hmm. Whatever the answer was, a seed of Truth lay in the heart of Deceit. Recluse really did seem afraid. But it seemed now was a good time to help him face his fears! Right?

Perhaps that was wishful thinking. Because for once, Truthless Recluse was not lying.

“Sage!”

If it were not for Truthless’ warning, he would not have dived out of the arrow’s path in time. A singular, silvery arrow, fired by the guardsman of the seal. It buried itself into the tree just behind him, quivering with light. That was his first and final warning as a sea of silver knights surrounded him, wings humming in droning harmony. Javelins, arrows, swords great and small, all poised to strike.

Yet the swarm did not move.

“Elder Faerie! What is the meaning of this?!” Sage yelled into the silvery sea, in the hopes the hivemind might deliver his pleas to the Queen of the hive. “I come in peace! Peace, I tell you!”

“Lies!” Mercurial Knight Cookie, roared, raising his weapon high. This one was an intelligent member of the hivemind, able to speak and reason unlike the countless drones that besieged him. “You dare betray the Silver Kingdom to our enemies and claim to come in peace!? Elder Faerie rues the day he met you!”

“I do not betray you, nor anyone else!” Sage cried, instinct commanding him to seize the bag that confined Truthless and hold him close. “I come asking for answers, as I always do! I must speak to your Queen! Please! This is all I ask! I shall go in a cell, I shall go in chains! Whatever it takes!”

From the depths of the leather, Truthless finally spoke.

“Speak my name. The drones cannot be reasoned with.”

“But the innocent Fae-“

“DO IT, SAGE, OR THEY WILL RIP YOU APART!”

What, tens of thousands of mindless drones? Sage could handle them, no problem. What sort of feeble old man did he take him for? But that was the far more bloody ending to this encounter, and with the leader of the drones eyeing him with murderous intent, he knew that there was no other way to spare their lives.

“TRUTHLESS RECLUSE!”

At once, the buzzing stopped. One by one, the silver knights began to drop from the skies, crashing to the ground in a cacophony of silver and weaponry. Mercurial Knight Cookie clutched his head, his resistance greater than his fellow drones, yet not enough to withstand the might of Deceit. He, too, plunged from the air and landed in a convulsing heap.

Oh, crumbs. This was a little more extreme than when he used it on Candy Apple and Black Sapphire. He prayed to the Witches—if they even cared to hear the wishes of a heretic—that they were alright. Just in case.

The entire Kingdom withered in Truthless Recluse’s presence. Flowers wilted before him, bowing their heads as though afraid to behold him. Tree bark twisted and blackened, as though burnt by flame rather than seized by poison. Color drained from their surroundings, a once lush and lively kingdom rendered quiet and dead. Nothing that they could not fix, right? Right? Oh, good heavens, perhaps this was a bad idea after all. But any sacrifice was a worthy one in the pursuit of the Truth. He drew further and further into the Kingdom’s untamed depths, searching for the heart.

The castle appeared abandoned, yet Sage knew better than to presume. Every single drone they had was lying unconscious at the front gates. But Elder Faerie himself did not appear. Perhaps he foresaw the inevitability of Sage’s infiltration. Even the most confident of leaders would not make the mistake of assuming a few drones would be enough to stop the Sage of Truth, let alone the combined might of Truth and Deceit.

And yet he still faced him with such hostility. Did they really have the room to treat a guest like this? Especially when that guest had the power to destroy the entire Kingdom in the blink of an eye? But no, no, he would never. Elder Faerie was a confidant, and a man he respected. Even so, was all this fanfare necessary when all he wanted was answers? Answers that could be delivered in the civil confines of conversation?

Sage tensed. He heard voices, echoing from the end of the corridor.

“…I’m sorry, my Queen, I could not help you fight…”

The voice was weak, sputtering with coughing fits. The poor Faerie was ill, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Was he one of the intelligent drones? The commanders of the army? He understood that most drones were incapable of speaking, or else very restricted in their intellectual capabilities.

“I did not expect you to fight, especially in your enfeebled state. I shall deal with Him personally.”

“But we should be strong enough to protect you from Him! We failed you, all of us! I’m so sorry!”

“Wipe your tears, Silverbell Cookie, As your Queen, it is my duty to protect you when you cannot protect yourselves. Leave the castle, and take whoever is still wakeful with you. The intruder is approaching, and he bears Him. His presence will only worsen your condition.”

Sage ceased all movement, sheltering in the shadows. To approach would only hurt the little lamb on the other end of the corridor. Truthless would not want that.

“Your Majesty! Are you to face Him alone?”

“I must.”

“But why?”

“I have endured Him before. Do you doubt me, Silverbell?”

“No!”

“Then go. Go as far away as your wings can take you. You shall know when the threat has passed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

Sage paused, wondering whether to continue forward or to remain still. He listened as the sound of wings buzzing faded into the distance. Was the poor boy gone? As he clutched the bag close to his chest, he felt vibrations coursing through the leather. Truthless clearly felt something.

Was it fear? Fear, as footsteps echoed through the castle?

Elder Faerie, reigning Queen of the Silver Hivemind for countless millennia, stood silent at the end of the corridor. His wings cascaded down his back, refracting light like stained glass in a rainbow of colors dancing upon the floor. He donned not his armor, but his robes. Did he foresee a nonviolent confrontation? His eyes betrayed nothing, nothing at all, no matter how much Sage scrutinized them.

“Great Sage, why have you come?”

“I have come seeking the Truth, as I always have.”

“And you deliver the most deadly of our enemies to the heart of our Kingdom in the name of Truth?”

Ooh, stay calm. Stay calm. Sage drew a deep breath to refresh his mind, to remind himself not to succumb to the siren song of anger. Here stood his one and only chance to be saved.

“You must be the only one who can separate us!”

“Separate?” He repeated, surprise flickering across his features. “You two are intertwined?”

“Elder Faerie, if you would come hither…” Sage extends his hand not towards his adversary, but towards the silvery surface of the wall beside him. Polished so finely it shone, a reflection unlike his own was mimicking his movements.

Elder Faerie hesitated, but decided Sage was not a threat to himself. He approached, and gazed upon the wall. There was the Beast of Deceit, staring back at him. His reaction was immediate, wings flaring as though about to take flight. A clicking began deep in his throat, a staccato of threatening sounds. His grip on his sword tightened, yet he dared not brandish his blade. Not yet.

“I cannot reach you, old fool.” Truthless growled, his hostility an effort to conceal his own fear—ending in utter failure. Seems the two had bad blood that extended far beyond Sage’s initial assessment. “You understand now, yes? That we come seeking aid?”

“We?” Sage laughed. “What do you mean we? I dragged you here kicking and screaming!”

“I was not kicking nor screaming!”

“Please, Sage, I beg of you! Do not go to the Faerie Kingdom!”

“I believe I understand the meaning of my premonitions now.” Elder Faerie sighed. His aggressive display was merely instinctual, one that he quelled with time and thought. Truthless posed no immediate danger to him, not like this.

“And what would those be, if you would not mind me inquiring?”

“A two-headed lamb would come stumbling,
The castle would come crumbling,
In the depths of the twin heart
The two halves never to part.”

“Tch. Still speaking in songs and rhymes, are you? How archaic.” Truthless muttered.

“Oh, hush. Have I not taught you how to do the same? It is fun!”

“Are you really that intent on embarrassing me in front of him?”

Elder Faerie huffed. One could interpret it as amused. Truthless certainly did, and blushed a delicate pink as the conversation continued.

“I fear the worst for the two of you.” He declared gravely, as though giving a eulogy at their funeral. “Virtues and Beasts are inherently bound. While this bond is certainly unique, it is not as simple to unravel as a surgical procedure or a wave of a wand. No Virtue can truly rid themselves of their other half.”

“So you mean to say that we are…er, doomed?” Sage asked, trying to sound cheerful.

“Doomed is not necessarily the right word. It implies that nothing can change the course of your fate. I believe there is. Not something that can completely extricate the Beast from your body, but something that can ease the burden that it places upon you.”

Truthless Recluse sighed. Sage knew exactly what he was about to say. And say it he did.

“I never asked for this. I never wanted this. Stop treating me like I am preying on an innocent Cookie. It is your fault I am trapped, Elder Faerie, you know this well. And yet you seem all too willing to believe that I, still, mean nothing but malice towards the Cookies of the world.”

“You have yet to prove your innocence in that regard, Beast.”

“Then shall I?”

“How do you propose you achieve that? Any kindness or clemency you extend now would be taken as philanthropy, not proof. I cannot see into your mind. I cannot know your intentions. You claim every single action you have ever taken was for the protection of Cookies. Yet what have you done? My kind, my children, slaughtered by yours.”

“Would it be petty of me to point out that the incident you are referring to began not with my people, but yours?”

“Yes. It would.”

“Then I shall not, if it discomforts you so. The lie of self-defense tastes so much sweeter upon your tongue, no? Then shall I make it so? Do you not crave that power, that power to rewrite and change history to your liking?”

Elder Faerie’s wings twitch.

“Truthless, that is far enough!” Sage scolded, and the Beast once again shrunk into a defensive position. “What has gotten into you? We are here for his help, not to terrorize him with the past!”

“The mere act of bringing us together is such an act, Sage, and the consequences are yours to bear.”

“Oh, ignore him.” Sage advised Elder Faerie. That advice was not quite so easy to follow. “Elder Faerie, you understand why I seek your aid now. Please, tell me straight. Is there any way to separate us?”

The Queen closed his eyes, steadying his breathing. Any barbs from Truthless sought only to deter, to deflect, to distract. But as one of the few who rivaled the Beast’s power, acts of terror and seeds of doubt were his means to disarm and defeat an even match. At his core, Truthless was a coward, and he knew he would lose any fight should he approach it with honor.

He could see that cowardice in his eyes, dimmed with countless sorrows and regrets of a life led in the shadows. Had he changed? And was he willing to entertain his presence long enough to find out?

“You shall be quarantined here for the foreseeable future.”

“What?!” Sage gasped. Ohh, perhaps this was a mistake. “Elder Faerie, my dear, please understand! I have students to care for! Apprentices to mentor! Papers to grade! I have other responsibilities I simply cannot ignore-”

“And you simply cannot ignore your predicament any longer.” Elder Faerie retorted. “This is not just a case of Deceiver’s Tongue or Divine Madness Syndrome! You are infected not with Deceit, but with the Beast of Deceit himself! Sage, you must isolate yourself from the susceptible! Everything must be ignored until we can fix this!”

Sage flinched. But Elder Faerie was right. Why was he always right? What a show-off.

“…for once, I must agree with Elder Faerie.” Truthless Recluse mumbled. Oh, bother. Seizing the opportunity for revenge at even the pettiest of moments, huh? “If the innocents shall be free of my influence here, then I shall not resist the quarantine order.”

“Silence, Beast. Your words hold no power here.”

Truthless growled something in Bestial, but said no more. How strange, to see him bowing beneath the heel of the Faerie Queen. How was it so effortless for him to seize control of the Beast, whereas Sage was still struggling to get him to stay silent at times?

“Sage, with me.”

“Er, Truthless will be coming too.” Sage cleared his throat. “He sort of cannot help it.”

“What do you mean? He is perfectly capable.” Elder Faerie sighed deeply, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is he feigning weakness again? Seems you cannot teach old Beasts new tricks.” He turned to address Truthless. “Go. You are not welcome here. Return when you hear my call.”

Truthless froze under the sudden scrutiny. His eyes fixated not on the one ordering him around like a cake hound, but his supposed keeper. Sage. Despite his anger, his eyes seemed to ask a tearful ”Why are you letting him do this to me?”

“I have no choice, Truthless.” Sage answered the silent question. “It was you who destroyed my trust.”

Truthless backed away, slowly at first, tail between his legs. He turned and abandoned the two of them, fleeing the way they came. Oh, he looked so lonely. But Sage could not afford to abandon his principles now. He needed answers. And the only place he could trust them stood before him, in the form of a Faerie.

“Come.” Elder Faerie beckoned. “Let us discuss in private.”

Chapter Text

“You understand why I have summoned you to speak alone, yes?”

Elder Faerie had escorted him to the throne room, a formality disguised as an attempt to rid themselves of Truthless Recluse’s presence. The throne sat as the centerpiece to their stage, silver twisting into the shape of a tree with branches spiraling in all directions. Lanterns flitted in the air like butterflies, white flames dancing upon ever burning candlesticks. The stained glass stretched from floor to ceiling behind the throne, bathing it and Elder Faerie in radiant splendor.

Sage kneeled before the throne, before the Queen. It was a familiar ritual, yet it spoke of detachment. A reminder of their roles.

“I presume you wish to learn everything that has transpired between the two of us?”

“Not quite. This is as much of a test of Him as it is of you.”

“Are you doubting me?” Sage smiled, though it did hurt a little to be treated with scrutiny from someone he once held so dear to his heart. “You wound me so, Elder Faerie Cookie.”

“The Beast Himself may be shaping your thoughts, your words, and your actions in a conscious campaign of deception, and this is a means of testing how far His reach extends into your mind. Whether you lie or speak honestly, I shall understand the nature of your predicament better this way.”

“You seem to think of him as nothing but a malicious creature.”

“No one can trust a Beast, least of all a serpent such as He. Do you?”

“Ah! Well! I cannot say I do, for certain, but-“

Elder Faerie tilted his head, brows raised with intrigue. Sage took this as an invitation to stay quiet, to cease the self-incrimination. But he gestured with a hand gleaming with silvery scales to carry on. Ah, could just be his resting face.

“I, er, pardon me for saying this, Your Majesty,” Sage coughed, trembling beneath such a severe gaze, “but I feel as though he is not what you think he is…”

“Worse?”

“No! Better! You are so swift to jump to conclusions!”

Elder Faerie sighed, hands now upon his temples to massage the aches blooming anew.

“You see, he is very different from what I expected. Despite proclaiming in written word his only intention is to retrieve the Soul Jam, we have shared many intimate moments. We have become friends! Even he calls me friend! Is that not grand?”

“Intimate moments, you say…”

“Ever the pervert, you!” Sage scolded playfully, though one might venture to say that he was the perverted one of the two. “You never change, do you, Elder Faerie? Did you simply latch onto the idea that you former lover might have eyes for someone else, or did you somehow manage to mishear every single mention of ‘friend’ so far?”

“Great Sage, please do not make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“Aww, did you miss me that much?”

“No.” Upon seeing Sage’s eyes glisten with false tears, Elder Faerie cleared his throat and amended his statement with a cough. “Maybe.”

“I knew it!” Sage crowed with triumph, performing a victory dance before the throne as though he were a jester summoned to entertain rather than a patient seeking aid. “I kneeew it! You missed me! Of course you did! Oh, frabjous day!”

“So it seems neither time nor the Beast have yet to meaningfully alter your personality. Good tidings.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means He has yet to change you irreversibly.” Elder Faerie elaborated, but the smile playing along his pretty lips indicated he might have meant a little more than that. “We have digressed. Let us resume the interview.”

“Oh, but we were having so much fun…”

“Have you experienced any physical symptoms or abnormalities? Please make note of whether you have concluded whether it is connected to the Beast or not.”

All business, as usual. Perhaps the circumstances were dire, but could he not afford to lighten up once in a while?

“Mm. Physically, I cannot say for certain. I feel the occasional migraine now and then, and an exhaustion that persists day and night, but otherwise? Nothing at all. I presume it has to do with his occupation of my shadow, but it could be owed to external factors such as stress.”

“I see. As for mental?”

“Forgetfulness is the main one. There have been instances of me forgetting small things, like the day or time. My perception of time seems to be shifting as well. Some days last a lifetime, others are gone before I know it. The timeline of events in my memory is in disarray. And, for reasons beyond me, Truthless had implanted memories of interactions between us in others. I presume this is just a byproduct of the fundamentals warping.”

Elder Faerie craned his neck, elven ears a-twitching. Suddenly, Sage understood why Truthless did not like it when he drew too close. A pressure was building in his chest, one that threatened to overwhelm him at any moment.

“Other than that, I myself have yet to experience any severe symptoms.” He carried on, tactfully avoiding eye contact. “Other Cookies certainly have, which was what served as my curtain call. In my case, I believe this is merely the rising of the hammer, so to speak, before it is brought down.”

“You are correct. Many ailments induced by exposure to Deceit are subtle, nefarious. They are known to feature a latency period that can last for months, years, even decades, before the hammer falls.”

“And when it does…?”

Elder Faerie did not answer. He bowed his head, as though paying respects to the countless fallen, before changing the subject.

“Great Sage, we must not act hastily. We shall pursue treatment options soon, but as it stands presently, you have yet to display outward signs of illness.” He began, his voice clear and controlled. “The Beast is imprisoned—to what extent, even I am uncertain—so long as you remain in good health. I shall do everything in my power to aid you. For as soon as you show signs of weakness, I fear that Deceit shall seize control.”

“But he has already demonstrated this power.”

Elder Faerie’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword in an instant. The tip of the sword flashed forward in an arc of gleaming silver, stopping just before Sage’s neck. He screamed—the sound heralding the chill that seeped into the air. Ice prickled along his dough. The flames dancing within lanterns began to vanish, one by one.

“Do not move.” He ordered. Oh, those eyes, they betrayed him. Every last impulse of fear, of anger, of disgust, they flashed through their silvery depths in a display both frightening and beautiful. “Explain. What do you mean? How has He controlled you?”

“He has never harmed me! Not directly!” Sage insisted. “He was taunting me for saying something stupid beforehand, both times! I swear, it was not a cruel act! I meant to bring it to light to demonstrate what I am aware of in regards to his abilties!”

“That is not the full truth, is it, Sage?”

“HE DID MY MAKEUP!”

“He…” Elder Faerie lowered his blade slightly. “He did…what?”

“He did my makeup yesterday. He offered to help me, and I was curious as to why he wanted to involve himself in something so mundane. So I let him.” Sage confessed. His cheeks flushed bright against the encroaching darkness. “And he made me look really cute.”

“And the other incident you cited?”

“We danced together.”

“That was all?”

“I cannot truly say so. It was a power play of sorts, but it devolved into-”

The mighty Sage of Truth suddenly erupted into a bout of coughing, his throat raw with pain. Elder Faerie rushed to his aid, supporting him with steady hands. Just in time, for the Sage could support his kneeling position no longer. Elder Faerie helped him to his feet, but his gaze was not upon Sage. He was scanning the shadows that skulked the corners of the room, their territory only expanding with the extinguished lanterns.

“Show yourself, Beast.”

Sage raised his head, searching every surface for a presence unlike his own. But this yielded nothing, nothing at all, and a new wave of weakness crashed over him. He leaned heavily upon Elder Faerie’s shoulder, nails dug deep in his sleeve as the one thing that anchored him.

“Hmm. It seems that whatever you wanted to say, He did not want me to know.” Elder Faerie muttered. “I always knew he was shy and avoidant of confrontation, but exacerbating someone else’s suffering just to conceal a matter as mundane as this is just pathetic.”

“Er, I do not know if pathetic is the right word. I know what he is like, but I did not realize he was listening. Though I suppose I should not be surprised!” Sage smiled, weak as it was. “It seems we learned something new today. Two things, in fact! One: Truthless can hear everything I say, even in his absence. Two: he can cause bodily processes to occur at his own discretion. I do not know how I feel about that.”

“That much is understandable.”

Silence washed over the two once more.

“Great Sage, I must apologize for my aggressive outburst. I feared the worst.” Elder Faerie’s voice lowered, holding the Sage of Truth with a tenderness that he once believed himself to be incapable of. “I promise you, I shall make it up to you however possible. However might I do that?”

“I understand your concerns, truly, I do.” Sage answered, his smile turning mischievous. “But if you want to make it up to me, let us forget about all the tests. I am tired, truly, I am! Take me away, Silver Knight, to my living arrangements for my extended stay!”

Elder Faerie obliged. Though the weakness melted away with time, Sage continued clinging to his shoulder as though it was his one and only support. He did not seem to mind—though judging by his expression, he seemed to notice that it was not necessary. Just a comfort. Walking was not easy for a man who spent most of his life floating around.

As they passed through the corridors, Sage noticed they were not ascending the castle, but descending. And as they neared their destination, the polished silver gave way to soil and untamed flora. Though there were no windows nor torches to illuminate the tunnels, it was teeming with mushrooms, flowers, and weeds that emitted light of their own. They withered in his presence, confirmation that Truthless was indeed still among them, but their light only dimmed.

Oh, bother, was he going to be kept in a dungeon? The Silver Kingdom was not notorious for its hospitality, certainly, but surely they had a place to keep guests?! Unless Elder Faerie had other plans—in which case, Sage was not necessarily opposed.

“You were not afraid in the slightest, were you?”

The distraction was a success. He forgot completely about his surroundings in favor of the accusations levied against him.

“What makes you say that? Of course I was afraid! I feared for my life, I tell you!”

“You are a great performer. It seemed that it was not yet enough to draw the Beast out of His little sulk, but I could sense His presence.” His hold on Sage tightened instinctively, wing tips twitching as they dragged upon the soil. “He is taking my orders seriously, at least. Either that, or the humiliation of being ordered around was just too much.”

“You really did embarrass him, you know.”

“I fail to see why this matters.”

“Well, you cannot study only one half of a Cookie, can you?”

“You are a Cookie, Sage, a full Cookie. I do not understand where this idea came from. And if it was from the Beast Himself, surely you understand why I am against it.”

“Physicality is just one side of the coin, my dear. My reflection is gone. My shadow does not belong to me. Evidence of my existence is being eroded. And my memories, I am losing them piece by piece. He may not be a trustworthy source of information, but Truthless holds my other half.”

“Great Sage, it is very dangerous to think of Him in this way.”

“It is the Truth.”

“It is His Truth.”

“Oh, Elder Faerie, you will never truly understand, will you?”

Elder Faerie slowed to a stop, yet Sage continued walking down the burrows.

“Losing bits and pieces of yourself…you cannot help but cling to what is left, right? Forgive me, please, if this offends, but I wish you would stop acting like you know Truthless better than I do. I have witnessed sides of him that you will never see. It cannot all be a lie, it just cannot!”

With this declaration, it seemed that the Sage of Truth was trying to convince himself, rather than his critic. Even he understood he was being reckless, but what else could he do? What else should he do? And did Elder Faerie have the authority to cast judgment upon his decision? He thought not.

When he finally came to realize Elder Faerie was no longer beside him, Sage turned to see him standing at a great distance. Sage hastened to return to his side. He was lingering by a doorway—if one could refer to an entrance excavated from dirt as a doorway—obscured by a large leaf.

“Here we are. I understand it is not much, so please, feel free to change it to your liking.” Elder Faerie bowed before him, a common courtesy amidst guest and host. It was a means to diffuse the rising tension between them. “I shall take my leave. I sense my drones are rousing from their slumber, and I must attend to their needs.”

All business, as usual. Sage sighed, but knew better than to prolong this discussion. He was tired. Very tired.

“I understand.”

That night, for the first time in weeks, the Sage of Truth was truly alone.

Sage kicked his legs against the earth. The room he was offered was so lush and inviting—that was, until he had stepped through the doorway. But the basic amenities endured his presence. A small dresser in the form of a hollowed gourd from which he retrieved the provided nightclothes. Two stones, large and small, supposedly an improvised desk and chair. A crystal, polished until it reflected as clearly as a mirror, was suspended by vines before the “desk.” Little else was afforded to him, not even a bed. A patch of flowers was good enough, supposedly, for a Cookie of his caliber.

Sage did not have any energy to spare towards criticizing the meager hospitality. All that remained in his body was a hollow, a yawning void. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, yet he could not sleep. He did everything he could to maintain his nightly routine, but he had few of the many instruments with which he executed it. Not even a comb to tame his hair. He used his fingers.

Alas, alas, his mind would not allow him the mercy of slumber. Not yet.

Though exhaustion was his excuse to worm his way out of uncomfortable discussions, his mind was alive with wild theories. So much information. Yet he could not truly confirm whether it was accurate, nor if it was useful. His thoughts spiraled into endless circles, earning nothing but a headache for his troubles. He lowered his head against the stone desk, in the hopes its cold surface would ease the pain.

Elder Faerie failed to live up to his expectations regarding objectivity. His judgement was predicated on the plight his people had endured under Deceit, certainly, but his hatred and fear commanded him with equal power. So, of the Cookies entangled in this mess, which of them could be trusted? Which of them harbored the Truth? What was the point of all this, anyway?

He lifted his head slowly, eyes upon the mirror. Truthless still had yet to return.

Sage abandoned the desk, pacing from one corner of the room to the other. What was he even waiting for? He knew well enough he would not find sleep by searching the shadows of his room. He was searching for something else, something he knew he could not find. Not yet.

Five minutes elapsed. Then ten. Then fifteen. He performed countless revolutions around the tiny room, orbiting the bed of flowers in its center as a planet orbits the sun.

He drifted towards mirror again—if Truthless was here, he would angrily cite the exact amount of times he had done so thus far. But he was not, and thus, the number of times he had checked remained a mystery. All that met his gaze was an empty room, as though Sage did not truly exist within it.

Did he even exist at all?

He returned to the bed of flowers and curled up in their midst, breathing their sweet scent as though he needed it to survive. His head was buzzing with unwelcome thoughts like a hive of insects, their appetite roused by the sorrow budding in his heart.

Did he ever, really, truly exist? Who can say for certain? He was an actor, not a Cookie. To be left without an audience after enjoying the comfort of another’s eyes upon him for so long struck terror in him. Without the Beast’s eyes upon him, what was left? A costume with no wearer, a mask with no bearer. What a joke.

Every last emotion he had buried and forgotten had bloomed, petals unfurling to unleash a cloying lure for his darkest thoughts. And oh, those insects feasted. Sage groaned, curling up into a ball as though to hide from them. Drunk on the honey of self-hatred and doubt, they turned from their main course to their dessert, Sage himself.

He was locked up in the castle like a bird in a cage, wondering if he would ever fly again. Was he destined to live in the Silver Kingdom for the rest of his days? If this situation had spiraled out of Sage’s control, what good could a Faerie do in comparison? Perhaps he understood the nature of Deceit and its effects on Cookies, but what did he gain in sealing Sage away? Had he an ulterior motive?

These thoughts gnawed away at him, the infestation spreading from his brain down to the soles of his feet, pinprick mandibles dismantling him one crumb at a time. His vision began to blur—was it the blur of tears or gossamer wings? Sage squeezed them shut, in the hopes of dulling his senses to the pain. And lo, it only intensified.

He could not trust others, he could not trust himself, and the Witches turned a blind eye to his blight. Who could save him? Who would save him? Why bother when all he is in the hands of another is a silken suit, no identity of his own without his title? Who was he, in this singular instant that no one saw him? Was he a Cookie? Was he dead or alive, if no one heard his pulsation of his heart or the churn of his intestines?

This body, was it truly even his? When his reflection looked nothing like this!?

He hugged his knees, trembling from head to toe. Wings, wings, droning as one, tickling his bones with ever movement. His fears ate their way into his brain, naught but carnage in their wake. He fought for breath with every ounce of strength he had left, swallowing great gulps of air as though drowning in the silence. He could not see, he could not hear, he was going mad with every second that passed.

Alone. He was alone. And to the Sage of Truth, that was a fate worth than death. A fate worth escaping by death.

Though the Soul Jam rendered him impervious to mortal trifles such as death or injury, he was a damn good actor. If pretending to pass on, even for a moment, would quiet the buzzing in his brain, he would commit the treason without hesitation.

With this fervor he fought his way through his belongings, seized hold of his quill, and thrust the tip into his forearm. A spurt of jam bubbled from the wound, a small reprieve. It hurt. But it was not yet enough. Not enough to kill the swarm.

One will not do. He needed more.

Sage transfigured the quill. Its feathery elegance sharpened into something silvery, something cruel. A knife. He turned the blade against his dough, carving scars deep and dark against the backdrop of blue. Jam seeped out of the lacerations, mingling with crumbs in a slurry of Witchforsaken depravity.

“Sage?”

Was this why they never answered his prayers? Perhaps they were right about him all along. He was not perfect. He never was. Why pretend now? Why close these wounds that sullied what was never perfect to begin with?

“Sage!”

He could not hear the soft voice calling to him from the darkness. He could not feel the lurch of his heart as the shadows began to curl around him. All he could feel was the pain, the drone of static in his ears. It was not enough, not yet! And so he brought the knife down upon his other arm, stabbing indiscriminately, a crime of passion most vile.

Sage raised the knife again—and froze. His arm did not obey him. There it was suspended, poised to drive the blade into his own dough once more. But the blade never came down. Truthless finally reached him.

“Sage, please stop.”

Truthless did not let go. He held Sage in place for a time he could not measure, for his senses had yet to return. The pain melted into numbness, time washing his wounds of all sensation. All that remained in the wake of his relapse was a throbbing numbness.

The shadows urged his fingers to slowly unfurl, and the knife slipped from his grasp. As it clattered upon the floor, it transfigured back into its original shape—the quill. And with this quill tucked away in his bag, Truthless finally deemed that it was safe to loosen his grip.

He had never seen Sage so terrible.

His cheeks were soaked in tears. His hair cascaded down his back in tangles of blue and white, disheveled beyond description. His arms had been rendered dead from the loss of jam, dripping down his wrists and dying the flowers sickly red. But despite the throes of agony, he maintained a neutral expression. Was this a feeble attempt at restoring control?

Sage turned his gaze towards the suspended mirror. Truthless Recluse was there, a blur of darkness dancing in the glass. Oh, what a fool. If only he had put an end to this sooner. Perhaps his audience could have been spared the sorry sight.

“Truth…less…?” Delirium rendered his voice a whisper, one that even Truthless barely managed to catch. “Is…is that you?”

“Do not speak. Save your strength. Please let me help.”

“I apologize…I never meant you to…see me like this…”

“Are you listening? Be quiet. I do not need an explanation, nor do you owe me one.” Truthless breathed deeply, to remind himself to patient. “I just want to help. Please, Sage. Let me help.”

A nod. He was too exhausted for much else. And so, Truthless guided his weary dough forward when Sage could not.

He cleaned the wounds of the jam before it could leave lasting stains upon him or his robes with a cloth he conjured. He performed a diagnostic spell to check for any signs of infection before sealing the cracks. Nothing yet, the wounds were far too fresh for any yeast spores to begin coagulating. So he guided his fingers along the edge of the wound, raw dough bubbling up to his touch. They needed some time to rise before they would harden completely.

“It is not as though I have not dealt with these sorts of wounds before,” Truthless mumbled in an attempt to keep Sage’s mind occupied, “but these are quite severe. Please refrain from using your arms when it is not strictly necessary. Doctor’s orders.”

“Doc…tor?”

“Yes. I used to be one.”

“Ah, that explains some things…”

“Hm? Like what?”

“You are so cold and meticulous…but you are also kind and caring…” Sage smiled despite it all. Faint and weak, yet a sign that some strength remained in his heart. “You push me so hard because you want me to…get better…”

Truthless faltered. He blinked rapidly, trying to ignore the tension in his throat and the beginnings of tears in his eyes. He had heard this sentiment before, a long time ago. Back when he still had the strength and courage to fight for other Cookies. But now here he stood, a coward, a traitor.

Perhaps one day, he, too, shall betray the Sage of Truth. It is in his nature.

“Whaaat? Did I say something funny?” Sage laughed, drawing him out of the darkness and into the light. “What is with that face, huh…?”

“Sage, you do not have to put on a show for me. Worry about that when you feel better.”

“Slander! Hogwash! Baloney!”

“Right, that is it. Bath time for you.”

“Huzzah…!”

Truthless Recluse stifled a chuckle as he guided Sage to his feet. Fickle old man. One moment he was scolding Truthless for his impudence, the next he was rejoicing.

He struggled to find a good rhythm when walking with Sage through the burrows. It was like posing a mannequin. His legs were so rigid and unused to walking that he stumbled with every step, just as a doll would not be able to walk without its master. His arms hung limp and lifeless at his sides. Truthless was too afraid to touch them now, even as a shadow.

The two moved as one to the baths. Faeries had no concept of privacy, it seemed, for all their baths were communal springs anyone could partake in. Every single custom was a far cry from the comforts Sage had previously enjoyed at home. But the baths were something he and Elder Faerie were very familiar with. Yes, very. It almost felt nostalgic.

The tunnel gave way to a cavern, illuminated by clusters of mushrooms that clung to the walls. The spring in the center glowed aquamarine, shimmering like a precious gem nestled in the depths of the cave. It nurtured life of all kinds, from insects crawling in the earth to feathery lichen that sprung from the earth. Sage could not suppress a couple giggles—apparently he was rather ticklish. He took care not to step where the lichen lay, so that nothing may upset their tenuous balance further.

He stopped before the edge of the water, Truthless’ reflection now staring back at him.

“Er, do forgive me, but I must disrobe you before we continue.”

“If you were truthful about having followed me in the shadows for countless millennia, then surely you have seen me in the nude. What difference would this time make? Because I can see you?”

“No, it is because I am directly participating.”

“So it is because I can see you, then!” Sage laughed, to which a slew of refutations followed. All of which were ignored. “Come now, my dear, let us be honest. If it is because you are shy, then allow me to help.”

With a dramatic flourish, the Sage of Truth whisked off his nightclothes and discarded them upon the ground. Truthless gasped, slapping his hands over his eyes as his cheeks burned bright. Oh, how adorable.

“Truthless, dear, if you want to look, you can look. I have no shame.”

“Even after…that?”

“You have seen my jam. Is there anything possibly more intimate than that?”

What a weirdo. But despite his instinctive revulsion, Truthless understood. To an extent, that is. How did he bounce back so quickly from something so severe? It was as if nothing even happened. The show must go on, after all.

“Sage, just get in the water.”

“Oh, alright. Fine. But you still hold control over my legs, dear. I need you to help.”

“You can walk yourself! I let go!”

“Seriously? You said you wanted to help! So help me!”

Truthless Recluse groaned. Of course he would use his earnest outreach for leverage in situations like these. Though eons of isolation and self-hatred restrained him, he knew better than to refuse. And though he had always averted his gaze whenever those intimate moments arose when he was nothing more than Sage’s shadow, a curiosity had always lurked in the back of his mind. Perhaps he could afford to feed it, just this once.

“Fine.”

It was just meant to be a glance. Just one. Witches, why was he so beautiful? Truthless bit his tongue, the pain reminding him of his place. Even as he averted his eyes, his mind’s eye continued its caress of Sage’s curves. He tasted jam in his mouth. Nothing was enough to distract him from that avatar of beauty, standing tall and proud in his mind, carved as immaculately as a statue of marble rather than dough and jam.

His age showed in places, certainly, his dough thin enough to expose ribs and hip bones prominently. Was it because Sage found it beautiful, or because Truthless found it attractive? Shapeshifters could never truly be trusted. His silhouette was svelte, effortlessly elegant and lithe, but plush in all the places Truthless wanted. The prominence of the bones beneath accentuated his hip dips, which swelled into the soft curves of his thighs.

He was perfect. Too perfect. Was this Sage’s actual body? Or was it prettied up for a viewing? This doubt dulled his flustered feelings, just enough for him to snap back to attention when called.

“Well? Are you going to be helpful?”

“Yes!” Truthless cried, the sound leaving his lips before he could temper his tone. “I-I mean, yes. Obviously.”

Sage said nothing. That smirk said all he ever needed to.

Truthless halted Sage’s progress to assess the risks. He decided, after some deliberation, that it was worth taking after all the trouble it took to guide Sage here. Into the water he waded, and his reflection followed, his face distorted by the ripples cascading outward.

The warmth soothed Sage’s wounds, be they in mind or body. He sighed with contentment, basking in the spring’s healing waters. Truthless slackened his control of Sage’s extremities, to let him relax fully. There they remained in silence. An Ancient of great power lazing in the bath, and the Beast staring up at him from the water’s depths.

While Sage seemed to have recovered completely, Truthless was not easily fooled. When he sobered up from the shock, he began the confrontation calm and quiet.

“Sage…you do not have to use something like that just to hide from your problems.”

“Huh?”

“Playing dumb again? You know what you were doing.”

Sage sighed and dropped all pretense henceforth.

“Of course I do. And I will do it again if I must.”

“Are you seriously threatening me with your body?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

“No!” Truthless realized just how bad that sounded, and swiftly amended his reply. “Yes! Yes, there is!”

“Ha! If you find me attractive, just say so.”

“I would rather die.”

Sage laughed. How was this funny to him?!

“Listen, Sage, you know what I mean to say. You know how I feel.” He continued, switching tactics once again in the hopes of weaseling out an answer as earnest as Truthless’ pleas. “This is not normal. If you need help, I want to be there stop it before it gets to this point. Please, let me help.”

“The show must go on, my dear Truthless, whether I am ready for it or not. That is a fact of life.”

“No! That is not true! If it was, why would it be so cruel to you?!”

“There you go again, serenading me with those sweet lies…” The Sage’s expression dulled, as though he had heard these words before. “My little bird, I understand how you feel. But you have witnessed horrors beyond comprehension. You have witnessed the lengths life will take just to ruin you. Since when has it ever been fair?”

“Then we will make it fair. We will carve kindness out of life’s chest with our own hands, no matter what it takes.”

Sage paused.

“Ha…haha, how cute.” Sage smiled, though it did little to conceal the sorrow in his voice. His mask was but a scab, and Truthless was about to tear it off before it became a second skin. “But really, Truthless, you of all Cookies should understand. You, who have endured countless lifetimes of isolation, should understand that injustice is by design.”

“And you, of all Cookies, should understand that despite that injustice, we have the power to choose what we do about it.”

“You chose to indoctrinate others with Deceit under the guise of protection.”

“And you chose to worship the cruel Truth instead of changing it.”

“I never promised salvation. I promised revelation. And whatever happens to them afterwards, well, why should I care?”

“SAGE!”

Truthless Recluse’s shout echoed from one end of the cave to the other, rebounding upon itself as though many were speaking as one. Sage, enraptured by the anger in the voice that accosted him, sat still as stone in the water.

“You care! I know you do! And by lying to yourself, you are changing the Truth! You are just as susceptible to Deceit as any one of us! I saw the way you nurtured your apprentices, the way you entertained your students even when you were drowning in sorrows! Sleepless nights grading papers, performing assessments, creating curriculums…you care, beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

Sage closed his eyes to the truth once more. Even as he was defeated, he still held his head high with pride.

“It is never a bad thing to care.”

“And if it hurts me?” Sage asked in a whisper. “If I hurt you or someone else because of it?”

“It is a fact of life that you and I will hurt each other. And I am scared of being hurt, too. I am scared of being hurt so deeply that I will never recover. But maybe I…I would rather be scared with you, than be alone.“

“Truthless…”

The Beast raised his head. Even now, hearing his own name upon the lips another felt so strange, so intimate. The two locked eyes, and time itself held its breath. Guided by instinct rather than sound mind, Sage reached out to touch his reflection—ripples dispersed the beautiful soul on the other side of the water. He sighed, withdrew, and waited for Recluse’s face to coalesce upon the surface once more.

“Let us face the Truth together. Perhaps I will be a little less scared, with you by my side.”

Chapter Text

When he arose from slumber the next morning, the raw dough had risen overnight. Only memories of the scars remained, of Truthless sealing them. It was a fascinating spell, really, one he had only witnessed one other time in his life. This scarcity was due to its very nature. No healer nor patient likes to handle raw dough.

Some close the gaps with dough that is already dry. Some fill it with a jelly-like substance, to act as a secondary scab. Some use casts or bandaging to force the cracks closed. But using raw dough to bake a new skin? As swift, painless, and effective as it was, Cookies have an instictive revulsion to such procedures.

But given that neither of them were truly Cookies, it made sense.

Sage sat up amidst the flowers, contemplating this. His arms were perfect, pretty, untainted by neither hand nor blade. Just another facade, really, and the only Cookie he needed to truly deceive was himself. Was that ever possible, given what he had seen? What he had felt?

Perhaps last night was a dream. Yes. A very bad dream.

He still felt the lingering feelings of the night before. Something that weighed heavily upon his chest, a burden he refused to shed. He plucked a flower from the soil beneath him, thumbing the petals. A soft yellow, tinged with a darker shade in its center. Like an eye that sank so deeply into ancient dough, embraced by shadows. A reminder of the one who witnessed him at his lowest.

Frustration simmered beneath his dough. Oh, he could never truly rid himself of Truthless. Even in slumber, even in moments that were meant to be wholly his own. His body is the Beast’s manacles, his mind the Beast’s prison cell. But where did Truth end and Deceit begin?

What were Truthless Recluse’s true feelings? And what were Sage’s?

He turned the flower around in his hands. Five petals, glistening in an arc of gold. One by one, the petals began to drift to the ground.

He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me…

Sage stared at the flower, now reduced to a bared stigma, stared back at him. No more petals left to pluck. Still, he reached out, as though there was. He brushed the head of the flower, feeling around its circumference. Just to double check. And check again, for good measure. The answer was resoundingly clear.

He loves me.

Sage squeezed his eyes shut. He knew the outcome! He knew all along! This means nothing! It was so childish, and yet, his heart betrayed him, singing his truth in a staccato of frantic pulses. He wrested another flower from the bed. This, too, has five petals. Five petals fluttered to the ground. The next only bore three. Five. Nine. Seven. Three.

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

Was it just a coincidence that every single one bore the answer he wanted to hear? How could that be? There were countless species of flora hosted in the Silver Kingdom, yet his flower bed was composed of 27 different species that just so happened to have an odd number of petals.

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

Sage wanted to believe it so badly. In spite of his dignity, his rational mind, and every little disagreement they had, he wanted to believe. Perhaps somehow, some way, they could be together. He sighed, lowered the bared stems to the ground, and buried them in the soil among their fellows. Poor things did not have to suffer for his own childish feelings.

But oh! Just a moment, there! Why did he care about a flower, of all things? He could barely bring himself to care about Cookies, even himself. He was a cruel, calculated scholar indulged in self-fellatio. He was not a good Cookie. How could he keep forgetting his character, even in moments where he had no one to blame but himself?

If Truthless was here, he had not said anything. Praise the Witches, he could not handle being seen like his, let alone probed to explain what he was doing ripping apart the flower bed. Since when was the Sage of Truth so delicate, so easy to fluster? Since when was he so weak, so childish? This was beneath him! And not featured in the script he so lovingly composed!

As though guided by unseen hands, Sage was veering off script. Improvisations can be fun, but ultimately, the play must be told by the director, not the actors. And as a one man show, he was sat across from his corporal body, watching his every move. He was performing before himself, shining in the harsh spotlight. Two selves, one body, split between the acts of performing and observing.

He buried his head in hands. In the rare moment of self-reflection, he realized he knew exactly why. He refused to acknowledge it, let alone accept it.

It was Truthless Recluse.

Was he truly an observer, a bystander to his self-aggrandizing act? Or was he an active participant, tempting him backstage beyond the control of his director? A puppet to the play, or just a Cookie that pities him? Whatever intentions Truthless harbors behind his sardonic smile, the effect is ultimately the same. The perfect world, whimsical yet mundane, destroyed.

Oh, Truthless made it so easy to forget. So tempting to let go. To loose himself of the costume that binds him, to improvise upon the script. But one misstep, and he was led into a spiraling dance by his own reflection. He understood—intellectually, not emotionally—that what he was doing was dangerous. Not just another obstacle to navigate as a character, but rather, to his very life.

Despite that, the orchestrator of his very downfall acted as his audience. He cried with him. He laughed with him—usually at him, which was an important distinction, but it was laughter nonetheless. He walked with him. He was not callous, nor unable to connect with him. Quite the contrary. He felt like Truthless understood him far better than he understood himself.

But the show must go on.

There was simply no time to wallow in such feelings. He would drown. And who wants to look at deadened dough? He rose from the flower bed, shaking his hair out to rid himself of the dirt and the bugs that crawled in overnight. He really ought to petition Elder Faerie for a better sleeping space. Faeries liked the dirt, the bugs, the flowers. Sage did not.

Well, a slight amendment is in order. He did like bugs, quite a lot. But not in his hair, nor in his clothes.

His gaze flitted from the mirror—which bore no reflection at all—to his belongings. They were still tucked away in his bag, safe and sound. He rifled through them for a moment, before unveiling the blackened mirror.

Hmm. Just the same as ever. Sage reclined upon his knees, gazing into the inky depths. It seemed to pull him in, as a star would drift into the maw of a black hole. He brushed his fingers atop the glass, the invisible barrier separating him from the endless darkness beneath.

He was at war with himself.

Elder Faerie deserved to know what he knew—everyone did. Every Cookie is entitled to the Truth. Yet he feared what consequences would arise from revealing it to anyone, let alone Truthless Recluse’s sworn enemy. He decided it would be best not to act on whim. A difficult task, but his only option is to wait.

Ah, waiting. His least favorite activity.

Perhaps now was as good a time as any to perform a few experiments. Just how useful was Elder Faerie, exactly? He was another resource at his fingertips, and above all, he would keep him entertained. He departed from his quarters, seeking the Faerie Queen’s counsel. He presumed he would be tarrying among the upper floors, the ones that were far more comfortable. And so he drifted through the underground network of tunnels, seeking the stairway. He ascended it—not by walking, silly! Stairs were beneath someone of his status, and, quite frankly, exhausted him.

Sage emerged into the light, the familiar silvery corridors awaiting his presence. Butterflies flitted hither and thither in a rainbow of wings, feasting merrily upon the flora that exploded from every possible surface. Thick vines kissed with flowers slithered through the castle, but rather than choking the silver foundations, they coexisted in chaotic harmony. Neither force overwhelmed the other. It was almost like a display of love, of the marriage of souls.

How romantic. Sage felt a pang in his chest.

After circling the castle twice over, he heard the whisper of voices just beyond what he could see. A small, inconspicuous door, its silver tarnished and worn. Sage laid a hand upon the metal, breathed, and pushed it open but a crack. He saw Elder Faerie in the midst of interrogating Truthless Recluse. Rather than reveal his presence immediately, Sage opted to listen to their conversation unfold.

“…you intend to keep this a secret from him?” Truthless asked in a whisper.

“Of course I do.” Elder Faerie answered. “It will interfere with treatment. He is already exhibiting concerning symptoms. I worry for him, I really do. And you are not helping with your appeals to his vulnerable emotional state, Beast.”

“But something as serious as this…he deserves to know this, Elder Faerie Cookie. This concerns him far more than it concerns you.”

“This concerns the entirety of Earthbread. You understand that, but you choose to close your eyes to the harm you cause. Even the harm you cause the one you seem to harbor far more affection for than yourself.”

“And you think he will make the ‘wrong decision’ if you give him the Truthe he so dearly desires?”

“I fear that emotional investment will cloud his judgement. Just as it clouds yours, right now, by choosing to speak to me.”

“You think I have chosen to speak because I emotional?” Truthless asked, the snarkiness in his voice painting a vivid picture of that smirk in Sage’s mind. “Well, ask Sage what he thinks. Does he think I am being emotional?”

Silence descended upon the room.

Before he could even think to act inconspicuous, the door opened unto Sage, unveiling Elder Faerie. He stood tall, sword in hand and scowling. The room behind him was dark, every last candle snuffed out—perhaps due to the Beast’s presence—and he could only just see a table standing amidst an array of instruments of torture, a table, and a chair.

“Hi there!”

Elder Faerie did not acknowledge Sage’s greeting.

“You opted for silence until now, because the Grand Sage was in the audience?” He asked the mirror sat upon the table. Truthless smiled not at Elder Faerie, but Sage. It was exhausted, barely a smile to begin with—but that was just evidence that it was genuine. Sage returned it. “Are you lovesick, or just that calculated?”

“It was easy enough to predict. Cookies are social creatures, after all, and you know what Sage is like.” Truthless Recluse’s smile faded into the same neutral it always was. “Always pursuing the truth. And say, if you feel in the mood to tell me the truth, why not oblige him?”

“Yes, yes! Why not? This sounds like quite the juicy tidbit!”

Elder Faerie closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and opened them again. Sage recognized that habit—he always did it whenever his subjects bothered him. This time, it was Sage bothering him. Some small part of him, the one that was eager to irritate and annoy his fellow creature, rejoiced at the sight.

“I understand that no matter where we go, the Beast shall follow.”

“I exist beyond reflections, Elder Faerie Cookie. I am shadows. And, as I currently exist, my soul is a part of Sage. You could walk to the edges of Earthbread and I would be there, waiting for you, as I always have. You can remain in place, and I would be there, right beside you, as I always will be. I am here, I am there, I am anywhere Deceit can touch.”

“Thank you, Beast, for the lecture, but we gathered as much.” He hissed between gritted teeth. “There is no point in taking this conversation into a private place, nor sending you away. We learned whatever we could learn from doing so.”

“You were trying to appeal to my protectiveness of Sage to force my hand into an appearance yesterday. It was painfully obvious.”

“And it nearly worked, mind you.”

“It failed because you did not actually try to cut his head off!”

Sage gasped, feigning horror at this confession. He placed a hand over his Soul Jam, willing false tears to spring forth.

“Oh, my dear, you wound me so! You would have waited until after this bully cut off my head?!”

“Ahem.” Elder Faerie bristled at the crude name. “Enough of this. Now is as good a time as any to discuss our potential treatment plans. Sage, if you would please sit down.”

“Oho! Don’t mind if I do!”

Sage floated over to the table upon which Truthless sat, perching beside him in such a way that he could maintain closeness, but distant enough to allow him glances at his expressions whenever they changed in his peripherals.

“Sage, the…the chair?” Elder Faerie gestured to the lone chair, one that appeared to be intended for the recipient of torture. He did not believe that the Queen harbored any ill intentions towards him—quite the contrary, in fact—but his refusal to sit properly was just another means to annoy Elder Faerie.

“This is quite fine!” He assured him. “I am not one for the harshness of metal, really, I am a delicate creature.”

Elder Faerie raised a brow, but said nothing more on the subject. He cleared his throat once more, indicating that the lapse in business was not to last.

“I trust that you, too, have been brainstorming a means to separate yourself from Him?”

“Indeed I have! Unfortunately, such magic is forbidden catagorically by the Witches, ergo, any prior research I have is mere fragments of the full picture. I trust that you, on the other hand, who can commune with the Witches whenever you please, have received more lucrative results?”

“That is correct. They are willing to bend the rules for our sake, in the name of separating Truth and Deceit. One shall vitiate the other, it is inevitable. The power of Virtue and Sin were never meant to be maintained by one Cookie, nor was your body baked to endure the constant strain of two souls.”

“If it means anything, I, too, have been contemplating this.” Truthless muttered. “My Spire has accumulated many tomes that detail such forbidden rites and how to complete them. Whether I have any passages regarding the separation of souls is no more than blind hope, really, given how unique our situation is. But it is possible that it does, and an option to be considered.”

“You shall be doing no such thing. I forbid it.” Elder Faerie commanded. “We have all the resources and information necessary for an extraction; it is merely a matter of opportunity and your cooperation.”

“Oh? So those old hags did something useful after all!”

Elder Faerie shot Sage a glare, one that seethed from his heretical remarks. He continued on without comment.

“We must maintain your physical and mental health in the utmost condition, by any means necessary. I understand that He has been contributing, despite serving to cause anguish in equal measure. In order to perform this rite, I shall require the recovery of a magical artifact, which is the most difficult prospect of them all. And, as a precaution, contingencies must be in place to prevent harm, should the spell backfire in any way.”

“Oh? An artifact, you say? I have quite the collection, my dear, I may already possess it!”

“I doubt it.”

“Oh, ye of little faith! Come now, indulge me a moment! Describe this artifact, and we can perhaps begin our search within my own museum!” Sage persuaded, despite the dread beginning to seep into his bones. He had a sneaking suspicion that he had seen this artifact before, but he wanted to hear it straight from Elder Faerie. “Tell me, what exactly should we be looking for?”

“It is a mirror.”

Sage sat still as a statue, his expression dull and distant. His mind, however, was alive, and it was in a state of pure panic.

“A golden frame with black glass. Shards of Passion, Freedom, Abundance, Resolution, and Truth had been contributed by the Soul Jam’s keepers, visible in the sockets equally distributed along the frame, to fortify it. It is nigh indestructible, and holds a powerful miasma within its depths. While I have not beheld the object for some time, I presume it has been damaged in some way to allow the Beast to exist in our world.”

The color began to drain from Sage’s face. In his peripherals, Truthless Recluse was staring straight ahead. He bore no expression, save for the twitching of his brow. If there was any hope before, that description left no room for doubt. It was the very mirror that Truthless had begged him not to bring.

He knew this was going to happen.

He knew that Sage would be forced to choose.

His one and only friend, or the safety of his Kingdom, of Earthbread.

Sage glanced at his companion, to realize that he had been staring at him for some time. That dull expression, was it resignation or hope? And what, exactly, was he hoping for? Did he seek penitence, the righteous path? Or to continue reveling in the selfish joys of company?

Whatever it was, Sage knew his answer now.

“Ah, what a shame!” He sighed, feigning disappointment with all his might. “I fear I have not heard of such a trinket! To think even the Grand Sage of Truth would fail you. But with my intellect and your power, it is but a matter of time that we shall recover it!“

“Time is not on our side. We do not have the luxury of scouring each corner of Earthbread. For as long as the Beast abounds, His Deceit will continue to poison you, and everything around you. The fundamentals are already beginning to unravel in the Yogurt Kingdom. It is a matter of weeks before this Kingdom, too, begins buckling under the influence of Deceit. We must locate the artifact, swiftly.”

“Well, who else would know its whereabouts other than Truthless Recluse himself?”

Elder Faerie hissed softly, clutching his head with one hand. He staggered a moment, leaning upon the wall for support. Truthless glanced at Sage, his lips stretched into a thin line. Oops. Not again.

“Ah! Sorry!” Sage had the grace to look sheepish, if but for a moment. “Actually, I was wondering! Since even you react to his full name, why were you unaffected by those times I only said ‘Truthless?’”

“Is it not obvious? I did not enchant the components of my name, just the two strung together.” His reflection groaned, as though disciplining a troublesome student. “I would not want someone to say the word ‘truthless’ or ‘recluse’ and unwittingly incur a migraine. It is only with the intent to invoke my presence in the most certain of terms that the curse takes effect.”

“You know, I had failed to consider that. Clever you!”

“It is just harm reduction. Nothing more.”

“Your…your assertion is logical, Grand Sage, but we cannot be certain that He shall speak truthfully in regards to the mirror’s location.” Elder Faerie steadied himself, yet he visibly suffered from the impact of Truthless Recluse’s name. “He could send us on a wild goose chase all over Earthbread, while He weaves His Deceitful magic for every place unfortunate enough to be targeted.”

“But really, why is that? Is it because he does not want the rite to take place? And for what purpose?”

Elder Faerie said nothing.

“Why the devil would he lie? When he wants to be free from me just as badly as I? That makes no sense.“ Sage smiled on, though his eyes betrayed his true intentions. “I fear that you may be withholding something crucial from me. Something that would prevent, or otherwise impede, Truthless from speaking truthfully about our little trinket’s whereabouts.”

“A lofty accusation. What makes you say that?”

“The rite itself, silly! How do you intend to separate us? And how do you know for certain that you are capable of untangling Truth from Deceit, Ancient from Beast, without severe consequences following?”

“I have the Witches’ blessing to move forward with the rite. They spoke of no other alternative. We have no choice but to pursue it as treatment.”

“And if the Witches are wrong to conclude that this is our only means of separation?”

“I understand your difficult history with them, but Sage, please. Enough. We must trust in their judgement. Why are you so intent on casting doubt upon divine methods? Unless…” Elder Faerie’s solemn expression was cast in shadow, silver eyes gleaming with the sharpness of a blade. “You do not want to receive treatment?”

“I never said that! I want Truthless to be free, just like any other Cookie! Cookies deserve the right to move as they please, where they please, how they please, and he is no exception. And as far as I can tell, he is more Cookie than darkness. He still has compassion, empathy, a desire to protect the Cookies of this world.”

“And he does so in a most cruel way.”

“Perhaps I, being the arbiter of Truth, can show him the error of his ways.”

“That is wishful thinking.”

“It is anything but! If I could just-”

“That is far enough, Sage.”

Both figures turned to face the mirror sat upon the table. Truthless had discarded all attempts to maintain neutrality, black gums revealed in a grimace.

“If you truly think you can save me, please forget it. I am too far gone. Traces of the Cookie I once was may still exist, but their persistence is accidental, and I have willfully chosen to forsake my past self. Truth shall never truly prevail over Deceit, and nor shall Deceit truly prevail over Truth. But I shall fight, to the bitter end, to swaddle this world in Deceit, for it is for their own good.”

“Oh, you ruined it!” Sage groaned. “I was getting somewhere!”

“No, you were not.” Elder Faerie corrected. “Please understand, your words hold very little power. I do not know to what extent the Beast is puppeteering your emotions and thoughts. We shall make preparations for the rite henceforth. Where do you believe the artifact is?”

“The Spire of All Knowledge.” Truthless lied without flinching. My, what a talented actor. “Where else?”

“Ah! The Spire! What a fascinating place! Alas, I could never find a way inside. Is that your domain, dear Recluse?”

“Why do you think I never allowed you entry?”

“So it was occupied after all! I knew something was holding that door closed!”

“Enough squabbling, both of you.” Elder Faerie sheathed his sword, wings fluttering as though preparing to take flight. “I must hasten to the Spire.”

“I? What do you mean, I?” Truthless Recluse asked, his voice gouging like a dagger. “You cannot enter the Spire of All Knowledge, let alone ascend the Peak of Truth. Cookies untouched by the will of Truth or Deceit cannot enter, let alone comprehend what lies beyond.”

“And you two cannot be trusted to go anywhere, let alone by yourselves.“

“At least we would be able to enter the damn Spire!” Truthless snarled. “You would be turned away at the gates to my realm! The Sage was lucky to even reach the front door!”

“My apologies for the interjection, but I think you meant talented, courageous, and wise, correct?”

“What I meant to say is that you are an idiot, bold and brash, to come knocking at my door yourself. Have you no shame?”

“Feigning interpersonal tension to make me think your sway on his emotions is not as intense as I previously thought? Quite the tactic you are stooping to.” Elder Faerie shook his head, his voice grave as ever. “What a shame that it was all in vain. I forbid you from leaving. That is final. Understand?”

“But Elder Faerie! Do you really trust us to coexist alone, in your Kingdom, with nothing to do and nowhere to go? Surely you know what that does to a man!”

“Are you pleading your case based on boredom?”

“Yes!”

“Objection overruled. You will stay.”

Sage gaped at Elder Faerie, his disbelief genuine—and quite apparent on his face, if but for a moment. Unbelievable! After all this time, this is how he dared to treat him?! Boring him to death in an empty Kingdom with no proper bed to call his own?! How annoying!

“I must commune with the Witches, now. Farewell.”

And just like that, the Faerie Queen departed with the slam of rusty metal.

Sage slouched, wondering what to do. He and Truthless had collaborated on the lie, one that was just convincing enough for their warden to consider. But they both knew the truth, the truth that lay snug between all his other belongings in Sage’s holding cell. They had the means to seal Truthless Recluse away all this time, and it was given to him by Truthless Recluse himself.

That was the first question that left his lips.

“Truthless, dear, why did you give it to me?” He whispered, plucking the mirror that held his companion and cradling it in his arms. “Why did you give it to me, knowing I could have used it against you at any given time?”

“You were too busy playing house with me to even think about it for weeks.”

“I was thinking about it, I assure you! I was just, er, very distracted.”

“And now that you are free from distractions, alone with me, and know there is a means to rid yourself of me forever…” Truthless murmured, his voice burdened with sorrow. “…will you?”

Sage said nothing. He drew the mirror close, holding it to his chest in the closest thing to a hug he could offer. He could hear Truthless gasp softly, startled by the affectionate gesture. He caressed the silvery frame, humming as he contemplated his response.

“The closest thing to an answer I can give you at this point is…not yet. I want to enjoy your company a little longer.”

“But that will make the final parting hurt even more!”

“I want to part ways with a smile. Knowing that I did everything I could for you until the Witches decide the curtain is to fall on our little farce.” Sage murmured, tracing gentle circles into the back of the mirror he clutched. “That will make the pain easier to stomach.”

“Sage…”

“I do not believe that this is the only way to give you the freedom you so dearly desire. I have to do my own research. Perhaps my suspicions are incorrect. Perhaps my distrust in Elder Faerie is but a product of my own biases, the ones I harbor towards you. Perhaps if he had gotten to me first, before we truly had a chance to love each other, I would feel differently.”

“Love?”

“Platonically! Obviously!” Ah, there went his composure. “I-I did not mean to make it sound like that! You see, I am most practiced at romantic comedies! I am a most handsome candidate for the role, after all, and many Cookies have fallen in love with me, so my monologues tend to come across as-“

Truthless was not listening. No, he was stifling laughter—laughter that spilled from between his fingers as sweet as birdsong.

“WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!” Sage howled.

“I just find it funny, you know. For someone who champions his ability to stay in character, you kind of suck at it. When it comes to me, at least. And I find it sort of endearing.” Truthless coughed once, twice, and then resumed. “These kinds of feelings, they feel strange. I thought I would never love again. Romantically, platonically, or whatever the hell is going on between us…”

“Well, here we are.”

A moment of silence came and went. Here they were, two sick men, quarantined in the heart of the Faerie Kingdom to protect the rest of the world. But even in such a predicament, they found comfort in each other. Sage rubbed his hand along the mirror, wishing desperately that it was not glass beneath his fingers, but dough. Dough that was soft, warm, yielding to his touch.

Oh, what could he do to bring Truthless to life?

“I…I like you, at the least. That much I have to admit.” Truthless muttered. “I know honesty is not exactly my thing. But it hurts to keep it inside. I guess I cannot truly blame myself for telling the truth, just this once.”

“Well, I like you too! Very much!”

“Someone is eager.” Oh, that smirk. It set Sage’s heart ablaze. “You were holding that back for a long time, no?”

“How long, I cannot be certain. But your presumption is correct.”

“Well, I suppose that makes two of us, then.”

“Would you care to explain, in 300 words or more, what that is supposed to mean and why?”

“Nice try, but I am not taking homework assignments from you.”

“Humor me, for once in your life!”

“Would it be fair to ask me to be vulnerable with you, but refuse to be vulnerable with me?” Truthless asked, suddenly switching his approach. “So, if you want these compliments that badly, go ahead and tell me what you were doing in your room this morning.”

Sage stared off into space, recalling what he was doing, and exactly why. It began as a spark, but in no time at all, his cheeks began to burn. How did he know about that? He was being interrogated by Elder Faerie, was he not?

And then, words from the interrogation resurfaced in his mind. I am here, I am there, I am anywhere Deceit can touch. And, in that moment, Sage realized that Truthless had seen the whole thing unfold without speaking a word.

“You win this round, you little rapscallion.” He said at last, squeezing the mirror in his arms as though it might vanish at any moment. “But at least you admitted that what you feel towards me is complimentary!”

“And you are surprised when I laugh at you?” Truthless chuckled. “You are an actor. Part of your job is to make Cookies feel. And you make me feel something. Congratulations.”

“Surely it is not all humor derived from drama or suffering?”

“No, but until you tell me why you were plucking petals from those flowers, you will never know the truth.”

“You are so mean to me!”

“It is called bargaining, Sage. Perhaps you could give it a try once in a while. You have something that I want, I have something that you want. We trade. Simple as that.”

“Well, what I want is for you to stop poking around in matters that do not concern you. What price tag do you put on that, hmm?”

“That will be one billion coins, my good sir.”

“Truuuuuthless! Come on!” Sage whined, frustrated and flustered, yet some part of him was begging to be teased even more. Just humiliating. The protests on his lips never ceased, for he had a pride to cling to. “Give me a break! Have I not hurt enough?”

“Hmm. Maybe if you whine my name like that one more time, I might just consider it.”

Sage’s heart stopped. He never expected such vulgarity from Truthless Recluse, of all Cookies in the world. Once his brain processed the shock, his heart pulsed again—this time in a far more frantic tempo.

“You are unbelievable.”

“Are you going to do it or not?”

Sage sat there, throat tightening around the groans of frustration and desire welling up from within. He swallowed them down, tasting bittersweet as they rolled down his throat. His teeth sank into his lip, just enough to draw beads of jam bubbling to the surface. He wiped his lips clean on his sleeve—how indecent—but in the moment, his image was the furthest thing from his mind.

Perhaps that was some form of mercy. Though his face betrayed little of his conflicted emotions, the flush of his cheeks spoke for itself. And it spoke praises, the reward for being adept enough to penetrate his armor and touch the heart of not the puppet, but the puppeteer.

“Well?”

“Spare me a moment, if you would be so kind!”

Sage breathed, steadying himself as he prepared for the new role thrust upon him. Yet his mind was plunged into chaos, a cacophony of demands from the director, from the actor, from the audience member, all existed within him. And all were displeased. They rendered him still as a statue, indecision commanding him to be still. Through the maelstrom of voices ordering him to move in a thousand different ways, he heard Truthless, speaking his own name.

Truthless Recluse. Truthless Recluse. Truthless Recluse.

The words rolled through his mind in lazy arcs, congealed and warm. The ghost of the sounds haunted his mouth, but never departed. There they remained, melting into his tongue as dusky vanilla and honey. Sage raised a hand to his throat, feeling the dough shift as his muscles undulated, but the only sound permitted to pass his lips was a low whine.

All he had to do was say it. Say his name, and this humiliating deviation from the script could conclude. But his mind was blank. As though the words “Truthless Recluse” meant nothing to him, a phrase twisted by semantic satiation as it repeated ad nauseam within his head into total nonsense.

Truthless Recluse. Truthless Recluse. Truthless Recluse.

Even in repetition, Sage was enamored. The sounds were so simple, yet filled with underlying complexities, such intricacies comparable to fine wine. Take a professor to become so enraptured by words and sounds—even he was confused as to why he was so aroused by the notion. But it fascinated him, the structure in which his name was composed. The dip of the voice into the beginning of “Tru,” ascending to a whistle upon “th,” ending in a hiss of “less.” Truthless. Such a lovely name, carved from of breath and thought, a marriage of tongue, teeth, and lips.

His lips parted, the tip of his tongue furling as he tasted that name upon it. Words! Fascinating! He was certainly not getting off on this, no, not him. The Sage was a decent character, a man in control of himself at all times. And he was not pressing into the cool metal of the table, not desperately chasing the friction he knew Recluse could not provide. No, no. What made you think that?

“My patience is running thin, you know.”

Perhaps all the jam rushing from his head was what induced such delirium. Perhaps nights spent dreaming of such an intimate moment becoming reality was what paralyzed him. But he could not say it. Such simple words, yet an impossible task for the fool sat upon the table. Smiling as though he had not a care in the world, the only evidence to his inner turmoil the burning of his cheeks and the crown of sweat glittering upon his brow.

“Say it.”

Something in him snapped.

“That does it! I have had enough of this!” Sage declared in a pitiful scramble to salvage his pride. “I am not degrading myself for your amusement, you bastard! If you want me to make those indecent sounds, come and make me!”

Somewhere, deep down inside, he liked this feeling. He liked it too much. His words were not a threat, but an invitation. The heat burning in his face began to creep lower, and lower, until it threatened to make itself noticeable against the fabric of his suit. Sage pressed his thighs together, praying that Truthless would not notice. He could not resist treating himself to just a little friction, squirming upon the table with his eyes gleaming innocently.

“Make you?” Truthless echoed, his soft voice heavy with desire. Sage felt a pressure against his neck, the shadows constricting ever so slightly. His movements stopped—something was holding him down. “Oh, I could certainly do that. Is this a warning, or an invitation?”

“I should be asking you, really.” He ground out from between clenched teeth. “But consider it both.”

“If you are inviting me to take what I want from you, I have no reason not to accept.”

Sage felt something glide along the back of his neck, cold and formless, his own shadow manipulated by unseen hands. It slid between his shoulder blades, rising and falling over each protrusion of his spine, until it rested upon his lower back. He shuddered at the sensation. Still clutching the mirror close, Sage reclined against the table. There he lay, flat on his back and panting softly.

“You know what I want. Are you going to give it to me?”

“You want me to say your name?”

“Good job, you remembered.” Truthless answered, his voice dripping with honeyed venom. And despite the sarcasm, Sage relished the sweetness of praise. “This is your last chance. Are you going to say it, or are you forcing my hand?”

“Why do you keep asking for permission? Are you nervous, dear?” Sage cooed, summoning his courage to meet the Beast’s gaze. Were it not for the slight tremble, the breath caught in his throat, he would have appeared fully in control of the situation. “Oh, you are just so cute!”

“Shut up.”

Sage gasped as the shadows around his neck curled tighter, tighter, until his trachea began to burn from the pressure. He coughed, choked, his fingers scratching at his neck in an attempt to loosen the darkness strangling him. But he felt nothing beneath his fingertips, just an impression of where his own shadow betrayed him. This was a warning, yet it felt so good. So very good.

“Are you going to behave?”

“As if that is enough to discipline someone like me!” Sage laughed, a sputtering sound breaking under the pressure of Recluse’s tendrils. “Try harder next time—or are you incapable of it, my little bird?”

He could not resist a little tease. This was but a means to an end, a means to push Truthless Recluse into expressing those repressed desires Sage knew he feared. He knew this was the only way to wrest the Truth from his heart; his emotions were the only tool at the scholar’s disposal. All else failed. To lure Truthless from the mundanity of chastity, he had to stoke those flames until they scorched them both.

“Mm. As I expected.” Truthless mumbled. “You leave me with no choice.”

His soul felt as though it was being dragged out of his body, falling into an endless abyss—yet it landed not in the embrace of death, but something in between. A limbo, a sensation of floating in emptiness. This sensation seemed to accompany every time Truthless manipulated his shadow, and truthfully, he did not hate it. No, this time it felt like he was cradled in something that was gentle, even protective.

The shadows that clung to his legs, in any other circumstance so obedient and quiet, curled around his thighs and shoved them apart. Sage’s breath hitched, his body betraying himself as it urged him to submit to whatever his dearest wanted. To sing his name, to sing his praises, to please him in every possible way. Oh Witches, if only Truthless could feel this inferno ravaging his body. If only he could feel him.

But if he submitted to his will now, Truthless might lose momentum. So he remained patient, allowing the shadows to simply wander. As much as the meandering pace pained him so, he knew not to intervene. Not yet, anyway.

The mirror floated out of Sage’s grasp when he relaxed his fingers, bobbing at just the right angle to drink in the sight of his dough. Sage posed for his audience, with the arch of his back that called attention to every lurid detail, the shift of his legs as he opened unto Truthless without shame.

“Do you like what you see, my sweet canary?” He whispered, sapphire eyes gleaming with seduction. He batted his eyelashes up at the mirror, guiding the Beast’s gaze with his hands from the rise of his chest to the curve of his stomach. “Will you sing for me?”

Truthless did not appear to hear him, not at first. He was silently observing, eyes measuring him in that same methodical way—he dragged his gaze from the tips of his fingers to the right shoulder, then flickered to the other arm, moving inwards once again and resting upon his collarbone. Only then did he dare to drift downward. Sage was fully clothed still, yet he seemed as flustered as though he was bare.

“Oh.”

“Is that it? Oh?” Sage snapped, his patience vanishing. “Come on!”

“Sorry.” Truthless coughed, as though he was suffering from a terrible illness. He certainly looked the part—he was shivering ever so slightly, flushed as though in the throes of a fever, sweat glistening upon his cheeks. “I just, er, how do you intend to make this work?”

“Where did all that big talk go, huh? Think of something!”

“I was not expecting us to get this far! I-I never let myself think about it!”

Sage paused, blinking up at the mirror. Poor Truthless was fighting with all his might just to steady himself, to maintain a neutral expression and ignore the fire that raged within. But oh, Sage could see right through him. His breath gathered upon the glass, a smoke dark and heavy. And where there was smoke, there was fire.

“You never let yourself think about it?” He repeated, lips curling in a smile as he connected the dots. “You mean you were fantasizing about me, and you refused to even let yourself enjoy the good part?”

“I…thought it indecent…” He muttered. The sound was so constricted by the tightness of his throat it was a miracle it escaped at all.

“Indecent? That was what you were worried about? Constantly edging yourself up to a release and then denying yourself like that is far more indecent than whatever fancies plagued that pretty head of yours! Go on, share with the class! What did you want to think about that you found so indecent you forbid yourself from any pleasure, mm? Clock is ticking!”

“I am not going to tell you that!”

“Minus ten points!” Sage cheered, slamming his legs shut and hopping off the table. He began striding towards the door, torturing his dearest Recluse in such a manner that the instruments of agony that surrounded them could only dream of inflicting. “See me after class for some makeup work. You will need it for a passing grade!”

“W-wait, are you-”

“Yes! I have some theories to test, my dear, I am a very busy man.”

Panic ravaged Truthless Recluse’s composure, only ashes remaining in its wake. His lips moved without thinking.

“SAGE!”

He paused, hand resting upon the handle of the door. The Sage of Truth turned to face the mirror floating in the air, his gaze that of a predator stalking away from the scene of the hunt. He had won, and he knew it. Truthless was more surprised about the outburst than Sage was. He lifted a gnarled hand to his mouth, his expression nothing but horror.

“Yeees?”

He had all the time in the world to decide. And when Truthless finally mustered the strength to speak, he could only bear to breathe two tiny words.

“…never mind.”

“Denying yourself again?” Sage snorted, a most undignified sound which he hastened to correct with a dainty chuckle. That old fool was going to be the death of him, truly. “Poor thing! But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me, my dear Truthless.”

Sage exited the room, the silver door slamming shut with a force he did not intend. He pressed his back against the cool surface, providing some relief to his burning dough. He could finally breathe again. Maintaining his composure before Truthless was a new kind of hell. And now that he had a moment of solitude, that composure unraveled in the blink of an eye.

He let out a soft whine, grinding up against the door. The Beast’s expressions were just divine, his face a beauty that could be fashioned only by the Witches. And oh, his sounds! The way his breath hitched in his throat, the tension in his voice as he struggled to tame the passion that burned beneath, everything. Good heavens, it was enough to make his head spin. He could have just combusted right then and there.

By some miracle, Sage survived with his pride somewhat unscathed.

But just how long could he endure this?

Chapter Text

When the Sage of Truth returned to his abode that evening, his reflection did not follow.

Only silence remained, punctuated by a mumbling monologue or two from its lone occupant. He tried to distract himself, truly, he did. But neither his body nor mind allowed him to spare any thought towards other matters, like some mindless animal in heat. He could not forget, he would not forget, and every second crawled forward in agony.

Nothing to do. Nothing fun, that is.

He dared not settle in one place for long. He drifted from one end of the room to the other, spinning in lazy revolutions as a moon orbits its star. But the star he was searching for was swallowed by the darkness, its light never reaching him beyond echoes from countless lightyears away. Alas, he continued to orbit, a subconscious plea to return to his side once more.

His body accosted him, uniting every limb, every organ, every inch of his dough in wholehearted protest against his devotion to his pride. He laid a hand over his heart, thumping from the lingering adrenaline in a frenzy. It implored him to appease his own needs—even if it must be done in isolation. He began a new revolution around the room. If his Beast was there, he would have counted each lap. The number was currently at 32.

The movement distracted him, just enough to entertain the idea of ignoring his feelings until Truthless Recluse returned.

His darling Recluse was hiding from him again, just beyond his perception. His absence was unbearable. But Sage saw no point in coaxing his other half out, no matter how dearly he missed him. He could not reach beyond the glass and wrest him from the safety of isolation, nor prise words from his silent lips. All Sage could do was wait.

And wait.

And wait.

He slept alone, ignoring the burning desires he could not indulge. They lingered by his side, warming him with tongues of flame through the night. When he awoke, the heat had dulled, leaving scorched earth in its wake. But the sparks remained, threatening to begin a new bonfire should he make one misstep.

Sleeping did not help at all. How annoying. But it was to be expected. It had been far too long since he last enjoyed such an exciting encounter! If only he could have let it last…

Thoughts of his pride were all he had left to cling to—the last bastion against the inferno. He had nowhere to hide from his other half’s presence. If he revealed how much he wanted this, how much he wanted Truthless, it was over. Would he ever be taken seriously again, if he revealed himself to be as helpless before his own primitive urges as any other Cookie?

What was some temporary relief in the face of his perfect image? The Sage of Truth was an Ancient Hero, a living legend and the guardian of the Yogurt Kingdom! He was above such tiresome affairs! The need to procreate was simply not a part of the Witches’ recipe! And he was baked for the very purpose of spreading the Truth!

Right?

Sage lay in his flower bed, eyes fixated upon the ceiling stalactites kissed by glowing moss. He interlocked his fingers above his heart, as though he was a corpse laid to rest. His dough was dead, face frozen in a smile. His mind, however, was alive. The battle raged on within its vast expanse, staining it dark and dull with the carnage of thoughts.

Satisfy his desires, or maintain his image. Disentangle these feelings, or seek shelter in the character of his own design. What was the right answer? What was the moral answer? What a bother, having to fuss about the greater good! All he wanted was to find the Truth!

If only he could be an insect. Insects never worried about such annoying things.

He sighed, the sound unraveling into a growl of annoyance. He turned over and over in the flower bed. The discomfort from the night before had yet to truly abate—centuries of ignoring his desire for companionship outside of a few lapses in judgement lead to the lingering. His roused dough was difficult to quell, despite any attempts to intervene. And now, the stakes were even higher.

He was being watched. He was being measured with a methodical eye, tested to see his limits. It was a matter of pride. He would at least fight to the bitter end before he allowed himself to succumb.

Sage could think of nothing else. Truthless Recluse had taken over his mind. Had the room become colder, or was it the flare of heat beneath his dough that rendered him prone to shivers? Was it the natural darkness of the hollow, or was Truthless lurking in the shadows surrounding him? There was really only one way to test that theory.

He rose into the air, drifting to the mirror suspended by the vines. Upon hearing his approach, the vines twisted forward, as if offering him the shard of glass they bore. He laid a hand upon the cool surface, searching for himself, for someone else, for anything. But today, it reflected nothing. Not even the room. If Sage did not know better than to presume, it might have assumed someone had gotten rather clumsy with their illusion magic.

If it was anything like the spells Sage knew of, he could try to dispel it. But he wanted the Beast to come out, of his own volition.

“Truthless?”

A resounding silence was all that answered him.

“You can come out now, whenever you like. I promise you, I am a gentleman! I do not bite! Unless you ask nicely, that is.”

The silence stretched into oblivion, a reassurance that he was alone. But Sage carried on, as though this was not so definitive, his voice fading into whispers as he realized another possible explanation for his absence.

“Truthless, dear, are you angry with me?”

Nothing.

“If I upset you, you really ought to tell me. Your silence may obfuscate the details, but I know you feel something beyond that mask of impassivity. You certainly did the night before.” Sage teased, his words soft and velvety upon his tongue. “I saw the way you looked at me. You want this. You need this. You deny yourself because you believe you do not deserve it.”

Still nothing.

“…I-I liked it, you fool.” He muttered, resting his cheek against the mirror that bore no reflection. The cool glass kissed his dough, sobering him ever so slightly. “Was it not obvious? I never expected you to deny it again, after all that. I wanted you to say yes. I wanted you to choose me. And you chose wrong. What a shame.”

Ah, too honest.

Sage sighed as silence washed over him once more. His breath clouded the glass, a haze that clung to its surface. When he wiped it away with a swipe of his sleeve, he hoped against hope that his reflection would be staring back at him. Of course not. And as each second ticked by, his frustration began to claw at the mask that muzzled it, a beast barely tamed and threatening to rampage.

“I wish you would have the courage to face me again. I know you are embarrassed, but really now, I am the only one that embarrassed myself. What did you do, other than act a little more dominating than usual? I was begging you, Truthless, for anything you could possibly give me. I was spreading myself open for you like some common whore. And still! You refused to choose me! Had I degraded myself too much for your liking, holy man? Have I, the mighty Sage of Truth, become tainted in your eyes?”

The Sage of Truth stared into the mirror, searching with rising desperation for any sign of life. He saw nothing. Even with his eyes, his aptitude for magic, the mirror appeared entirely void of presence.

“Fine. Be that way.”

There was still one thing he had yet to try. One final trick up his sleeve. And it was the most embarrassing of them all—more than enough justification to cease entertaining it. To think that even the noble, the mighty, the grand Sage of Truth would stoop so low! But his dough had been begging for it, all this time. He could not endure much more of this.

“Poor, poor Sage.” He muttered under his breath, turning away from the mirror and floating to the other side of the room once more. “Abandoned! Betrayed! Left to suffer alone!”

How cruel! Truly, how could any friend do such a thing?

Could they really be called friends at this point? Sage was not an idiot, it was his job to be smart! He had observed all of these pieces of evidence—the way Truthless Recluse’s dull eyes lit up whenever they met his, the pink tinge to his cheeks whenever Sage teased him, the tension between them as of late.

But he did not believe it. He could not believe it. He did not want to let himself have that hope.

He was no better than Truthless, swaddling himself in the comfort of denial and lies just to protect himself. And from what, exactly? What was he so afraid of? Truthless Recluse? Or himself, as he was stripped bare of costume and frills before the Beast’s hungry gaze?

Sage breathed slowly. It was now or never. Remain here in solitude, paralyzed in fear, or seize this chance to bring his dearest back to his side.

His fingers tensed, twitching with anticipation of what was to come. What would Recluse like? Attempting to appeal to his interests was not yet possible. Too risky. All he knew was that Truthless liked him. He doubted that even he knew or understood his own sexual proclivities well, if his prior statements were anything to go by.

Never let himself think about it.

Well, he was going to get ample opportunity to think about it, as long as he likes, and in salacious detail.

Truthless seemed smitten with the form Sage had displayed in the baths. His guess was correct, Truthless was not interested in a perfect Cookie—for reasons beyond Sage. He could have smoothed out every last imperfection that day, as he always did, but his untouched visage appealed to his dearest far more. So, for his sake, Sage chose to abstain from alterations. It was just him. Or what he remembered his body to look like, anyway.

That did not make disrobing any easier.

He began with the Soul Jam, plucking it from its place with the greatest of care. Then he undid the ruffle around his neck. He laid the two aside upon his dresser. Without their weight, he could breathe again. Sage pressed a hand to his bared neck, feeling the ripple of his muscles as he swallowed down his anxiety. What a strange feeling, to even expose his throat.

Stay calm. Just stay calm. This is a performance, like any other. Why was he so anxious? Was he worried about impressing the Beast? Or was it something else that gnawed at his ribcage, raking its talons through his innards?

He lifted his hat from its perch atop his head, and it, too, sat upon the dresser. He felt so naked already, yet he stood fully clothed before the mirror. What was wrong with him? Why was he so nervous? Was he the Sage of Truth, or Truthless Recluse?! He was supposed to be the confident one, weaving sweet seduction with his tongue! He was supposed to be the dominating one, crushing the Beast beneath his heel!

Perhaps it was his imagination, but he could have sworn he felt a slight movement around his neck, a shifting in dough that was not his own.

He seized his scepter, raised it, and conjured a rain of pillows and blankets for his own comfort. If he was going to please himself, it may as well be in some level of comfort. He arranged them to maximize comfort, forming a protective nest of pillows to ease the ache in his back from sleeping on the ground. He laid aside his staff once more. He would not need it for what was to come.

Sage’s hands drifted along his own curves, as though unacquainted with his body. He had assumed a thousand different forms in his lifetime, but this one was not quite so perfect. His shoulders jutted out, forming a broad silhouette that tapered into slender and thin arms. His collarbone was ever so slightly asymmetrical, one half ending and the other beginning just shy of where it ought to. His ribcage pressed outward, and his abdomen drifted inward, creating a silhouette that was not quite the svelte one he yearned for. Rather, without the layers of silk to protect the observer from witnessing these imperfections, it appeared gangly. Stupid. Ugly.

He could feel these imperfections even through the fabric—he had memorized their locations and exactly how to fix them long ago. Self-love, even if it was intended only for relaxation, was a most difficult task if he had not fixed these issues.

But Truthless was worth the trouble. And if he liked it so much, then there must be some merit to this body of his. Some merit that the bearer himself is blind to. Such reasoning was beyond Sage, make no mistake, but beauty is not innate to an object, but that which the observer perceives. Maybe, just maybe, he was beautiful. Even like this.

Oh, right. He was supposed to be performing.

Sage drew breath anew, unaware that he had forgotten to do so. Daydreams can wait. He has a job to do. And with this in mind, he slipped a hand between his legs, two fingers pressing against the throbbing dough between them. He moaned softly, the sound soaked in a pleasure he did not truly feel. Not yet, at least. He tipped his head back, eyelashes fluttering as he rubbed circles into the fabric. His dough rewarded him with a jolt of pleasure, singing upon his nerves in electric pulses.

Sage bit back a whine as he pressed a little too hard. Was this enough preparation? He still felt so anxious. But he was already wet; further preparation was unnecessary. His issue was purely psychological. He would rather keep his clothes on, so as to not subject himself to the sorry sight of his raw and unrefined form, but he had no other choice. And so, he began to fumble with his waistcoat, button by button, feeling—and no doubt looking—rather pathetic.

With one less layer restricting his breathing, Sage relaxed slightly. Just enough to slouch against the wall, spine pressed into the pillows behind him. He let the silk cascade over his body, as a curtain would drape over the stage to conclude the first act of his performance. And with this conclusion, he steadied himself for the mockery he presumed would be coming his way.

Any minute now. Any minute now, surely?

Sage was glad to be the performer, not the observer. He could not imagine being so smitten with the likes of him, let alone take pleasure in the sight of his bared form in its unrefined state. In the face of the doubts gnawing upon his heart, he steadied his hand and continued undressing.

Slow and steady.

Sage was not one for such slow or methodical procedures. But he knew he could not rush this. Not just for his audience’s sake, but for his own. He slipped out of one sleeve of his blouse, then the other, and laid it to rest by the rippling silk of his vest. A shiver danced through his dough as his body, so warm and sensitive, met the cool air of his chambers.

He hazarded a glance downward. Witches, what did Truthless see in him?

Right before his eyes, he watched as his chest heaved with ragged breaths. His dough, a brilliant blue, sparkled with sweat as rain would caress the skies. His areolas, a deep plum that contrasted against the sky of his chest. The sternum protruded most prominently, his dough thin and brittle just above the outline. He ran a hand down his chest, exploring himself as though he was a stranger. To the Sage of Truth, this body was foreign, a costume he once donned as a mortal. This was not Sage. This was someone else.

Someone whose name he could not quite recall at the moment.

He could count each rib, pronounced and proud beneath the thin layer of dough. Twenty-five, an asymmetrical accident in the baking process. There his dough dipped inward, the hollows between his hips and the thin dough of his waist an invitation to rest one’s hands upon them. Of all the vestigial features he bore now as he once had countless millennia ago, this was his favorite.

Oh, if only someone might hold him there again.

His hands slipped inward, kneading his thighs—they were already quivering beneath his fingers. He was simultaneously eager to conclude this little farce of his, yet desperate for Truthless Recluse to cast his eye upon him. And that was what he chose to focus his mind on, to ease the discomfort of confrontation with the Cookie he once was.

Truthless, why did you force his hand? Why must you condemn him to intimacy with a man he thought dead and gone?

He closed his eyes, pretending this was not his body beneath his fingers. His touch became ever more impatient. If only it was his dear Truthless, his…whatever they were. Were they lovers? They had not even kissed yet! And they likely never will!

Oh, he should not have allowed himself to think about that.

No time to spare for such matters. His body demanded gratification, now. His hips rutted against his hands, as though they were not his own. It was instinct that commanded him now, allowing his mind the freedom to conjure lurid scenes of himself and Truthless. Together, with nothing to separate them. The fantasy unfolded before his eyes, an intimate scene embraced by the quiet of night.

No glass lay between them. It was dough against dough, honeyed cream whispering upon his cheeks. A plume of sweetness billowed in the air, of sugar, butter and blueberry essence. Warmth flooded him in waves of pulsing heat, filling the void with love. His Beast, smiling softly, fingers intertwined with his as they lay entangled in most passionate coitus.

Sage let out a breathy moan. Oh, it was too much. Even the idea of holding one another in an embrace was beyond rapture. Intercourse felt like it would kill him outright. A dog starved would salivate even at the most meager of meals. So it was with Sage, toying with himself as he worked up the courage to shed the remains of the cocoon of clothing that restrained him. It was just his pants now. It should not be this difficult!

Oh, but it was. It very much was. He fought with all his might to control his hands, for they were not listening. It was as though something impeded him, reciprocating his pressure in equal measure and rendering them at a standstill. Finally, he mustered the strength to free himself of the one and only thing holding him back.

There he exposed himself, legs open and beckoning someone, anyone, to just end his suffering. A jolt of pleasure shot down his veins as he felt the dough beneath his fingers open unto him, blueberry juice seeping out from the gateway as it waited for something he knew would never come.

Hmm. Would Truthless like that? Or would he prefer something else? This was merely more comfortable—Sage’s own tastes in apparel did not leave anything to the imagination, after all. But playing a guessing game was not particularly appealing at the moment. All he wanted to do was finish. Just finish, and he would feel better.

His hips rocked against his hand, chasing this fleeting pleasure for all it was worth. His fingers slid deeper and deeper, settling into a rhythm of rolling his thumb against the sweet pearl, the crown of the gates, in time with the thrusts of his index and middle finger.

It was not Truthless, but he wanted him. He wanted him more than anything else in the world. He closed his eyes, replaying that blissful fantasy of his over and over. Truthless, his Truthless, toying with him in the same way he was now. His fingers against his clitoris, whispering sweet nothings to him and nipping his ear. His body pressed against Sage’s, warmth lingering in smoldering ash wherever the inferno touched.

His mind was softening before the heat, melting into syrupy remains, a mockery of the intelligent scholar his character was. And so, stupid phrases began to escape him, far faster than he could control.

“T-Truthless, oh, my dear, I need you…” he whined, back arched against the wall. His head pressed into the wall behind him, face flushed a vibrant purple from exertion. “I need you, please, please, please-”

Sage gasped. His body froze in place, a statue carved from still living dough. He could not move. He could not breathe. He could not even whine at the lack of stimulation. A chill coursed through his body as the candlelight flickered, before dying to darkness. The only movement permitted of him was the darting of his eyes from one corner to the other, before eventually settling upon the mirror.

Truthless Recluse lay in the depths of the glass, settled in the same position Sage assumed, hands swaddled in dark velvet. His expression was as dull as ever, but those eyes, narrowed and gleaming with opportunity, begot another involuntary shudder from Sage. It was as though he was chained to his own movements again, but Sage knew better than to let his guard down.

“Good morning, Sage.”

Sage’s eyes widened, but he could not turn his head, nor scold the source for interrupting such an intimate moment. All he could do was sit there, posed most shamelessly in the midst of sweet surrender, and listen.

“Is something wrong?” Truthless asked, feigning ignorance. “You were calling for me.”

Sage’s throat spasmed, every attempt at an answer smothered by the shadows clinging to his throat.

“Oh. Right. My apologies.” With these words, the constriction around his neck relaxed, just enough to allow him the privilege of speaking. “You were saying?”

“You…bastard…” He wheezed, straining with all his might against the bondage imposed upon him. Yet no constraints appeared on his body—it was his own shadow, betraying him once again. “You dare to interrupt me like this?”

“So you really thought I was gone?”

“What did you think?!”

“I know you are smarter than that. This was just another desperate plea for my attention. Why else would you let yourself appear imperfect?” He drawled, the last word emphasized with biting bitterness. “You really think you can fool the Beast of Deceit?”

“I-I…”

“You missed me.”

Sage paused, pretty lips poised to speak yet forming no words. Something compelled him to be quiet. Perhaps it was those eyes, so dull and dark, that saw straight through his guise. He felt like a butterfly pinned to a taxidermist’s board, spread out, mounted, and displayed in silent splendor. Truthless feigned normalcy well, but Sage could see him struggling to maintain eye contact. How his eyes wanted to wander, drink in the sight of his bared body without shame. But he stared straight into Sage’s eyes, never allowing himself to look.

The air was cold, so cold. He tensed against the embrace of the arctic air, biting back a whine. The only comfort was his fingers, paused mid-thrust into the depths. His wrist ached, muscles twitching with his eagerness to continue, yet he was never permitted to. The one and only thing between him and the release he so desperately desired was sitting there, right across from him, and he did not look to be in a forgiving mood.

“Think of this as my revenge. Then we call it even, and never speak of this again.”

“Ha…haha! So you were sulking in the corner after all?” Sage forced himself to act more confident than he felt. “All of my worries were for a Beast so pathetic he denied himself his desires even when they were offered to him on a silver platter, and wasted his time wallowing in regret since?!”

“Is it more pathetic than begging on your hands and knees for me to come back and fuck you?”

“Well, not necessarily, but it was your fault! You chose to deny yourself!”

“Sage.” Truthless Recluse’s voice lowered an octave, the growl of a predator with its prey between its teeth. Sultry, dangerous, his tongue furling against his teeth as he spoke his name. “One more word, and I will hold you like this for three more hours.”

What followed was not words, nor defiance. Sage whined, the piteous sound unbidden. His muscles spasmed and struggling against the shadows that held him captive, in the hopes of chasing the pleasure his reflection threatened to deny him. But his resistance was futile, for his body remained still in the embrace of darkness.

“Oh. I was not expecting that to work.” Truthless muttered under his breath, his domineering facade fractured in an instant. “Do you actually want that? That sounds a little painful.”

Humiliation and arousal are a heady combination. But instead of finding himself drunk on the comforts of the flesh, Sage was trembling with the effort of restraining his desperation. He was still sober—barely—and he wanted to taste the sweet wine lingering out of reach. He wanted to drown in it.

“No!” He barked, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. Ohh, this was torture. “Why the devil did you think that!?”

“Then why did you-“

“WAS IT NOT OBVIOUS?!”

“No.”

Sage glared at his reflection, his breath hissing between his teeth. His chest rose and fell in sporadic bursts, breath wet with saliva and unspoken desires. The sound filled the room, for only silence remained between them. It seeped into the air like honey, sticky and sweet, tempting Truthless into abandoning his act and feasting upon what was offered unto him, once again, upon a silver platter.

But for some reason, Truthless did not act. He simply waited, eyes never wandering from Sage’s face.

“You are being deliberately obtuse. I know it. I just know it!” Sage snarled. “You cannot be that dense!”

“And if I was?”

“You want me to spell out exactly what I want from you. Is that it?”

“Mm.” Truthless huffed softly, a sound invited by the amusement he no doubt felt at Sage’s suffering. “I would not be opposed, no.”

“Fine. On one condition.”

“Always the terms and conditions with you.”

“Keep your sass to yourself for once! I know you were watching me the whole time, and only chose to interrupt when it was least convenient for me!”

“Such an uncharitable interpretation.”

“Whatever. My condition is…”

Oh, crumbs. He did not think this through. And he could not, not with his brain steeped in the honeyed pleasure he incurred from his sordid activities. He struggled on for a moment, to strike a really good deal, but all he could think of was the sweet dew clinging to his thighs, the pain of loneliness within him.

“You…you have to let me go. Let me finish.”

“You do not deserve to finish. You have to earn it.”

Sage gasped, the sound melting into another whine.

“So you like it when I boss you around.” Truthless mumbled, closing his eyes a moment to reflect upon his findings. “I presumed you would have liked it the other way around.”

“A-are you going to help me or not?!”

Truthless opened his eyes once more, gazing upon the pitiful old fool. How far he had fallen from grace, that Sage of Truth, whimpering like a hound and begging to be rewarded despite his disobedience. Were it not for the flush of the Beast’s cheeks, one might perceive him as disinterested, even disgusted, by the scene unfolding before him. But it was quite the opposite.

He was enthralled.

“Like I said, this is my revenge. I could walk away right now and leave you like this. I probably should.” He tilted his head at an angle, and like clockwork, Sage’s head tipped to the same degree. “But…you just look so pretty.”

“Pretty?” Sage echoed, meeting the mirror’s gaze once again.

He was expecting something far more vulgar. Truthless was undoubtedly capable of it, but he chose pretty. He chose to describe him with such innocent admiration, as one would describe a painting rather than a person in the throes of shameful depravity. Pretty. Pretty. Pretty. His body relaxed in the shadow’s cradle, so limp and pliant and pretty.

“I wish you could see what I see. Hear what I hear. Feel what I feel.”

“But I-“

“Shh.” With a gentleness unbefitting of a Beast, the shadows guided Sage’s parted lips closed. The claws of the shadows retracted, their movements ceasing—but the chill that clung to his feverish dough betrayed their enduring presence. “Close your eyes.”

He obeyed. Darkness surrounded him, and the thrum of magic tingled in his brain. Truthless was doing something to him—only Heaven knows what. Every breath, every impulse, they felt so vivid in the void. Just the act of breathing struck like lightning, flashing through in ragged patterns before dissipating into white rain. Sage had so many questions, none destined to reach Truthless. And in due time, he would forget them all.

“Listen.”

He heard so many things. The pounding of his heart in his ears, the shuddering breath in his throat, the shifting of silk beneath him with every movement he made. And washing over all of them, Truthless Recluse’s voice, leading him through the world of darkness with each gentle word.

“You taught me how to sing. And now it is time that I teach you.”

His breath caught, his jam running hot through his veins. The throb of his heart pulsed heavily between his legs. His entrance drooled at these words, ravenous for Truthless, yet they were only met with his stationary fingers. Oh, Witches, strike him down now. He could feel his thighs staining purple from the mess.

“You…you totally practiced that line beforehand…” he murmured in an attempt to salvage what little pride he had left.

Truthless huffed at this remark. Naught more. Sage’s insubordination was not to be punished with force. For all the defiance, all the rudeness, all of it would be dealt with in due time. Not with anger or vitriol or force.

Truthless Recluse was beginning to understand how Sage worked. Force aroused him, roughness invited defiance, arguments entertained him. But those rare moments of tenderness between them caused a short circuit in that strange brain of his. And this moment was no different—he was so warm and pliant, silently begging to be taken and toyed with.

Sage was so pretty. And he wanted to tell him. To show him.

“Are you ready?” Truthless asked. Sage nodded his head frantically. The shadows closed around him once again, holding him in place. Their grip was not rough, but tender, a whisper of cold cradling his dough. “I want you to listen. Do not speak. Just listen.”

His shadow began to move. It pulsed slowly along his body, pushing back and forth in a rhythmic motion, so chaste yet so enthralling. It massaged his neck, his chest, his hips, anywhere the light could not reach. Slight depressions formed in his dough, as a hand would impress its shape upon clay. They exerted just enough pressure to restrain him, yet allowed all the untidy noises, the gasps for breath, everything that leapt from his jam-stained lips to flow freely.

And oh, did they. Soft breaths, stifled whimpers, stammered words broken like glass. How he wanted to writhe under Truthless, to express the pleasure thundering through his body at even the simplest of touches. But he lay, helpless in the embrace, only able to sing.

“Do you hear that, Sage?” Truthless asked in a whisper just behind his ear. “Do you understand now?”

“Understand what…?”

“Shh. I said not to talk.”

“And you get to?!”

“You can nod your head, right?“ And with these words, Sage felt the chill of Recluse’s touch dip lower, drawing another trembling moan out of him. “Why worry about thinking? Why worry about making sense of these feelings? Just feel them, Sage. Feel them.”

It was almost as though it was Recluse’s hands all over him, demanding his attention. The star of the show, his own arm, worked in tandem with the magic of Deceit. He fingered his sticky entrance in a circling motion, measuring the circumference before stumbling upon what he was searching for. Sage moaned with approval. Deafened by his own cries, he could not hear the stifled, shameful moans of his reflection.

To guide Sage forward, he had turn him into his reflection. Anything Truthless did to him, he had to do to himself. And the undergarments Recluse still wore led him unable to go deeper.

Sage felt the slow drag of one hand against his hips, as if pulling down fabric. In order to push things along, Truthless had to rid himself of the obstruction—he prayed fervently Sage would not notice. But lo, the Witches refused to answer to the pleas of an apostate. He most certainly noticed, judging by the confusion on his face. But with a sudden thrust of fingers, he forgot all about in an instant. In one moment, gone the next, his mind an open door.

The pace was not fast nor overwhelming. In fact, it felt like little at all. Truthless was just touching. That was it. Even through the haze of pleasure, Sage could feel his uncertainty. He was experimenting, measuring, counting. Pushing and pulling in a slow, predictable pace, one not enough to satisfy. It kept Sage on the edge, teetering ever more violently with each stroke, but still not enough.

Still not enough.

Truthless gritted his teeth, focusing all his effort on trying to make Sage feel good. He was not particularly practiced, but his dexterity refined over countless years of surgical procedures served him well. His own arousal was just a distraction, another siren song of temptation he had to shut out—lest it worsen his performance any further.

“You are doing well, Sage. Just- just like that...” Truthless murmured, praise drowning in a wave of moans as his touch worked its sinful magic. “More?”

He knew to relax his grip upon Sage’s head to allow him to answer. As soon as he was afforded the opportunity, Sage nodded vigorously, lashes glistening with tears of need.

“Greedy slut.”

That drew a moan out of Sage, one that only confirmed the truth of this statement. Sage seemed to revel in it. Truthless sighed, basking in the pleasure of unraveling his reflection. So pretty. And it was all his doing. But with a whine from Sage, he remembered not to dawdle. He could think about it later.

He will, without a shadow of a doubt.

Sage’s back arched against the wall as the shadows seeped inside him, juice dripping from his pussy in sticky, sweet rivers. The traces of Truthless were not quite tangible, not in the sense that any object would be. But with the shadows gathered together, he could just barely sense his presence in the pressure he exerted, the impression left behind from unseen hands. And with his own body surrendered to his other half, he need not lift a finger.

His moans caught in his throat, fighting for freedom with all his strength. The only presence within him was his own, truly, and as he tightened in response to the tender stimulation, he felt hollow. Empty. But even faced with this, Sage still let himself wander in sweet reverie. He slurred out sounds of pleasure, raw and unrefined, hips jolting in the shadow’s cradle in response to their movements.

It was no more than a push and pull, the methodical stretching of his musculature rather than an actual object inside him. It was, as far as he could tell, the only means which Recluse could “touch” him. The command transmitted from the shadow to the muscle, instruction to contract.

It was good enough. It was Truthless.

“Do you hear that, dove?” He asked. “That is you. That is all you. You sound wonderful.”

Truthless only lingered in the shallows, never breaching further. But this was not enough for Sage, not at all. Truthless listened to his moans twist into groans of frustration. There he lay, deprived what he believed he deserved—and that idiot Beast was doing nothing to help him.

“T-Truthless!” Sage wailed. “Please! Hurry up already!”

“Hmm. 2 minutes and 37 seconds.” Truthless muttered to himself, head cocked to the side. “That was not long at all. Perhaps I ought to slow down.”

“No, you imbecile! Speed up! This is torture, downright torture!”

“Disobedient and unruly.” He remarked calmly. “If the reward for obedience is not enough for you, then what about the punishment for disobedience?”

Every last protest died in his throat. Sage stared straight ahead, eyes wide yet seeing nothing. The darkness still enveloped him, as though his eyelids still shrouded the world around him in the black. But no, it must be a blinding spell. His expression twisted into one of horror as he recalled the threats from earlier. To be abandoned in his time of need, frozen in place and unable to find relief.

“Where is my little bird? Why did you stop singing for me?” Truthless cooed. Even now, his monotonous drone had yet to falter. “Go on. Sing.”

“I…I need…” Sage sputtered, his voice quivering with every word. “I need you to…”

“You can do it.”

“I need you to help me!”

“You seemed perfectly fine on your own, Sage.” Oh, Sage could see it now, even without his eyes to aid him. That horrible smirk on Truthless Recluse’s face. “You are a wonderful singer. What have you ever needed me for?”

Finally, he broke. Oh, how far the Sage of Truth had fallen.

“Truthless! Please just take me!” Sage begged between broken sobs, every inch of him trembling from the effort of expelling these words. “Please! Please! I need it! I need you!”

Finally, Truthless faltered. Did he go too far? Was this a good or bad response? A surge of guilt welled up within him, unseen in the darkness he conjured. But it did not go unheard; it echoed faintly in the words he spoke next.

“Shh…” Truthless murmured. He kneaded the dough of his thighs, tantalizingly close to the source of the sweet extract weeping between his legs. With this gesture, Sage’s hands, too, began to move. To truly soothe Sage, he had to soothe himself. “I…I am sorry. Let me help you.”

But with a flash of inspiration, he paused before beginning anew. Sage was, once again, left wanting. Needing.

“What do you say when someone helps you?”

Sage lifted his head, searching for Truthless in the darkness. Even if he was permitted to see, the deluge of tears would have washed away all. He squeezed his eyes shut again. The gasps for breath, helpless moans, all of them felt so vivid, drowning all other sound in his voice. This was humiliating, being forced to bow before his own reflection so he can indulge his animal instincts.

With the command echoing in his mind, Sage knew what he had to do. He finally let go of his pride.

“T…thank you…”

Sage gasped as the presence—although it was barely there to begin with—pressed deeper into his body. Sparks of pleasure illuminated the void before his eyes, his cries so loud in his ears with nothing but sensation and sound to anchor him to reality. The shadows gathered strength within him. And they moved. They moved, the pressure gliding back and forth in a steady pattern. He could feel them pushing, stretching, caressing his tender folds with methodical strokes.

The blueberry juice flowed like never before, streaking down his legs in rivers of purple speckled with seeds. Truthless extended another benediction, a third finger shakily inserted alongside the rest. This was enough. It was more than enough. And he, too, was beginning to succumb to the mindless pleasure-seeking instincts Sage had. He pushed his hips downward, desperate for more, and so too did Sage.

In this farcical imitation of intimacy, they lost themselves in their roles.

Truthless dragged the shadows back and forth, his instrument of Deceit degraded to a means to please. They thrummed in time with Sage’s frantic heart, each pulse teasing his frayed nerves. It was not a ruthless conquest, it was simple, earnest exploration. A reconnaissance, even. He had never known Sage like this, despite having witnessed—mostly heard, with his eyes squeezed shut and his hands over his ears—intimacy involving him before.

This was different. Because he was the one doing it. Because finally, after so long of lurking in silence, it was he who Sage called upon with such lust, such longing.

“Thank you!” He cried, pleasure flooding his veins anew. “Thank you! Thank you!”

Truthless smiled to himself from beyond the veil of darkness. Sage looked so stupid like this, and he had yet to even do anything extreme. His jaw slackened, saliva glistening upon his lips and chin. Those cheeks, flushed a vivid violet and wet with tears. And his eyes, so intelligent, so elegant, so beautiful, rolled back in his head over a bit of magic.

He really was pent up, then. Maybe a lot more than Truthless thought.

“Pretty.” He mumbled to himself, the praise drowned in Sage’s helpless moans. He guided the shadows deeper, pushing upon him like ocean waves in a gentle rhythm.

For once, the many-tongued Beast spoke the truth. Anyone who called such a perfect being “ugly” was deluding themselves. Even Sage knew he was beautiful. Perhaps most of all. But strangely, his reaction to being called “pretty” was so intense.

“To think the almighty Sage of Truth was capable of becoming such a mindless whore.” He spoke louder this time, and Sage’s whimpers pitched up to match. “You want to come? You want to feel better?”

“Y-YES! OH, TRUTHLESS, YES!”

“Well, I need you to answer me this first.”

All movements ceased. Sage let out a confused whine, struggling to grind down, but his hips would not obey him. Sage was held prisoner to his whims. He could not release until Truthless allowed it—equally terrifying and arousing.

“Do you think you earned it?”

These words, so gentle in their guise, carried an undercurrent of accusation. A hidden blade, daring him to resist his authority. How he longed to thrust himself unto the blade, if only to draw closer to his dear Truthless.

“What…?” He sputtered, heels digging into the makeshift bedding as Truthless shifted in place. “Is this still…not enough for you?”

“Answer me. Do you think you earned it?”

Sage knew the answer, but even lost in the bliss, he wanted to argue. To fight back, to take what he wanted. His answer came after a moment of bitter struggle, one that surprised even him.

“…no.”

“Oh.” Truthless lost momentum again. He was caught completely off guard by this act of submission. “Okay.”

“Is that all you have to say?!”

“No, no, I just was not expecting you to give in so quickly.” Truthless coughed, his cheeks burning beneath the safety of his collar. Thank goodness he had the foresight to cast that blindness spell—but he ought to wrap things up now. It could wear off any moment. “I thought you still had some fight left in you. I suppose I was wrong.”

“I know when to admit defeat!”

“I have to acknowledge that. I think it would be too cruel to deny you like this.”

And with his rationale expressed in full, Truthless resumed. A whisper of love woven into the shadows, guiding them forward in an arc of twisting and turning tangles. The arctic chill of his presence scraped its fangs along his slick folds, a bite pleasurable and painful against the heat. What remained of Sage’s words shattered into pieces, his lips spitting them out in twinkling shards of glass.

Oh, heavens, if this was what being with Truthless was like in the simplest of affairs, what would it be like to be on the other side of that mirror? To be held by his hands, his teeth, his tongue? “Need” did not even begin to describe the aching hollow in Sage’s heart.

“Haah, T-Truthless, Truthless, please- TRUTHLESS!”

If Truthless Recluse was starved of hearing his own name before, then he had been thoroughly satiated. Each cry, each curl of the tongue as misshapen syllables cascading from lips haunted by the remains of lipstick, was a feast for his senses. A shudder grazed the length of his spine, warmth blooming in its wake.

Pretty.

Sage was really pretty.

A crescendo of song heralded the final act. A plume of tart musk rose from the act, a confession of his guilt. Sage lay limp against the wall, gasping, choking, his lungs burning from the effort of breathing. But second by second, the waves of pain and pleasure began to ebb. All that remained was sweet foam kissing his ankles.

Wow. That was interesting. Never had he ever imagined he would get fucked by his own shadow, but here he sat, having enjoyed exactly that. Another item off the bucket list. If it was ever on there to begin with, that is. But that felt good. Way too good.

Truthless was not even particularly talented. Clearly due to inexperience, but one could reflect upon the simple and methodical ministration he offered as little more than mediocre from an objective standpoint. The fact that they could not truly touch was certainly a dampener. And the constant pauses, be they intentional or lapses in composure, often left him needy and frustrated.

But Sage was just smitten with him. Utterly smitten.

It was not perfect by skill or technique. It was perfect because it was Truthless.

As he caught his breath, the blinding spell began to abate. Truthless, calming himself from his own escapades, was left exposed—if but for a moment—and Sage’s hungry eyes devoured the sight. He was still in his robes, leaving nearly everything to the imagination. But with his legs open wide with sticky fingers lingering, the fount of…wait, was that extract?

Extract? What kind of flavor was Truthless Recluse?

“W-what are you looking at?!” Truthless yelped, scrambling to cover himself properly. “I-I blinded you for a reason! Stop staring at me!”

“Well, you did not blind me for long enough!” Sage laughed as he, the reflection, followed every single desperate movement Truthless made to hide in his robes. “Could one blame me, truly? With a face as handsome as that, I just have to know what lurks beneath those pesky robes of yours!”

Truthless growled curses to himself, his image melting into nothingness. The mirror was pristine, as though nothing had ever graced its surface to begin with.

“You know, I can tell you are still there.”

“Shut up.”

The shadows had retreated, returning to their rightful places upon his body—and thus, he was finally free to move again. Sage’s hand found its way to his chest, resting above his heart. His eyelashes fluttered, expression melting into a neutral to mask his imperfect, untidy feelings. He breathed in, the scent of tangy blueberry overwhelming his senses. It did little to clear the haze of his mind, but fragments of his self-imposed sangfroid were returning to him with time.

“…Truthless?”

“Fine.”

“Wha-?”

The Beast returned, sitting prim and proper in the mirror. He looked as though nothing had happened at all. Sage already missed the awry arcs of cream and the strawberry kissed cheeks.

“You wanted me to come back, right? So here I am. Not sulking in the corner.” He muttered, clearly still sulking. Having an audience to witness it changed little. “Are you happy now?”

“Well, yes! But I just wanted to say something. I did not ask you to come back.”

“Oh, you wanted me gone then? In that case, shall I go with my original plan?”

“No, no! I just wanted to say…”

Truthless tilted his head to one side, brow furrowed. It was a matter of seconds until he decided this was no longer worth entertaining. So the words poised to leap from his lips finally came, clear as crystal and rebounding upon the mirror.

“Thank you.”

They penetrated the glass that separated the two, landing in Recluse’s heart. On instinct, he brought his hand up to feel the wound, bewilderment evident in the way his dull eyes widened.

“What for?”

Sage huffed, amused and irritated in equal measure. The actual audacity of this man, truly! He began preening himself, guided by instinct rather than sense. He combed his fingers through his hair, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes with a flick of his index. Then he turned his attention to his nails, examining the uneven and chipped surface—no doubt from when he had last bit them. He really ought to wear gloves more often.

“O Great Sage, would you trouble yourself to answer to the likes of me?”

“You were being serious?” Sage asked, brow quirked and a giggle threatening to slip out. “What do you think? For coming back to me. And for, er, this little tryst of ours.”

“My vengeance is complete. We do not need to speak about this again.”

“You act as though I had committed some grievous offence.” Sage smiled on, though his eyes sparkled with sadness at the idea of this being their one and only encounter. “We made love! How is it vengeance if I was the one to get so much pleasure from it? One could argue that this is a gift, a favor, or even an apology.”

“Shut up.”

“It is the Truth.”

“Why is it that Truth only happens to be convenient for you?”

“One could say the same about Deceit.” Sage answered mildly, staggering to his feet and plucking his staff from where it stood by the door. Waving it, he vanished the conjured comforts. He would rather get rid of them than clean that mess. But the ruin between his legs was something he had to take care of himself. “Especially since Deceit is ultimately derivative of Truth. It is the twisting, the molding of Truth into a fulfillment of one’s own desires.”

“Even you have used Deceit before.”

“And I probably will continue to do so, yes. I am not ashamed to admit that. But what matters is the ultimate Truth, that which lies at the Peak. I would not lie about what is far more important than myself.”

Truthless stared at him, blinking with surprise.

“What?”

“You have changed a lot.” He mumbled, picking at the faded golden details on his sleeves. “Last time I pointed that out, you denied it entirely.”

“Why should I deny it to you? What are you going to do about it?” Sage pointed out as he prepared a towel to remain decent for his walk to the springs. His tone was plain, bearing not a trace of provocation. They were questions, nothing more.

Truthless hummed, his features slowly muddled by thought. Oh, it was so cute, the way his eyes crinkled whenever he reflected upon something so intently. But right now, Sage was too preoccupied with whatever was transpiring behind his eyes to concern himself with that.

“What?” He probed. “What is that expression supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Precisely what I thought.”

And with that, Sage excused himself to the baths. Despite his shame, despite his exhaustion, Truthless followed.

Seemed like someone had just gotten a tad bit braver.