Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pristine Milk steels himself against the carnage, of Burning Spice's forces besieging the Kingdom - the Blueberry Kingdom was the last Kingdom standing, barring the hidden away Silver Kingdom.

Parts of the Kingdom had already gone up in flame, buildings crumbling around him, cobbled streets ripped up, gardens scorched - his Spire remained untouched despite the blaze, thanks to the magic around it, but even that was weakening as the Kingdom is burnt to the ground.

Pristine Milk had evacuated most of his remaining citizens (The sick, the elderly, mothers and children, orphans and widows-) but those that had stayed back were in danger. Danger that Pristine Milk didn't want them to be in, especially not with the fact that he can hear members of Burning Spice's armies somewhere in the Kingdom.

It was risky, they were trapped towards the center of the Kingdom, his Spire too far to reliably flee to with this many people - it sat in its own courtyard towards the south of the Kingdom, but it was much too far. Especially if the Fount went with them - his magical signature alone would give them up when the Herald shows up.

The (former) Virtues all know each other's magic as well as they know their own. Pristine Milk can feel the heat that makes up Burning Spice's magic - the way that it seems to feed from the flames and carnage around them.

It's wrong - it's twisted. Just like how the other former-Virtues felt. Mystic Flour's magic still made him want to sneeze, but instead of being delicate as it covers you it feels more like it's suffocating. Silent Salt's sparkling magic had dimmed, sucking in light rather than producing it. Eternal Sugar's soft, sleepy haze had turned into a miasma, forcing everyone under it's effect.

And now Burning Spice? His once warm, comforting magic had turned into a blaze - overwhelming, burning everything indiscriminately, friend and foe alike.

Pristine Milk hopes his magical signature hasn't changed- that curl of starlight and sunshine in his chest felt normal, at least. The Other Realm was stable, his Soul Jam hummed softly (Knowledge at the back of his mind, worried but trusting him) and his magic seemed responsive. He shouldn't fret, and should simply trust in his Light, in his Knowledge.

Even though his magic had to change to account for the new… situation. Pristine Milk had shoved aside his preference for nonlethal magics for the spells he taught his battle mages. It hurt, to crumble other Cookies, to watch someone's life evaporate before his very eyes, caused by his own spells, but he had to.

This was war, and there is no pacifism is war. He is the last bastion of the light in this world, and if he did nothing but cower, what example would he be sending to everyone fighting for the good of this world?

No. He wouldn't be a coward this time. Pristine Milk would fight, even if he would carry the guilt of his actions for eons afterwards.

Burning Spice's troops were at the gate. Pristine Milk's small militia stand behind the Fount as he grips his staff, soot on his face, the fur on his tail singed, his hair cut short in the wake of him nearly getting caught by one of the cultists that surround Flour a few months back. That close call was the last push he needed to cut off the sparkling hair he loves so much - to keep his tail close under his robes.

He didn't need to be easily caught. Not when everyone wanted his blood. Not when he was the last Virtue, the last piece of good. He had to stay safe, for the Cookies under his protection.

"Fount! Are we going to be okay?" One of the militia - Choco Nutmeg, his loyal advisor turned strategist calls from where they hover beside an injured Cookie. "We still have a few citizens to evacuate!" Their tan skin is stained with soot and jam, chocolate hair wild and messy from far too long without respite, hazel eyes wide as their gaze flicks between the Fount and the injured Cookie by their side.

"Focus on getting them out of here!" Pristine Milk shouts back, "You know where to take them!"

"On it!" Choco Nutmeg begins to usher the last few civilians out - to the hidden escape path in the Spire. Hopefully with the Fount remaining here, they'll be able to slip by unnoticed. His Spire will protect them then.

It's a group primarily made up of children, all teary-eyed and scared. Most of them have lost their families, their siblings, their friends. His heart breaks for those poor children as he thinks of his own, hidden away in the Silver Kingdom. He told them the leave the second he got wind of Spice's armies - and regrets not sounding the alarm sooner.

If he evacuated his own apprentices, why hadn't he thought to start evacuating sooner? Maybe then no one would've had to die. He shouldn't have been so much of a coward, desperately clinging to the hope that everything would be fine and go back to normal.

And now countless people are dead.

Pristine Milk hopes that the group will be safe - Choco Nutmeg is reliable, a fighter in their own right, senses sharp and reflexes quick. If anything happens, Choco Nutmeg would fight till their death to keep the children safe - Pristine Milk had even assigned them to overseeing the younger classes of his Academy, given their love for the children of the Kingdom.

A scream. It pierces the air, jam-curdling and raw, the wail of someone who's just seen something horrifying. He's heard it far too many times - from Cookies mourning their spouses and children, from children crying out for their parents, from the Cookies of his militia watching their friends die in front of them…

Pristine Milk whips around from where he had been staring at the main gate, fully expecting Burning Spice to be dramatic about it, he is Destruction, but no.

They had come from the side gates.

Pristine Milk was a fool. He expected Burning Spice to be the brute he always was - taking the quickest, most dramatic route. He hadn't considered him changing how he operated - but maybe he should've. Burning Spice wasn't going to charge in against the Virtue of Knowledge.

He was so stupid for not even considering it!

"Choco Nutmeg!" He calls as he takes off in a sprint, ignoring the debris that digs into his paws and the fires that singe at his fur. "Choco Nutmeg?"

"Aw, Fount, you're still standing?" Burning Spice stands - in front of Choco Nutmeg's body, their head decapitated, blood spilling onto the cobblestones. Burning Spice holds their head like a trophy. "Wasn't this that pathetic little advisor of yours?"

"You killed them." Pristine Milk breathes, only for his eyes to slide off of Burning Spice and to the corpses behind him. "Th-the children…?"

He recognized those Cookies. Students as his academy, now heaped in a pile of crumbs and jam, some mutilated beyond recognition. Some with bites taken out of them as if they had been eaten by the wolves in the forest - some with deep gouges, edged with spices. The youngest was barely old enough to walk on her own. She had been left behind in the wake of the fighting, her parents abandoning her as they fled.

And he led the poor thing to her death. She'd been abandoned, and he just got her killed! He promised to keep her safe - he was going to take her in like he did with Lilac Faerie and Sugar Apple once he fled to the Faerie Kingdom after getting the rest of his citizens out.

"How could you?!" Pristine Milk can't help the tears - he had promised them safety and instead led them to their deaths! His voice cracks, but he can't help the yelling. "They were children, Spice! You even killed Cherry Jubilee! She was barely able to walk!"

"Psh." Burning Spice just waves a hand, and Pristine Milk cringes at the jam that flies from Choco Nutmeg's neck with the motion. "They serve a higher purpose, now! They fuel the fires of a new kind of Change!"

It's in that moment that Pristine Milk recognizes that the Herald of Change he once knew is gone. Fragrant Spice replaced with Burning Spice, a murderer and a brute not even above the murder of innocents.

"No, they don't," Pristine Milk wipes at his eyes with his sleeve, dropping into a fighting stance as he clenches his staff so hard the metal creaks under the force. "They died for your rampage. No higher purpose. No dignity." He'll avenge them. He'll avenge Cherry Jubilee. She didn't deserve that fate.

Burning Spice just grins, hefting his axe off his shoulder as he tosses Choco Nutmeg's head aside. "Oh? Going to lecture me? How cute. You know you won't stand a chance, Milk."

Pristine Milk just growls - he hates that he knows how to do that, when he used to only purr. He was a pacifist. He hated conflict, hated violence.

But he will not allow someone to hurt his citizens, to slaughter children, to kill everyone he cares for!

"Fount!" Another Cookie calls as they skid to a stop behind the Fount, "We-"

"Shush. Go out the southeastern gate. You know the route, right, Burnt Toffee?" He whispers his instructions, knowing that Burning Spice's hearing is iffy from all the explosions his magic causes.

"Indeed!" The Cookie nods, scurrying off in the direction they came. "Be safe, Fount!"

"Still playing the savior?" Burning Spice calls as he swings his axe, the Fount jumping out of the way at the last second - hissing at the fact that he still gets clipped on the arm, blood spilling out from the slit left in his robe's sleeve. "Face it, Milk, you're useless against me!"

Burning Spice was bigger. Stronger. Sometimes even faster. But Pristine Milk was agile, good at dodging and tiring his enemies out. It was a game of endurance more than strength, and Burning Spice knew that - but if he got a few good hits…

"Stop being a coward, Milk!" Burning Spice growls as he misses another slash, Pristine Milk breathing heavily as he wipes jam from his cheek - the cut was shallow, at least, but that was close. "Fight me!"

Pristine Milk just glares, and when he dodges this time, he leaves behind a blast of ice - the spike managing to impale Burning Spice's arm. Burning Spice barely even seems to notice, simply yanking his arm free of the spike, heedless of the yellow-orange jam that drips from his arm and coats the ice on the ground. Blood drips down to coat the hilt of his axe, and Burning Spice tilts his head, giving Pristine Milk a feral grin.

"Cute trick. You really think that can stop me?"

Pristine Milk gulps, eyes darting around the area they were in - one of the squares around his Kingdom. This one often hosted the weekend markets, and Pristine Milk frequented those - a chance to talk with his citizens and see how the Kingdom was prospering. He never thought that his love of the hustle and bustle of the markets would become his savior.

If he's smart about this, he can lose Spice in the alleys and streets that lead away from the square.

He manages to dodge another hit, Burning Spice's axe grazing his leg - a superficial wound, at worst - and retaliates with another blast of ice. It slows him down for a few seconds, but then he's right back to charging at Pristine Milk.

Every attack Pristine Milk throws, from ice spikes to fireballs to electric bolts, Burning Spice just shrugs off.

The power of being a Virtue, Pristine Milk supposes - the enhanced magic resistance must just come with their Witch Magic imbued dough.

"Come on, Milk, do you really expect that to work?" Spice taunts, all sharp fangs and a haughty tone.

"I-It might not stop you, but it'll slow you down!" Pristine Milk yelps as he dodges out of range of another swing of Burning Spice's axe, feeling the breeze it leaves behind as it narrowly misses his neck.

"Will it, now?" Spice retorts as he gears up for another attack, Pristine Milk barely diving out of the way in time. He's too close but any time he tries to put distance between them Burning Spice is always right on his heels.

Well, maybe he can at least distract him to give himself a chance to regroup…

He charges a ball of electricity at the tip of his staff, aiming carefully as his hands begin to shake as the shocks travel down the metal staff and to his own hands.

But he narrows his eyes, and aims - and it lands.

The metal of Spice's axe becomes electrified, just enough to startle him into letting go. With Burning Spice needing to grab his axe, it gives Pristine Milk a chance to bolt - putting space between them.

"Fight me properly, coward!" Spice roars as he swings his axe - it's reckless, with no real aim, and Pristine Milk can easily dodge it. He sure got his axe back fast… And he's much faster than Pristine Milk is - far more used to running (and on sand!)

Pristine Milk smacks into a wall, dissolving his staff and yelping as he manages to dodge another slash of Burning Spice's axe and duck under him and between his legs, racing the way they came.

"Stop running!" Spice growls, and Pristine Milk throws another electricity spell over his shoulder as he summons his staff once more - it's just enough time for Pristine Milk to wonder if he shouldn't start trying to lose Spice amidst the maze of city streets - but he can still feel the rage under his skin, the desire to get revenge for those kids he sent to their deaths.

Does he run, or does he fight a pointless battle for some meager gratification?

That decision is made for him when Burning Spice lands a proper hit, taking advantage of Pristine Milk's momentary distraction, and sending Pristine Milk flying - his staff slipping from his hand and clattering to the ground a short distance away.

The pain doesn't even register for a moment, until he hits the stone wall of a house and crumples to the floor. Blood spills out from between his fingers as he presses a hand to his side - the gash is long, deep enough that if he were a mortal Cookie he would've been dead before he even hit the wall.

It burned - Burning Spices' axe was coated in spice, entirely to make it hurt more. Brutality had become his new specialty, it seems.

The wound throbbed under his hand as Pristine Milk scanned for his staff - he was lucky it landed nearby, but Burning Spice is standing over him before he can crawl towards it.

"Is that all you've got, Milk? Aren't you meant to be a good mage? Your spells felt like nothing." Burning Spice sound bored, "I know you have more power than that. So what gives? Am I not good enough for your full power?"

"You… can still… stop this." Pristine Milk wheezes out around a mouthful of blood. Burning Spice just hums, acting as if he's considering it - before he lifts a leg and slams it down on Pristine Milk's.

Pristine Milk is pretty sure he's never screamed as loud as he did in that moment. Bones splintering under the weight, a sickening crack emitting from where Burning Spice had stomped. He knew if he looked his leg would be at the wrong angle, all mangled beneath his robe.

The pain radiated outward - he couldn't even feel his left leg anymore - and he wants to sob. Blood is still oozing out from the wound on his side, pooling beneath him and making his robe sticky and tacky, and hysterically, all Pristine Milk can think is about how hard it's going to be to get the jam out of his robes.

His throat is raw from screaming. He keeps coughing up blood. He feels like nothing but a massive ball of agony.

He wants Burning Spice to just end this.

Instead, Spice toys with him.

The countless small wounds - he could handle. But this?

When Spice decided to hurt him further?

The scream Pristine Milk had let out when Burning Spice stomped down on his tail was shrill, a truly panicked sound as Burning Spice shattered the fragile bones beneath his weight. The crunch alone was enough to make the Fount nauseous, bile rising alongside blood in his throat as he wails, fingers clawing against the ground until they're raw and bleeding as he tries to escape. Blue jam littering the cobblestones beneath him, dripping heavily from the wound on his side, smearing from his fingertips.

"Sp-iiice. Pleassssse… Sssssstop…" He slurs, the pain overwhelming. His tail. HIS TAIL. HIS TAIL.

"Hm, no can do, Milk. Gotta send a message, you see." Burning Spice speaks casually, as if this is just a regular chat - not a torture session. "I will not be taken lightly. And mangling you? Well, what better way is there to send a message than via everyone's beloved little Fount?" There's bitterness in that tone, but Pristine Milk can barely hear it over his own heartbeat in his ears as he continues to fruitlessly scrape his bloodied fingers against the ground.

Spice lifts his tail, hand crushing the already broken bones as he inspects it - whistling slightly at whatever he sees - and then there's a rush of air, and pain.

Hellish, agonizing pain, as Burning Spice cuts open the thin flesh and dumps spices on the wound. It radiates outward, up his entire spine, manifesting in his head as a sharp migraine that makes him want to cry, but all that comes out in a hoarse whimper - his throat is shot from screaming, and he's already cried every tear he has. His tail spasms involuntarily due to the pain, but Spice hadn't moved his axe - and it just makes more flesh cut open, dripping jam to the ground as spices fall into the wound.

"Doing my job for me now? I'd call it boring, but hey, if that's what you're into!" Burning Spike laughs at his own joke as Pristine Milk chokes slightly on his own blood - spitting up a mixture of blueberry jam and bile.

Pristine Milk wonders if this is how he's going to die - with Spice bleeding him dry and covering the wounds in fiery spices.

It only gets worse when he reaches for Pristine Milk's staff, inspecting the Soul Jam embedded in it. "Wonder what I could do with this, huh, Milk? Maybe I should be glad you were such a boring stick in the mud, because it means I got to read all your research!"

Oh no.

Burning Spice was surprisingly meticulous, for a brute. Just enough pressure to hurt, to send cracks radiating through his Soul Jam. The pain is soul-deep, as if Burning Spice has reached inside his chest and gripped the very essence of his being, cutting wounds into it and compressing it until it wants to snap.

Pristine Milk feels like he's being ripped apart from the inside out, reaching weakly for the Soul Jam. Blood still drips from his fingers, his claws long-since broken, and all Pristine Milk succeeds in doing is shifting slightly and putting weight on his broken leg.

The pain makes him go limp, blinking tears he didn't know he had left out of his eyes to mix with the blood and bile beneath him.

He wants this to end.

He wants to die.

He's almost glad when he sees the black spots at the edge of his vision - and all he can do before he passes out, is pray that the last citizens and the remnants of his militia got out safely.

"Oh, my darling Virtue." A voice, hazy, distant. "They've hurt you so badly, haven't they? Worry not, my dear. I'll help."

It's soft. Calming. Almost parental.

Sensations are dull, as if he's reaching them through a dream. Hazy, distant - not-quite-there.

The spike of pain feels like nothing compared to what he just went through. A small shock to his system that barely registers against the burning pain in his side, in his tail.

"I know that hurt, but you're already hurting quite badly, aren't you? Poor thing. I can do this one thing for you, before this all ends."

Pristine Milk doesn't know what's happening to him, but the hurt dulls and fades, and Pristine Milk falls into unconsciousness once more.

The last thing he remembers hearing is the sound of someone screaming.

Chapter Text

"What…?" Pristine Milk murmurs as he blinks awake - he feels like death warmed over, everything aching and throbbing. His tail feels mangled. His chest feels like it's caved in. He can't even feel his leg.

The bed underneath him is soft, at least… Small blessings?

"Oh, thank the Witches, you're awake." Lilac Faerie and his younger sister Sugar Apple are by his side in an instant - his apprentices. His children.

Pristine Milk barely has time to react before he's reaching for a bucket and vomiting - the memory of the pile of bodies, of bloodied corpses and mangled flesh far too prominent. The bile burns his throat, but it doesn't feel like enough penance.

His children had survived, but how many parents had just lost theirs? How many children have now been orphaned? How many died?

And Cherry Jubilee… Even thinking of her, of those teary, lavender eyes that had peered up at him as Banana Milkshake - one of the few adults left that wasn't in his militia - gently urged her along as he sent them down a path he thought was safe.

Only for her to be slaughtered mercilessly.

The thought makes Pristine Milk have to fight back a wail as the nausea consumes him again - he killed her. An innocent child. One he was going to take in as an apprentice - as one of his children.

How many had died because of him?! He led so many people right into Burning Spice's trap-!

"Calm down, Pristine Milk." Lilac Faerie brushes his hair out of his face, the shorter strands more prone to getting in the way, while Sugar Apple stares at him with wide, watery eyes. "We're safe. I got Sugar Apple out as soon as you gave the order. We weren't hurt at all."

"Y-Yeah!" Sugar Apple speaks up, voice wavering and watery. "Lilac made sure I'm okay. E-everything is okay now!"

Pristine Milk wishes he could reassure her - but he's still puking out what little is in his guts. There's a lot of blood…

He's starting to really hate the smell of blueberries. The bitter, acidic lingering in his mouth, mixing with the sour tartness of blueberry… It's horrid. He hates his own flavor.

"…Do you need me to get the healers?" Lilac Faerie sounds nervous, "Actually, Sugar Apple, can you go get them?"

It's a smart move, sending her out - gives her space to breathe.

"Okay!" Sugar Apple squeaks, glancing back at them constantly as she slips from the room.

Lilac Faerie remains at Pristine Milk's side, keeping the hair out of his face as he coughs up a mixture of blood and bile into the bucket, before groaning and slumping backwards.

"Got it all out?" Lilac Faerie winces as he pries the bucket from Pristine Milk's hands, setting it on the nightstand. "…You lost a lot of blood. The healers said if you weren't a Soul Jam holder, that the wound on your side alone would've killed you." A bitter, humorless laugh, "You should be dead about five times over, Pristine Milk."

Pristine Milk just whines - his throat hurts too much to speak, and he already feels guilty. At least he survived - at least his kids still had him…

"Your Soul Jam is cracked, too." Lilac Faerie holds the gem, but the cracks are much less prominent than Pristine Milk remembers them being, watching the small crystal crushed beneath Burning Spice's fingers. "It's not too bad though, right?"

Pristine Milk shakes his head, blinking slowly. He's so tired. He's not even sure he's processing what Lilac Faerie is saying - comprehension slipping through his mind like trying to grasp mist.

It's all just noise.

"Pristine Milk!" Sugar Apple chirps as she trots back into the room, followed by a few healers and -

"Elder… Faerie…?" Pristine Milk rasps, blinking up at his long-time friend. Thank the Witches that the Lord didn't do something to the Guardian… He hadn't gotten a free moment to check up on the Faeries once everything started falling apart, so he's glad to see Elder Faerie unharmed - if not looking rather stressed.

"Hello, old friend." The Guardian gives him a once-over, then nods to the healers flanking him, and they bustle into motion as Lilac Faerie slides off the bed to give them space, herding Sugar Apple off to the side. "The Herald did a number on you, didn't he?"

Pristine Milk nods, still wincing at the memory of the spices in his wounds - they still hurt, still stung with the remainder of spice that couldn't be removed. (Pristine Milk had been the one to idly point out that some of the spices in the desert seemed to be rather prone to latching onto skin and were difficult to remove or wash out. He indirectly caused even more suffering…)

"Unfortunately, we… cannot give you much time to rest." Elder Faerie glances out the window over the bed, staring at something Pristine Milk cannot see. "The Beasts - the former Virtues - are being subdued by the Witches. Then we must Seal them, however-"

"The spell… needs five." Pristine Milk knows the Ritual - it was Witch Magic, and Pristine Milk had passed it onto the Faeries. A fail safe, in case something like this happened.

He supposes no one ever accounted for not all of them Falling. The assumption that the Virtues were close enough that if one fell, they all would - that absolute power corrupts absolutely. But Pristine Milk is proof against that - he isn't corrupted, Knowledge still croons in his ear, frets over him (and the faint hum of something else - a piece of him missing.)

"Precisely." Elder Faerie's eyes flick between the healer Faeries still flitting about Pristine Milk, and where his kids stand. "So we need you for the Ritual. I can promise that Lilac Faerie and Sugar Apple will be looked after in your absence."

Pristine Milk simply nods, staring down at his lap. He'd miss their entire lives. He'd be trapped, sealed away with nothing and no one… Sugar Apple was just a child. Lilac Faerie was barely an adult, even by Faerie standards. It wasn't fair to either of them…

Yet Lilac Faerie had always been diligent in caring for Sugar Apple, and had often been the one to take care of Pristine Milk when the Fount overworked himself. Pristine Milk is pretty sure Lilac Faerie is more of an adult than he is, most of the time…

"You still have a few days, however. Silent Salt and Burning Spice are proving… Difficult. Take the time to rest and recover, my friend."

Pristine Milk nods, and Elder Faerie watches him for a moment - the way his posture is hunched, the way he flinches whenever the Faeries get too close even though he knows they're helping. The quiet beyond just the fact that his throat is raw…

Elder Faerie can tell that there's something wrong - but he doesn't have the time to dig any deeper. He just has to hope it won't cause Pristine Milk to falter. "My duties call, but please - don't hesitate if you need something." Elder Faerie nods, and Pristine Milk tilts his head to peek up at him - ocean blue and gold eyes dimmed, the light in them missing.

"'Kay." It's enough of an answer - and so Elder Faerie slips from the room with just the soft shush of his wings dragging against the floor.

"…Is he gonna be okay?" Sugar Apple moves towards the bed now that Elder Faerie's gone, standing on her tip-toes to peer over the footboard.

The Faeries glance at one another as one steps back from where she had been changing the bandages on the Fount's tail. "Yes, he'll be fine." She speaks in a soft tone, soothing in a way that seems practiced, "He is a Virtue, and therefore stronger than the average Cookie. You needn't fret." She assures, and Sugar Apple nods - although it doesn't look like she entirely believes her.

Pristine Milk just sighs, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap. Just a few days to heal… These sorts of wounds, even with a Soul Jam, can take months. Not to mention… everything else.

"Are you alright, Pristine Milk?" Lilac Faerie returns to his side as the Faeries file out - taking that bucket with them -, their job done for the moment.

Pristine Milk just blinks sleepily at him, and Lilac Faerie sighs. He probably wasn't expecting an answer, anyway, but Pristine Milk still feels bad for disappointing him. But speech is taxing on his already raw throat, and he's pretty sure if he opened his mouth all that would come out is an ugly sob and he is not breaking down in front of his kids.

Not when he's crying over his own sins. No, that's his burden to bear, and his alone.

"…Sugar Apple, why don't you tell him about your apprenticeship?" Lilac Faerie glances between the two, and Sugar Apple brightens at the mention.

"Oh! Oh!" She chirps, "I met one of the Cookies from the Blueberry Kingdom! Her name is Rhubarb Pie Cookie, and she runs a bakery here. She's teaching me to bake! I've helped her with breads and muffins and croissants-" Sugar Apple happily chatters on, while Pristine Milk tries to fight a headache.

He loves her, he really does, but he doesn't have the capacity for proper listening when he's still in pain and barely able to stay awake. He'd barely been able to follow what Elder Faerie was saying - much less the excitable chatter of Sugar Apple…

"Apps, I think we should let Pristine Milk rest." Lilac Faerie cuts her off with a pat to her head, and Pristine Milk is glad he caught on so quickly. "Didn't Rhubarb Pie Cookie say she wanted to start teaching you how to make brioche?"

"Oh! She did! Thanks for the reminder!" Sugar Apple hums, "Are we gonna go straight to the bakery, or are you going to stop to see that Faerie-" She's cut off by Lilac Faerie placing a hand over her mouth.

"Don't mind her, Pristine Milk. We'll be heading out now, so do make sure to rest up." Lilac Faerie shoves Sugar Apple forward, then retracts his hand abruptly with a disgusted noise, "Did you just lick me?!"

"I had to!" Sugar Apple complains, but still lets Lilac Faerie push her along. "Bye, Pristine Milk! I'll bring you back something tasty!"

The moment the door is shut, Pristine Milk crumples into himself, scrubbing at his eyes as he tries to choke back sobs.

The weight of everything seemed to hit at once - he's going to be sealed in the Tree alongside the people that used to be his closest friends, those he considered siblings. He only had a few days - days! - to heal from massive injuries to the point where he's bedridden.

According to the healers, he'd probably never be able to walk normally again - Burning Spice had shattered his leg so well that it wasn't healing properly. The wound on his side still sluggishly oozed blood and felt like a ball of agony - but he was slowly beginning to grow numb to the throbbing pain. At least his tail should be mostly fine, despite the massive trauma to it - just a minor kink, maybe some pain caused by moving it, but nothing major. Small blessings, he supposes. His mana was dangerously low and not replenishing properly, his mental state was in shambles, his physical state was just as bad…

Pristine Milk bites his own hand to muffle the wail that he can feel bubbling up. He's a horrible leader, he got so many people killed! He was never a strategist, even with all his Knowledge he can't account for emotions a lot of the time… He can't account for people acting unpredictably - and even when he tries to, people still act in ways he can't foresee!

He expected Spice to act like the brute he had shown himself to be in all the other battles they had met in after the other had Fallen, and Spice took advantage of the fact that Pristine Milk struggles to account for people acting outside what he expects. And had caught him off guard.

And he had gotten nearly his entire group killed. A few of his militia and the small handful of citizens he had left when he went to face Burning Spice had managed to escape, but the massive number of those who died…? Pristine Milk could barely handle it.

He knew all of them. Spoke to them. Applesauce Cookie ran a little stall selling produce from the farm she ran with her husband and their children (she and her husband died. their son lost his sister. Butter Cookie is usually found in the gardens, mourning his entire family). Banana Milkshake was in training to be a teacher, working in the local nurseries and taking care of the youngest children of the Kingdom. Choco Nutmeg was a brilliant Cookie with so much going for them, in training to become the next headmaster of the Academy once Pristine Milk stepped back - they never deserved to die in war. Cherry Jubilee was barely past being a baby dough, and yet Pristine Milk had seen her aptitude for magic already coming in and wanted to nurture it. The other children had dreams - some wanted to be poets and authors, others wanted to be a mage or scholar like he was, some wanted simple lives while others desired the spotlight.

He Knew every Cookie of the Blueberry Kingdom - even some from the surrounding towns and farmlands.

Now there's barely any of them left.

Pristine Milk can taste his own blood - tart blueberry on his tongue - from where his sharpened teeth have dug into his own dough as he tries to keep himself silent. The taste makes him nauseous, and he fights back the bile rising in his throat - he's already emptied his guts enough, and he doesn't want to ruin the sheets…

He falls apart in his hospital room, and prays to the Witches that no one ever knows.

He's no bastion of hope or light in the dark - he's just a scared, lonely Cookie with no idea what he's doing. A laughable concept, really - he's the Fount of Knowledge. Knowing is his entire thing - he should always have a plan, always have an idea of what to do next. But he doesn't.

And no one can ever know that, can they?

Pristine Milk is used to playing roles, to fitting himself into what other people expect him to be - but he's so tired. He knows he's not meant to be a 'real' person - that he exists as a leader, a figurehead, someone to look up to. Being untouchable means he can't touch, either, he's found. People start looking at you with awe and reverence, stuttering over their words and acting abnormally, doing anything to gain your favor, even if it's to their detriment.

Pristine Milk hates it. He just wants to be seen as normal.

At least his kids don't see him as some god, all the awe of being the Fount washed away in the wake of his clumsiness (the stairs in the Spire are carpeted for a reason) and his air-headed tendencies (more than once Sugar Apple has found him staring blankly at a wall, having entirely forgotten what he was doing in the room he was in.)

Pristine Milk takes a deep breath through his nose, slowly retracting his fangs from his hand and wincing at the holes left behind, sluggishly leaking jam. (Just like his side had, when Spice-) Pristine Milk shakes his head, leaning over slightly despite the pain to dig through the side table. He had seen some of the Faeries leave bandages in there, so the least he can do is try to not get more blood on the sheets.

Despite his lack of proficiency in restoration magic, he at least Knew basic first aid. Surprisingly useful to know when you fall down the stairs at least twice a month.

…Maybe he should stop pacing up and down the stairs when lost in thought. Eh, it doesn't much matter now, he doubts there's many stairs in the Silver Tree. Otherwise Spice would probably push him down them anyway. If Flour didn't 'return them to flour' first, or if Sugar didn't lure them into her dreamscape…

Pristine Milk should probably be a lot more worried about the risks of being sealed in close proximity to his former-friends, but at this point he's so numb he's pretty sure he's ascended to a new state of being.

That or he's just dissociating a little. That too.

Pristine Milk yelps as he falls to the floor, closing his eyes tight to avoid the tears he can feel welling up. Okay, practicing levitation with a broken leg and his tail still healing might have been a bad idea! He's off balance in far too many ways - and messing with gravity when you already cannot stand is definitely… well, it's one of his ideas of all time!

"Might have been," Pristine Milk mocks himself with a groan, resting his forehead against the cool wood of the floor. "Okay…"

It's easy enough to run a diagnostic spell to take stock of himself. Leg and tail are still broken and the wound on his side is still sluggishly leaking jam into his bandages on occasion… The smaller wounds are all mostly gone, minus the deeper gash on his arm and a handful of the ones that got large quantities of spice in them…

Well. All things considered that's about as good as he can expect. He'd aggravated his wounds by slamming into the floor, but Pristine Milk has gotten really good at ignoring pain.

His mana's low still, but he'll make do. His Soul Jam seems to leak it slowly, like a small crack in a drinking glass. He can feel the faint hum around it - that starlight and sunshine - and it worries him.

If his Soul Jam was leaking his magic, isn't that dangerous? Well, probably not. It'd be difficult for anyone aside from the strongest of mages to truly draw out the power of Pristine Milk's mana - most mages would probably just have an easier time casting spells, none of the amplification or extra power from a Virtue's magic to be seen.

Although if he leaked too much mana into the atmosphere it could cause a cascade effect and destabilize- Pristine Milk shakes his head, sighing to himself. Yet another tangent. Unimportant at the moment.

Right now he just wanted to go back to sleep. Maybe on the floor. Yeah, that sounded nice. And he was already down here with no desire to haul himself back on the bed! Win-win, really.

…Pristine Milk thinks he may be losing his mind a little.

Pristine Milk sighs as he sprawls out on his bed, resting on his stomach with his head towards the footboard, a pillow tucked under his chin. It was late, and he was bored.

He'd been staying in bed like a good little injured Cookie after he had been found napping on the floor, but it was boring! He was a Virtue, a God, he had far too much energy to just stay in bed. Even with a cracked Soul Jam and his energy going towards healing, he still can't sleep, can't rest.

There's so much to be doing - he could be helping the Silver Kingdom in their preparations for the Sealing Ritual, he could be picking his way through the rubble of the Blueberry Kingdom, he could be salvaging whatever is left of his Spire (he can't feel the connection to it humming in his head - Burning Spice must've razed it to the ground once Pristine Milk was out of the pictures and his wards fell.) - he… Could be doing so much more than just laying in bed, licking his wounds and feeling sorry for himself, as if he deserves to play the victim…

Pristine Milk just sighs, blinking slowly at the carvings in the footboard. Vines and flowers swirling over dark wood, delicate little things.

He gets the distinct urge to sink his fangs in, to scratch it until it's unrecognizable. To raze the entire room to the ground - to see the Kingdom in flames just like his was. To rip every last Cookie in the Kingdom to shreds, blood on his teeth and staining his clothes-

Pristine Milk almost flinches when those desires hit him - he's not a violent Cookie, he doesn't like destruction and death. What's wrong with him? It terrifies him, that those sorts of urges could even exist. He's not Burning Spice, he's not some… Some murderer! He's a scholar and a pacifist!

Pristine Milk takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down as he squeezes his eyes shut. He's broken in a way he can't even comprehend - but he can't be. He's meant to be a god, perfection incarnate, better and stronger than everyone else…

So he's fine. Just a little wounded. A little off-balance.

That's fine.

He's fine.

"Pristine Milk!" Someone calls, as Pristine Milk sits quietly on a bench in one of the gardens. "Ah, I'm so glad I found you!"

Pristine Milk startles from where he was half-dozing, rubbing his eyes as he studies the Cookie. Tan skin, soft pinkish-red hair, bright green eyes, wearing a stained apron over simple clothes. "Oh. Rhubarb Pie Cookie. Hello."

Pristine Milk didn't actually know most of the Cookies in the Silver Kingdom, beyond the Faeries he knew from years prior and the small handful of his citizens he knew settled down here - but everyone else? Pristine Milk had no clue, and hadn't bothered to get to know them. He'd be gone soon enough, anyway.

"Good evening, Fount of Knowledge." She dips into a curtsy, but Pristine Milk just shakes his head.

"No need to be so formal, my title means little these days. What do you need of me?"

Rhubarb Pie looks relatively surprised, but shakes it off quickly. "Sugar Apple requested I find you as I'm letting her bake alone today, and she said she wanted you there to taste-test."

"Ah," Pristine Milk perks up a little at that - even though everything is bad right now, at least there's Sugar Apple and Lilac Faerie. "Please, lead the way." He winces as he rises to his feet, summoning his staff to lean on. He really needed to speed up that levitation spell he had been chipping away at. Despite the plethora of failures it was getting there. Slowly.

Although he had slept on the floor quite a lot since he started testing it for long-term usage. And gotten yelled at just as many times for aggravating his wounds and risking making his mana exhaustion worse…

"Are you alright?" Rhubarb Pie frets, but Pristine Milk just offers her a gentle smile.

"Still healing, but I'll be alright. Let's not keep Sugar Apple waiting, hm?"

Rhubarb Pie still looks worried, but leads the way nonetheless, casting glances his way every few minutes.

Her bakery is a small thing, tucked between a few other shops. Warm on the inside, seeming more equipped for the everyday Cookies that had taken refuge in the Kingdom than the Faeries. Warm on the inside, with comfortable looking seats and tables covered in checkerboard-patterned tablecloths. Lilac Faerie is leaning against the counter behind the register, looking half-asleep as he reads a book.

"Lilac Faerie! No slacking!" Rhubarb Pie scolds, and Lilac Faerie jumps, eyes landing on Pristine Milk.

"Ah, apologies, Rhubarb Pie Cookie." Lilac Faerie smooths out his outfit, removing invisible dust as he shuts the book and slides it under the counter. "Hello, Pristine Milk. Sugar Apple is-" He winces as the door to the kitchen is thrown open, Sugar Apple trotting out covered in flour (something in Pristine Milk freezes at the sight, his magic rising instinctively - to heal despite his lack of skill, to shield her, to get rid of the flour - before he shuts it down) but smiling.

"I made muffins!" She chirps, light catching the apple hair clips holding her twin buns in place as she twirls, black-and-white skirt flaring around her. "I even made some with blueberries for you, Pristine Milk!"

"Oh. Thank you," He never realized his children paid close enough attention to come to recognize the things he enjoyed eating, given how little he eats. It's… nice, to know someone cares. Although these days even just the scent of blueberry made him nauseous, he'll still eat it. She made it for him, after all.

Sugar Apple just cheers, darting back into the kitchen - where everyone can hear a disturbing amount of clattering and what is distinctly the sound of a baking tray falling to the ground.

"…Do you need help in there?" Lilac Faerie calls, but gets no answer, "If she's dead it's not my fault."

Pristine Milk glances away, blanching at the joke. He suddenly doesn't feel very hungry - not when the memories of that rotting flesh and blood-

"Here you go!" Sugar Apple sets a blueberry muffin in front of him, looking up at him for approval, "I… did my best."

"I know you did," Pristine Milk offers her a smile, shoving down the memories that threaten to overwhelm him, as he studies the muffin and picks off a small portion to pop into his mouth.

It's… good. Fluffy, sweet - but balanced out by the tartness of the blueberries, and comfortingly warm inside. And it… doesn't make him nauseous. Even with the blueberries.

"You did good, Sugar Apple. It's delicious."

"Yay!" Sugar Apple cheers, gloating about cheering up Pristine Milk to Lilac Faerie, who just groans and hands her some money.

Well, Pristine Milk will just pretend he doesn't know that they had a bet going on who could cheer him up. Let the kids have their fun.

"They're good kids," Rhubarb Pie speaks up from where she sits across from Pristine Milk at one of the tables, picking at her own muffin. "I'll keep an eye out for 'em."

"Thank you, Rhubarb Pie Cookie. Sugar Apple in particular seems very fond of you." Pristine Milk wonders if his kids will forget him eventually… Maybe it'd be for the best. He doesn't know if he'll ever get out of the tree, after all. The seal is meant to be near unbreakable…

He hopes they do. That Sugar Apple will grow up and perhaps follow in Rhubarb Pie's footsteps. That Lilac Faerie will keep looking out for his sister, but will find his own place in life.

He hopes that his shadow won't hang over them. That they'll be seen more as just 'The Fount's Apprentices' - that they can make their own place in life. He doesn't want them to be held back by him…

Pristine Milk wants them to be happy - even if it's without him.

But for now, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of daily life in the Faerie Kingdom, Pristine Milk can pretend he'll be here forever, watching his kids and cheering them on.

Pristine Milk blinks up at the tree situated in the center of the kingdom - some of the branches look like they form the shape of the Soul Jams. How interesting. His branch is glowing a soft silver, whereas the others are dimmed.

"What could that mean…?" Pristine Milk murmurs as he studies the tree, hovering ever-so-slightly off the ground - his spell was finally working, at least! He'd figured out how to harness the mana leaking from his Soul Jam. Turns out it's much easier to manipulate the ambient mana that drips out of his Soul Jam than it is to pull on his own mana supply.

"Ah. It's because you're still pure." A voice replies, and Pristine Milk squeaks as he whips his head around.

"Oh. Hello, Mercurial Knight Cookie. Am I… in the way of your patrols?"

"No." The Faerie stares up at the tree alongside him, "I was simply curious about what you were doing out here. Not many aside from the Faeries tend to get this close to the Tree, especially now with the preparations for the Ritual being under way."

Pristine Milk shrugs, "I… know I'm going to be sealed in there soon. It's strange how something I should fear so deeply is still so beautiful. I figured I'd at least sketch it a little… History should know of the Virtues failings, after all…"

"Hm." Mercurial Knight hovers by Pristine Milk's side for a moment, letting the silence reign as the Fount stares up at the tree. "They've located Burning Spice."

Pristine Milk nods. "Ah. So it's almost time, then?"

"Most likely. I hope you're prepared. There is no getting out of this."

"I know." Pristine Milk whispers, blinking up at the tree, "I won't run away."

Because running away meant being a coward. And being a coward meant people suffered, meant people died. No, Pristine Milk is done running. He'll face the Witches and happily be imprisoned if it means Earthbread will be safe.

If the price he must pay for his failures are his wounds and his eventual imprisonment, well… That's not that high of a price, is it? He still has his life - and the same cannot be said for all those he's failed.

Pristine Milk just hopes it's enough atonement, enough to absolve the world of his sins, to take all of the bad and lock it away to create a better, happier future for everyone.

The gardens are quiet at this time of night. Pristine Milk peers up at the stars from between the leaves of the towering trees around the kingdom, idly drawing lines from star-to-star like a cosmic game of connect-the-dots. Doodling the shapes of the Soul Jams, of cream sheep and cats, of cakehounds and gummy worms. Simple drawing spells like this take almost zero mana for someone like the Fount, so it at least gives him something to do.

These sorts of nights eat at him. Too peaceful. Too quiet, too calm. What has he done in his life to deserve these moments? Led people to their demises, spread Truths that made people upset - and then made them more upset by attempting to comfort them, told lies in the hopes of making things better that spiraled out of control and made everything worse…

Sometimes, Pristine Milk wonders what it's like to live a life not marred by regret. He didn't regret taking in Sugar Apple and Lilac Faerie, nor did he regret the vast majority of his studies into magic, but what was he aside from a scholar and a mage?

His Truths hurt even when he didn't want them to. His Knowledge often led to pain, horrors he could never foresee. Pristine Milk himself is a coward, hiding in his Spire or behind the former Virtues or his title - never fighting, always apologizing, never standing his ground unless it concerned something important.

Yet he had still failed.

"It's late, you know." A voice calls, and Pristine Milk tilts his head to meet Lilac Faerie's bored gaze. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Probably." Pristine Milk shrugs, stretching out and wincing when it aggravates the wound on his side. "I was simply… admiring the stars, before…"

Lilac Faerie sighs, sitting down beside the sprawled-out Fount, and leans back on his hands to study the sky Pristine Milk had been doodling in. "You'll be fine."

"Never said I wouldn't be." Pristine Milk Knew the Truth, though - he was broken, in such a way that he could probably never be repaired. His Soul Jam not healing itself was proof enough - it should be self-repairing, yet it's not…

The two are silent for a time, as Pristine Milk returns to doodling in the sky. "I'm not afraid, Lilac Faerie." He was. "I know it's my duty - I know it's what's right."

"That doesn't matter." Lilac Faerie's voice has a sharpness to it, "You're still abandoning us!"

Pristine Milk winces, "That's what you're upset about?" It comes out far more accusatory than intended, and he can hear Lilac Faerie's frustrated groan.

"Of course I'm upset about it! Sugar Apple is still trying to find ways to keep you free - she doesn't want to be left behind by another person she cares for!"

"She'll still have you."

"Does that matter, when all she wants is you?" Lilac Faerie's tone is nearly venomous, "And yet, you're all insistent in proclaiming this is some divine right. That this is all you're good for."

"It is all I'm good for," Pristine Milk shrugs, "I'm a Truthbearer who's Truths hurt, I'm a scholar with no classroom, I'm a pacifist mage. Sealing myself away for the sake of Earthbread is the best outcome for me."

"That doesn't matter!" Lilac Faerie's voice cracks, finally getting Pristine Milk to look over at him, watching as the Faerie scrubs tears from his eyes, wings fluttering behind him. "Why do you pretend like this doesn't hurt everyone around you? Like all that matters is your feelings?"

"…I don't want to hurt you further." Pristine Milk murmurs, "And if I act like there's no other option - that this is all there is for me - you won't have false hope that will only hurt you."

Lilac Faerie sighs, although it's more of a shaky hiccup. "You're still hurting us, Pristine Milk. Sugar Apple is devastated, I'm…"

"I know." Pristine Milk slowly pushes himself upright, leaning forward to ruffle Lilac Faerie's hair, "You're trying to be strong. I understand."

"Understanding means nothing in this scenario, Pristine Milk."

"…I know. I'm sorry, Lilac Faerie. I've never been good at these kinds of things," Pristine Milk sighs. "Emotions are not my forte."

"I'm plenty aware." Lilac Faerie laughs, "Every time Sugar Apple or I got upset when we were younger, you would start crying, too."

"And I'd always have to call Powdered Sugar in…" Pristine Milk flushes, glancing away, "She always teased me for not understanding children, despite having two of my own."

"You were awful with kids." Lilac Faerie snickers, wiping away the last of his tears, "Remember that time that Sugar Apple wanted to learn magic, so you taught her a simple fire spell and told her not to burn the Spire down?"

"I didn't expect she'd go start a forest fire!"

"What did you expect?!" Lilac Faerie cackles, and Pristine Milk can't help but smile - it's always nice when his kids are happy. "She was a child! Of course she was going to light things on fire!"

"I didn't think she'd go the arson route immediately! The Spire had hundreds of fireplaces!" Pristine Milk defends, crossing his arms. "This is just like when I taught you that water spell, and you flooded the entire lower floors."

"At least water damage is easier to deal with than fire." Lilac Faerie snickers, "You're really bad with kids, Pristine Milk. Should've just taught us some harmless yet flashy spells."

Pristine Milk is silent for a moment, then glances away with a murmur of "Why didn't I think of that…?"

"…You're hopeless." Lilac Faerie sighs, but there's fondness there. "You were just considering how you didn't want to disappoint us, and so you taught us something mostly harmless, but still practical."

"Ah. I suppose." Pristine Milk hates how perceptive Lilac Faerie is - how he can read the intentions behind Pristine Milk's clumsy actions. "It kept you both safe in a few scenarios, no?"

"It did." Lilac Faerie hums, tilting his head back to the sky. "You… always cared. More than you let yourself believe."

"Maybe so." Pristine Milk replies, following Lilac Faerie's gaze to the stars as the other starts doodling his own shapes in the sky.

It's quiet, the two of them drawing between the stars - a cosmic coloring book - a quiet moment before Pristine Milk is gone for good. At least Lilac Faerie seems calmer, now…

"…Don't go." Sugar Apple clings to Pristine Milk's side as he pats her head, watching as the Faeries ready the ritual. "They- they don't really need you, right? You should just stay!"

"Apps, he can't," Lilac Faerie stands on her other side, although the fluttering of his wings betrays his own distress, "The Ritual needs him."

"But, but… We can make a decoy! Or send someone else in his place!"

"No one else holds a Soul Jam, my dear." Pristine Milk sighs, "And I doubt a decoy could ever come close to my magnificence!"

"Hm… Probably not," Sugar Apple agrees despite the tears in her eyes, "…You'll come back for us though. Right? You won't be gone forever, right?"

"Apps…" Lilac Faerie scolds, but Pristine Milk just shakes his head.

"I can't promise that, my dear, but I will do everything in my power to come back to you one day. But, you need to promise me something, okay?" He kneels - still floating, so the motion doesn't aggravate his leg too much - to face her, hands on her shoulders as she nods rapidly. "I want you to stay with Rhubarb Pie Cookie - keep working with her. I want you to promise me that you'll live your own life, and not just wait around for me, okay?"

"But… You're important, Pristine Milk! I don't… I- life doesn't make sense without you!"

"I know, Sugar Apple, but life has a way of hurting us no matter how much we wish things were different. All we can do is accept it and adapt."

"…Okay." Sugar Apple murmurs, "I promise I'll keep baking with Rhubarb Pie Cookie…"

"Thank you, Sugar Apple." Pristine Milk carefully pulls her into a hug, mindful of his remaining injuries and her tendency to cling. "Lilac Faerie-"

"I know. Keep an eye on her. I will." Lilac Faerie may act stoic, but Pristine Milk knows he's just as torn up as his little sister.

Pristine Milk just nods at him, gently nudging Sugar Apple towards her brother. "I'll see you two again some day, alright?"

"You better! You promised!" Sugar Apple calls as Pristine Milk floats towards the Ritual Circle, ignoring the Beasts chained around him.

He knows Sugar Apple is distraught, that deep down she knows that her lifespan isn't long enough to see Pristine Milk again. Lilac Faerie may live to see that day, but Sugar Apple?

No. Pristine Milk would miss her entire life, and let her die with an unfulfilled promise. Lying to make others feel better isn't the worst thing, but somehow in this scenario it feels a thousand times worse than his other sins. She was a child - her guardian was leaving her after she was already abandoned once.

Pristine Milk hopes she hates him some day - that way he can at least feel like he's gotten his dues. She doesn't deserve to live a life burdened by Pristine Milk's false promise. He hopes she lives a life free of regret.

Pristine Milk hopes Lilac Faerie finds his place in the world as something more than just the shadow to his sister - he's a bit aimless, but good at the roles he slides into. Pristine Milk hopes he finds something to occupy his time properly - something he wants to do and finds joy in. He's a smart Cookie, so Pristine Milk trusts him.

"Ready, old friend?" Elder Faerie stands in front of Pristine Milk as he dispels his levitation, wincing as his leg threatens to give out.

"Ready." He wasn't. He'd never be. But this is one lie he'd never regret telling.

Over the din of the Faeries chanting, he can hear Spice yelling, Sugar complaining to keep it down, he can feel Flour's apathy and Salt's quiet fury.

Pristine Milk simply accepts his fate, and the world goes dim around him as the Ritual circle flares into light.

Chapter Text

"You!" Burning Spice yells, and Pristine Milk flinches, scrambling backwards, away from the silver forks that make up the Beast's cells. "You're the reason we're all stuck in here!"

"N-no, you did it to yourself!" Pristine Milk feels defenseless without his staff -Burning Spice may lack his axe (and is imprisoned…) but Pristine Milk knows that he's just as capable with his fists as he is with his axe.

"You'd say that, wouldn't you." Burning Spice huffs, and Pristine Milk wants to gag at the scent of smoke that follows him. Memories of a burning kingdom, of scorched blood and rotting corpses- "Sitting all comfortable, not even shackled. What, did you expect to get a medal?"

"No," Pristine Milk can't help the way his voice wavers, the audible fear underpinning it. "I-I just… did what had to be done!"

Burning Spice just laughs, as if it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. "Playing the savior again? You saw what that got you last time, Milk!"

"I-I'd do it again!"

"Liar." Burning Spice grins at him, all fangs and malice. "But whatever helps you sleep at night. Just keep your crying to yourself, it gets annoying."

"I-" Pristine Milk rubs at his eyes, swallowing thickly as he stares up at Burning Spice. All he can think of is the pain of being underneath him, how tiny and fragile he is compared to Spice's massive form. "If… If it keeps everyone safe, then…!"

Burning Spice just scoffs, "You can barely even speak. How are you going to keep anyone safe like that? With your pathetic little spells you barely ever cast?"

Pristine Milk blinks up at him, and Burning Spice sighs. "You're pathetic as ever, Milk."

Pristine Milk still can't find words - all he can focus on is the scent of spice, so sharp and burning, the thick, choking taste of smoke as he breathes, the phantom pain radiating from the wounds that never healed.

"Look at you, always acting so high and mighty, only to be reduced to this the second things don't go your way." Burning Spice clicks his tongue, leaning forward slightly to rest against the bars, head tilted as he watches Pristine Milk tremble. "You act like you're the bastion of perfection, and yet you can't survive a little fight?"

"I-I wouldn't… call that little." Pristine Milk instinctively goes to rub at his side - although in the Tree all he gets is a phantom wisp of pain. "You cracked my Soul Jam."

"And? They heal." Burning Spice waves a hand dismissively, "Unless… oh, Milk, are you telling me your Soul Jam isn't healing?"

Pristine Milk is just silent, and Burning Spice cackles.

"Oh, that's too good, Milk. You're not even healing properly? I'll take that as a compliment to my technique!"

"It's not a compliment…" Pristine Milk murmurs, but it goes unheard under Burning Spice's near hysteric laughter.

"Keep it down, Spicy." Eternal Sugar complains from somewhere nearby, voice heavy, as if she had just woken. "Some of us just want to sleep our punishment away!"

"Oh, you always want to sleep! It's no fun! At least Milk makes things less boring with all his whining!"

At least Burning Spice is now busy arguing with Sugar, so Pristine Milk can slowly push himself as far away from the gleaming silver of the forks to hide in the dark. He's not shackled, not in the way the Beasts are. His body, his Soul Jam, his consciousness are all trapped, but he has more freedom in this strange, in-between space than they do.

"Oh. It's you." Mystic Flour's voice is monotone, and Pristine Milk sneezes when some of the flour from her cell drifts his way. "Tired of playing with Burning Spice?"

"I wasn't playing with him!"

"Hm, no, you weren't. More he was playing with you?" Mystic Flour opens one eye slightly to regard him, then shakes her head slightly as she shuts it once more. "Do you need something?"

"…No." Pristine Milk watches her for a moment, then settles down, pulling his legs in close and resting his chin on his knees. If he was quiet she probably wouldn't mind him staying here, and Pristine Milk could use some calm. Even if Mystic Flour's magic makes him want to sneeze constantly.

The aches from his physical body don't effect him as much here - his tail is still straight, able to easily curl around his leg. He can walk again - although the scarring remains. Even the scar over his eye that he hadn't noticed - a mockery of the symbol on his forehead - is still here, and he brushes his fingers over the skin and bites back a noise at the faint flare of heat beneath it.

"I'm surprised you know how to keep quiet." Mystic Flour speaks again, breaking the silence and causing Pristine Milk to flinch, "You were quite prone to chattering on. I'd ask what happened, but it's all quite meaningless now, is it not?"

"…It is," Pristine Milk agrees quietly, eyes slowly drifting upwards, as if he could see the top of the tree. "I'll be quiet, if you don't mind me staying here."

"Do as you like. It doesn't matter to me." Mystic Flour replies, and silence falls once more.

Pristine Milk just sighs, curling up ever so slightly tighter, tail twined around his ankles. The Tree felt cold inside - or maybe it was just Pristine Milk himself, as even his magic felt colder than it should.

Distant stars. The sun in the winter. Cold, yet the light is still there. It's not corrupted, it's not like Spice's inferno or Flour's suffocating haze or Sugar's cloyingly sweet miasma. It's just… colder. Distant.

Maybe that's the effect of the Tree, as well. Their magic cut off, changed, made less useful. Or maybe being around the Beasts is slowly sinking into him, and in a few millennia he'll be corrupted too.

…He hopes he doesn't. He wants to see the future, not be the one to destroy it. (Because Pristine Milk Knows, that if he were to Fall, then he would stop at nothing to destroy everything. Revenge for all the pain and suffering he's felt. A way to get out all his pain and anger without caring of the consequences.)

Pristine Milk wants to be better than that - but is he?

"That's new." Pristine Milk has taken to pacing the void, the cold not-ground beneath his paws numbing them as he practices minor spells. This one - a simple spell most often used for scrying, to see things one otherwise couldn't - hadn't worked before now.

Now? He could see outside.

"Did it work?" A voice calls, and Pristine Milk perks up when he realizes it's Lilac Faerie.

"It should've!" Sugar Apple chirps, and the scene shifts to face the ceiling. "Pristine Milk?"

"He can't reply, Apps." Lilac Faerie sighs, squinting down at the conduit, brushing his bangs away from his eyes to see better. "The magic seems stable, however, so I believe we should be connected."

"I told you it'd work!" Sugar Apple grins, and Pristine Milk can't help but smile back even if they cannot see him. Her happiness was always infectious. "Um… What now?"

Lilac Faerie sighs, straightening up and disappearing out of frame. "You didn't consider what to do once we had the spell stabilized?"

"Nope! Thinking is your job, Lilac!" Sugar Apple hums, and the scene shifts once more - they're inside Rhubarb Pie Cookie's bakery, Lilac Faerie's returned to leaning against the counter by the register, and Sugar Apple is happily trotting along towards the kitchen. "I'm gunna go show Pristine Milk what I've been working on."

"Have fun. Don't drop the ball in the dough. I do not want to go back there to get another one."

"I won't!" Sugar Apple promises with a resolute nod, yet Pristine Milk wonders where he had to go… Perhaps back to the ruins of the Spire? He wonders if they're still on fire - Burning Spice's fires were often magical in nature, and given the sheer amount of ambient mana that pooled around the Blueberry Kingdom, well… It could still be up in flames for a hundred years or more. Especially now that there aren't mages draining the abundance of mana…

Hm. He hopes the Blueberry Kingdom doesn't explode. That would not be fun. Perhaps he should've thought of some secondary method of dealing with the buildup of mana rather than just trusting that the various magical schools and his Academy would drain enough of it…

"-been working on new techniques, too!" Pristine Milk tunes back in, having entirely missed most of what Sugar Apple had been talking about. (He feels guilty for how often he does that - spaces out, runs off on tangents in his own head and forgets everyone right in front of him.) "Rhubarb Pie Cookie says I can even start running the shop without her!"

"Ooh, are those the kids~?" A lazy voice drawls, and Pristine Milk startles, whipping around to face Eternal Sugar - he hadn't even realized he'd wandered over by her cell.

Pristine Milk nods, holding out the mirror he'd managed to conjure, and Eternal Sugar hums. "Sugar Apple sure has grown a lot, hasn't she?" She drifts closer to the bars, lounging on a cloud. "I remember you finding her and bursting into my Gardens, near inconsolable!"

"She was tiny! And wouldn't stop crying!" Pristine Milk huffs, "It was scary!"

"Children are not that scary, Blue." Eternal Sugar laughs - and it's the soft, gentle laugh that Pristine Milk remembers from Powdered Sugar. "She was just hungry, anyways. Surely you, the oh great Fount of Knowledge, should've Known that~?" It's teasing, the same gentle ribbing he remembers from her.

"I…" Pristine Milk just huffs, "I'm not good with kids!"

"That much is obvious," Eternal Sugar yawns, stretching out, "It's nice to see the Little Apple again… She was always so sweet. Always liked spending time with Pavlova…"

Pristine Milk hums, "They were close friends, were they not? It's a shame they stopped seeing each other as much…"

"Ah, well, it can't be helped~ Pavlova had many duties to attend to in my Gardens, and I'm sure you kept the Little Apple busy~"

"…Not really. She was mostly free to do as she pleased." Pristine Milk shrugs, watching as Sugar Apple trots around the bakery kitchen, gathering ingredients and rattling off a list of instructions. "I didn't force anything upon her. If she wished to learn magic, I taught her. If she wanted to explore the forests, I offered her gear to keep her safe. If she wished to go into town, I had her brother accompany her. I was there to help her grow, not shepherd her along some preexisting path."

"Hm." Eternal Sugar squints at him, then shrugs. "You always were an odd one. Sometimes children need a little more… Guidance."

Pristine Milk can feel himself tensing up - he knew that even as Powdered Sugar, she was sometimes a little… harsh, on her children. He's never enjoyed thinking of it, but Knew he couldn't intervene. He simply offered his Spire as a place of refuge when Pavlova fled the Gardens on occasion.

"…I never needed to go that far. Sugar Apple found what she enjoyed doing, and I support her." Pristine Milk tugs the mirror back towards himself as Eternal Sugar yawns and settles further into her cloud. "Lilac Faerie is doing well, also."

"Who?" Eternal Sugar sleepily murmurs, and Pristine Milk just sighs.

"Never mind. Sleep well." Pristine Milk steps quietly away from the cell, hearing Eternal Sugar's mumbled pleasantries as he slips back into the dark.

Lilac Faerie… Well, if Eternal Sugar didn't remember him, it's probably for the best. It took years for him to stop tensing up at the scent of sugar… Pristine Milk had never pried, and Lilac Faerie had relaxed over time, so it was fine…

He didn't need to pry or force anything out of Lilac Faerie… Right? He was doing the right thing - he was pretty sure of that, at least. If Lilac Faerie wished to speak of his time with Eternal Sugar, he would.

Pristine Milk sighs as he stares down into the mirror, watching as Lilac Faerie brushes flour out of Sugar Apple's hair, dutifully trailing her around the kitchen despite his complaints.

Those two… Pristine Milk just smiles - Lilac Faerie can act as disinterested as he wants, but it's obvious he'd do anything for his sister.

It eases Pristine Milk's guilt ever-so-slightly, knowing that Lilac Faerie would be there for Sugar Apple.

He still misses them and feels horrible over his lie, but at least they wouldn't be alone.

(At least, for as long as Sugar Apple lived…)

"Ugh." Burning Spice glares down at Pristine Milk as the Fount stares up at him. "You're back again?"

"Th-there's not much to do but pace." Pristine Milk replies shakily. He partially had ulterior motives, hoping to slowly train himself out of the instinctive fear at the scent of fire and spice, but if anything it just gets worse.

"Sure, sure. Couldn't you go do it by Flour or something, though?" Burning Spice huffs, stretching his arms above his head. "You're no fun anymore. Always cowering and crying. I didn't think you could get more pathetic, Milk."

Pristine Milk just blinks slowly, wiping tears away as he tries to find words. The scent of spice and smoke choke his thoughts, sting his eyes and worm their way deep inside, instinctive panic constantly trying to rise.

"Go bother Flour, Milk. Whatever you're trying to prove, you aren't going to." Burning Spice shrugs, turning away to return to hacking away at one of the forks as if he could escape.

Pristine Milk just lets out a shuddering breath, watching Spice's attacks on the fork. There was no way out of that silver, not without an extreme amount of either magic or force - or both at once.

Pristine Milk had no intent of lending his magic to aiding his former-friends. Even if he still cared for them, he knew this was their best fate. Locked away, Pristine Milk acting as their cowardly warden within the Tree, keeping their magic under lock and key while the Tree's natural suppression aided him.

This was his duty now - to ignore the whispers at the back of his mind, the cracks in his Soul Jam, the phantom pain of poorly-healed wounds on his physical body. He had to be the keeper of the Beasts, trapped with them yet ever-so-slightly more free.

A cowardly warden he may be, but he will be one nonetheless.

Even his fear of Burning Spice won't stop him from doing what he needs to.

…Hopefully.

"Three hundred."

"Hm?" Pristine Milk opens an eye to blink at Mystic Flour, given that he had been dozing by her cell.

"How long we have been in here. Three hundred years."

"…How do you know that?" Pristine Milk had stopped counting, his ability to simply Know the time and date having faded the longer he was trapped in the void. He had no idea what time it was, what day it was, what year it was - and not Knowing was a terrifying thing for the embodiment of Knowledge.

Mystic Flour just gives him a flat look, and Pristine Milk opens his other eye while he tilts his head. "You truly don't know anymore? Hm. Maybe this Tree is worse for you than you expected."

"I don't care," Pristine Milk lies, wincing at the pang in his Soul Jam. "This is my duty, now. How do you know how long we've been here?"

Mystic Flour just shrugs. "Think of it as a riddle. How do I know?"

"You just don't want to tell me." Pristine Milk sighs, shutting his eyes again as he curls up on the ground. "You don't have to turn it into some game as if I'd have a tantrum just because you tell me no." Pristine Milk's tone is bitter, and tastes horrid in his own mouth.

"That isn't the intent." Flour's voice has the strangest hint of concern to it, hidden almost entirely by her monotone apathy. "You seem to not be doing well, and I know you enjoy riddles and puzzles."

"Ah." Pristine Milk feels guilty, now - of course he immediately assumed it was another attempt to hurt him. "Apologies…"

"Don't apologize. It's meaningless, now." Flour sighs, and Pristine Milk winces. "Simply consider the riddle and don't go insane, Pristine Milk."

"…Okay." Pristine Milk lays quietly, watching motes of flour drift out of Mystic Flour's cell, dancing in the faint light of the Soul Jams. A soft, pale gold and a gentle baby blue - the Soul Jam of Volition Apathy and the Soul Jam of Knowledge, humming quietly and casting a soft light over the immediate area. Spiderweb cracks making strange patterns in the gentle light, and Pristine Milk keeps finding himself feeling that something is watching him.

It's a painful comfort, to recognize that Flour still seemed to worry over him. She still cares, yet she's still wrapped in apathy. Mystic Pure Flour was always the type to dote over the other Virtues, always scolding Pristine Milk for his habit of smacking into things due to not looking where he was going, or chastising Fragrant Spice for getting into fights just for fun, or gently teasing Powdered Sugar when molting season came and her feathers were a mess yet still helping her tidy her wings, and even helping Sea Salt develop methods of communication that didn't require their voice.

She was caring. Doting. Even with her busy duties she always found time for them.

…Maybe the Virtues weren't all gone. Just… warped. Changed. Pure Flour existed under Mystic Flour, somewhere. the Prophet of Volition still existed in one form or another.

Pristine Milk sighs, and flicks an ear when he realizes he can hear Mystic Flour humming faintly. It was an old lullaby - soft and gentle. It always makes him sleepy, and Flour had abused that fact in the past to get him to rest before his body collapsed. He'd done that to his kids, in turn. (He wonders if they have (had?) kids of their own, and passed down all the things he taught them.)

Pristine Milk just lets himself relax, letting sleep creep in. He could rest, for once. He didn't always need to be the warden of a never-changing prison…

It's gotten quieter and quieter as the Beasts slowly succumb to the Tree, drifting off for good.

Eternal Sugar was the easiest to ensnare, sloth falls easily to the clutches of sleep, after all. Mystic Flour was next - her meditation lending itself easily to the lull of oblivion.

Pristine Milk was afraid, once those two were asleep - Burning Spice and Silent Salt were still awake, and they were the two biggest dangers to the Fount. Even though they couldn't really hurt him physically, psychological distress can have just as bad, if not worse effects on the body!

Hm. He hopes that fact doesn't mean that Sugar Apple and Lilac Faerie suffered after he was sealed. They were pretty distraught, and Pristine Milk would hate to have added to their issues…

Silent Salt seemed to mostly ignore Pristine Milk when he'd pace by the other's cell, although Pristine Milk had goaded them into games of Rock-Paper-Scissors and Go Fish on occasion. They seemed… broody, but not like they outright hated Pristine Milk.

Although once Silent Salt fell asleep, Pristine Milk was left with just Burning Spice for company.

It… wasn't pleasant. Burning Spice liked to throw taunts and try to goad Pristine Milk into reacting - or just outright try to make him panic. (Which he succeeds in. Every time. Not that Pristine Milk would tell him that, but the minute he smells fire and spice he panics. Sharp, raw, instinctive panic, screaming at him to get out, to get away, to find somewhere safe!)

(Safety doesn't exist, when you're trapped in such close quarters. Even behind the silver of the forks, Pristine Milk never truly felt safe.)

Although the few times Pristine Milk had carelessly walked too close to the cell, Burning Spice had just yanked his tail or caught him by the edge of his robes - and complained about him cutting his hair short. A tragic loss, in Burning Spice's agenda to make him cry in every way possible. Much harder to yank on chin-length hair!

Which, well, was kind of the intent, so… Pristine Milk: 1 / Burning Spice: like 500?

Slowly, though, Burning Spice stopped responding, falling asleep just like the others.

The Tree was cruel, keeping him awake while everyone slept.

Pristine Milk started counting fluctuations in the Soul Jam's soft glows. Started humming melodies to songs long forgotten, poking and prodding at the forks and fighting back the desire to see what would happen if he just tried to break them.

Sometimes Pristine Milk would claw at the darkness surrounding them until his fingers were bloodied, desperate for an escape that would never come. Other times he'd simply lay in front of Mystic Flour's cell and wonder how much flour he had to inhale to catch the plague. Or he'd go nudge Burning Spice against his better judgement out of the urge to just have something other than himself.

It never worked. No one ever responded, and he could never die. Not in this weird, in-between, disconnected from his physical self. A representation of one's consciousness, of their soul, cannot be killed quite so easily.

So Pristine Milk remained in the dark, with bloodied fingers and broken claws, feeling like the entire world was pressing in on him. As if it had narrowed to nothing but Pristine Milk, the dark, and the gleaming silver forks.

He wonders how long he's been in here. A thousand years, probably. Maybe more. Maybe so long that no one and nothing he knows still stands.
He wonders how long it'd take to escape, to carve away at the Tree until it releases him. How much blood he'd need to leave behind on the inside of the Tree, staining the entire place blue, the scent of blueberries and despair hanging in the air, suffocating him.
He wonders what remains of their Kingdoms, of the Silver Kingdom, of everything he once knew. He wonders if his Academy survived - if his Spire somehow made it out of the blaze, even partially.
He wonders what became of Lilac Faerie, of Sugar Apple's newfound love for baking, of Butter Cookie wandering the gardens in search of a new purpose, of Burnt Toffee struggling to integrate into the Silver Kingdom.

Ultimately, he knows it's useless. There's no point in questioning these things, in wondering. He can't escape. He chose this.

For better or for worse, Pristine Milk is eternally the cowardly, half-insane warden of the Beasts, locked inside the Tree by their sides.

This was his duty, and he would uphold his vow until he or his mind crumbled.

Even as he drifts off in front of Eternal Sugar's cell, the cloying scent of sugar lulling him into a sleep he feels he may never wake from.

But is that such a bad thing?

Pristine Milk may never have an answer, and he's almost relieved to not Know, for once.

Chapter Text

It starts with an explosion.

It wakes Pristine Milk near immediately, panic immediately surging through him as he inhales the scent of spice and fire, burnt sugar and caramel wafting through the air.

Panic and bile crawl up his throat in the same moment, but Pristine Milk forces it back down - something is happening, and it's not good. He doesn't need to make everything worse by panicking and/or vomiting. (He really needs to get more responses to things than 'blind panic' and 'throw up'…)

He knows the minute he sees light streaming in from cracks, hears the clattering of metal on the ground. From the sensation of magic that isn't his - something sharp, something dark, something that disturbs him to his very core.

The Tree shakes, and Pristine Milk stares up at the forming cracks, wincing as light hits his eyes. This… is not good.

He can hear the rattling of chains, of metal creaking, the sharp sound of bark breaking and bending. Salt's armor clanking, the screech of Spice's axe dragging against the ground, the taste of sugar and flour on his tongue.

Pristine Milk turns to the cells - squeaking when he realizes that they've failed. Bent and warped just enough to free the Beasts. Pristine Milk tries to repair the sealing spell on the fly, but the Tree's natural mana suppression makes it impossible to gather enough power. However this magic is overpowering it is… terrifying. The level of magic needed to break the cells should be impossible in the Tree!

It's no use, and Pristine Milk can recognize that almost immediately. Especially as his gaze slips from the growing cracks in the tree to the Beasts. Burning Spice is stretching, hefting his axe onto his shoulder. Silent Salt is adjusting his grip on his sword. Eternal Sugar is sprawled out, wings flared as she yawns. Flour simply stands beside them all, hands interlaced in front of her as she watches on in silence.

They're free, and it's terrifying.

"Sorry, Milk." Burning Spice laughs as he approaches Pristine Milk, "Can't have you interfering, yet."

"Wh- What do you mean?" Pristine Milk still feels that panic creep up - that screaming in the back of his mind to run - but he stays in place. "Why are you doing this?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, Milk." Burning Spice waves a hand, adjusting his axe on his shoulder, "We just have a new… opportunity. To use your little metaphors - we need a little time before you can come on stage. We need to liven things up a little, get the crowd ready. You get it, right?"

Burning Spice hefts his axe, and Pristine Milk yelps as it slams down on him, too quick for him to even think of reacting, and the world goes dark.

Pristine Milk winces at the light shining in through the hole in the bark of the tree, rubbing at his eyes and grumbling in complaint - he has the worst headache…

Wait a minute.

Hole in the bark of the tree?

Oh no. Oh nonononono- He had hoped that entire thing was a nightmare!

Pristine Milk bolts up, crawling his way to the edge of the hole and peering out - the Faerie Kingdom is in shambles, fires being put out and Faeries being carted off to the medics.

Pristine Milk pushes himself upright, and leans heavily on the tree as he slowly makes his way out of the tree.

"Wh-is that another Beast?!" Someone calls, but Pristine Milk ignores it as he carefully steps around shards of bark, trying to avoid splinters in his paw pads.

Only to yelp and immediately crumple to his knees when his weight is put on his left leg, and he's no longer able to hold onto the side of the tree. Shards of bark dig into his palms and knees, and he hisses in pain.

Right. His physical body was still a mess. His leg clearly didn't heal properly, although Pristine Milk can't fully tell if this is just a case of muscle atrophy or if it's remnants of an improper healing, and from the way his side aches and the skin pulls, he knows he must have a massive scar where Spice had cut him open.

"Halt. Who are you." Pristine Milk finally glances up, then whimpers when he realizes there's a spear pointed straight at him, eyes crossing as he tries to focus on the tip of it.

All he can think of for a moment is that axe, the pain of it cutting into him- "I-I'm not a Beast!"

"That's what a Beast would say." Pristine Milk doesn't know this Faerie, just that they're one of the Silver Knights. Not helpful. "Give me one good reason to not cut you down."

"I'm… um," Pristine Milk blinks at the spear, eyes wide, mind blank. All he can think about is the thought of it ramming into him, shattering his Soul Jam fully, spraying his blood across the ground and leaving him for dead.

"He's alright." A voice speaks, soft, quiet, yet slightly hesitant. "Elder Faerie told me about him." Her reassurance seems to go unheeded by the knight, however.

Pristine Milk glances over to the Cookie who spoke - red eyes, white hair, clad in green, and… "Salt's Soul Jam?" He speaks aloud, moving on autopilot to reach for it - only to yelp when the Faerie with the spear jabs him with it. "What was that for?!"

"You still haven't said who you are." They reply, and Pristine Milk blinks as he rubs at his arm. At least they hadn't stabbed him.

"I'm- I'm Pristine Milk! The Fount of Knowledge! The last Virtue!" He spits out all his titles rapidly, wondering which one is the 'right' one. "Sugar Apple just calls me a 'sparkly weirdo' sometimes, that works too?" His voice is squeaky towards the end as his panic partially wins out. The last time he was on the end of a weapon he was left for dead and ended up with a broken leg and a cracked Soul Jam, so…

Everyone is quiet - or, maybe, they are speaking and he just can't hear it. Pristine Milk tries to regulate his breathing. He knows he's on the edge of freaking out, and whether that'd lead to him lashing out or running, he really can't tell. His breathing is too shallow, the world feels too narrow, all he can think of is the pain, the spices in his wounds, the blood pooling under him-

What if that happens to him here!? In the one Kingdom he was supposed to be safe in?! What if he's stabbed through, left for dead, blood nourishing the rotting Silver Tree behind him?! What if they take his Soul Jam?! What if what if what if whatifwhatif-

Pristine Milk wakes up, not even sure of when he passed out. That hadn't happened in a while… Rather embarrassing, to work himself into such a state of panic that he passes out. Burning Spice would call him "overdramatic" and he wouldn't even be wrong…

The room is dark, and Pristine Milk is startled when he hears breathing beside him - only to glance to the other side of the bed and see the curled up form of Sugar Apple, Lilac Faerie dozing in a chair behind her.

Pristine Milk would never admit it - but he tears up at seeing them. His kids…

Sugar Apple had long stopped asking to sleep with him nearby - she'd grown up to be rather independent, even though she still liked to cling and tug her brother and father around behind her. Lilac Faerie often acted aloof and uncaring, but Pristine Milk knew him better than that - he cared far more than he ever lets on.

Pristine Milk hums, gathering the scant bit of mana he has left to gently levitate Lilac Faerie to the bed, setting him beside his sister. He deserved to rest comfortably, too, after all.

Pristine Milk wants this moment to last forever - quiet. comfortable. Safe, tucked together as if nothing could hurt them.

(Pristine Milk had dreamed about it, sometimes. Curling up in bed and feeling safe , rather than like he was hiding from the world.)

They were here. They were real. Pristine Milk couldn't give that up. Not yet.

(Elder Faerie would come to collect the Fount in the morning - only to decide to let him rest, seeing him curled around Sugar Apple with a hand reaching out for Lilac Faerie even in his sleep. He needed the comfort, and Elder Faerie wasn't going to take it from him.)

Pristine Milk sighs as he lounges in a chair in the meeting room of the palace, idly sketching in a notebook Lilac Faerie had given him.

"I'm bored." Sugar Apple declares from where she sits at his side, "Pristine Milk! Can't you make something fun happen?!"

"…What quantifies as 'fun' in this scenario, Sugar Apple? Because I will not be lighting anything on fire."

"Boo." Sugar Apple sticks her tongue out at him, but then shrugs, "I dunno. Can you do one of those little puppet shows you used to do?"

"Oh," Pristine Milk had almost forgotten about those - his crafts left to burn in the Spire, all his plays and scripts, all his costumes and set pieces - and the reminder feels like being dunked in freezing water. "I… suppose. I'll have to improvise, though…"

"Nuh-uh!" Sugar Apple slides off her chair, "Wait here!"

Pristine Milk blinks in bewilderment after her, then glances at Lilac Faerie who just gives him that smug smile and shrug that means he knows what she's doing, but he isn't telling Pristine Milk.

Pristine Milk simply sits quietly, swinging his legs idly (why are faeries so tall?) and watching the sunlight stream in through the large windows. The meeting wasn't for another few hours, but he had nothing else to be doing, really…

"Ta-da!" Sugar Apple cheers as she races back into the room, carrying a box that she can barely see around, nearly tripping in her haste to get back to the Fount's side.

She manages to get the box up on the conference table, although she knocks it over - and out spills…

"…Where did you get these?" He stares, wide-eyed at the assortment of scripts and dolls and half-finished sewing projects that spill from the box.

"I took them with me!" Sugar Apple grins as the Fount slowly picks up one of the scripts, hands shaking and tears in his eyes. "…I didn't want them to be lost if something happened to the Spire."

Pristine Milk offers her a watery smile, carefully sorting through the box. She'd saved so many of his projects…

"Oh, oh, you should do this one!" Sugar Apple points from his side - it's one of the newer scripts he had been working on, half-finished and abandoned. "It's so sad… But you always make happy endings though, don't you?"

"I… try to, yes." Pristine Milk runs a finger along the top sheet - it was more of a prophecy than a script for a play, but he wasn't going to tell anyone that.

It was the tale of a lonely Cookie burdened to carry the weight of the world - always reaching out but never getting what they needed until they fell into despair and took it by force. Forcing the world to look at them, to play in their games rather than the other way around - to be the star of the show, drenching the world in their Truth, even if it's a lie.

…It was about Shadow Milk. Maybe giving your corrupted self a name before it even truly exists is a dangerous game, but Pristine Milk had long since given up any semblance of playing things safe.

He hadn't finished it, because he was afraid of what he might write. What the conclusion to his story would be.

But maybe, he can give himself a happily ever after, just this once.

That's how the rest of the participants of the meeting find them, Pristine Milk floating above the table and directing puppets and props with blue string from his fingers, Sugar Apple watching on with stars in her eyes with Lilac Faerie by her side.

"-and with the Light, they had found redemption." Pristine Milk glances up when he hears the door open, "Oh, is it time?"

He's almost a little sad - it was… almost pleasing, to give himself - a version of himself - a happy ending for once. He almost didn't want to let go of the little puppets dangling from his fingers, but he still gently floats them and their makeshift stage back to the box.

"Aw, but, there's more, isn't there?!" Sugar Apple whines as Lilac Faerie picks up the box, nudging her with a foot.

"Come on, Apps. Pristine Milk will finish the story once he's done with his meeting, right?"

"Oh, yes, of course." Pristine Milk agrees immediately, almost too quickly. He knows that tone of Lilac's, and he's not about to be on the other end of Lilac's poison magics. Not again.

(How Pristine Milk, a Virtue , wasn't immune to poison was beyond even his Knowledge. It's not a pleasant feeling, even if it doesn't kill him!)

"…Pristine Milk." It's that white and green Cookie from the Tree.

"Ah, hello." He can sense a strange tension from her - as if she distrusts him. He supposes that's fair, given the Beasts nearly killed Elder Faerie… Maybe she can tell that he's…?

"Are you well?" She asks as she settles in her chair by Elder Faerie's side. "You still seem somewhat… under the weather."

Pristine Milk tilts his head, then follows her gaze to his Soul Jam. "I'm fine." He replies curtly, stretching out in the air. "Come what may, I will not falter." The eyes in his hair are all closed, but at least one in his tail is open, staring at White Lily. He hopes she's unsettled by it.

He hates people implying he's weak. Everyone always assumes that - always assumes that he'll always just run and hide, cower away, or at best use support magic. No, Pristine Milk had seen war now - he knew how to fight, cracked Soul Jam or not.

He won't be weak again, he won't be a coward again! He has to face his former friends one way or another.

As if you could do anything. A voice hisses in his ear, but Pristine Milk elects to ignore it. He… he had to be better. He had to do something!

"Oh, White Lily, you're here… early…" A new voice calls as they push open the door, trailing off when their eyes land on Pristine Milk.

The eyes in Pristine Milk's hair all snap open as the strands float around his face, tickling his chin. Pristine Milk himself stares wide-eyed at the newcomer, all golden clothes and soft blond hair.

And that Soul Jam. It hums - it sings in time with Knowledge, as if they recognize each other.

Pristine Milk unconsciously floats down, stopping in front of the golden Cookie. The moment Pristine Milk notices some of the pupils of the eyes in his hair are hearts, he flushes and closes them. Stupid things, always revealing his actual thoughts!

Pristine Milk slowly reaches out, fingertips stopping just short of that Soul Jam, mind racing. He's got Truth. He's part of me. He's… mine? My… my soulmate, so to speak? A piece of me?

No, no, that's impossible. I'm whole! I was never broken! I'm not corrupt! He's not mine! He can't be! He'll never be mine! Part of him screams, and Pristine Milk retracts his hand to hold it against his own chest, blinking at the golden Cookie. Not mine, never mine. Soulmates aren't real, you idiotic Fount! The others have Other Halves, because they were broken! You, are not broken!

Pristine Milk narrows his eyes at the Cookie, staring at his Soul Jam. The way it hums in time with his own, the way Knowledge sings in his ear. No. Not mine. I'm whole. He reminds himself with a shake of his head, tail flicking dismissively behind him as he turns away.

Not. Mine.

Pristine Milk just silently floats back to his seat, settling down on the table rather than in his chair, tail trailing out behind him, the eyes within watching both the golden Cookie and White Lily. The eyes in his hair are shut, and Pristine Milk focuses his actual eyes on his lap.

"…Are you alright?" The golden Cookie finally speaks, concern and confusion lacing his tone.

"Just ignore him," White Lily sighs, "He's… broody."

"I am not." Pristine Milk mutters, crossing his arms as he stares out one of the tall windows of the meeting room. Part of him wonders what it'd be like to just launch himself out of here, to leave behind nothing but shattered glass and broken promises.

To go face Spice. To find Salt. To wake Sugar. To cheer up Flour.

No, they all have Other Halves who will do the job better than he can - for now. Understanding born from sharing pieces of a Soul.

Pristine Milk was whole.

He'll find the time to deal the finishing blow - but their Other Halves would need to pave the way. Why risk killing himself early in this game, when he could simply watch the pawns move and strike at the last second? He'll bring them all to a cold checkmate.

The golden Cookie takes a seat beside him, although in the actual chair, the eye of the Vanilla Beholder on his staff glancing at the Fount, even as he talks with White Lily.

Pristine Milk just pretends to listen, pointed ear flicking every now and then as he shuts his actual eyes, studying the other two in the room through the eyes on his tail.

The flower. Broody. Has secrets, but who doesn't? Salt's Other Half, definitely. A free spirit. Has history with Truth, can't tell what. Mental notes were his specialty, and he needed to know everyone on this chessboard before he could make his plans. Something is off with her. Her magic is too much like Elder Faerie's. Did she inherit the Guardian's Power? No, impossible - Elder Faerie still has his powers.

Pristine Milk sighs through his nose, fingers clenching in the sleeves of his robes. Whatever, moving on. Truth. The eye in his tail focused on him can see that his staff is still looking at Pristine Milk. Blind? Likely at least partially. Seems to know what he's doing, at least. Accounts for the blind spots. Staff is an interesting design - I never could get a spell like that to work. Wonder how he did it. Ugh, enough thinking about magic! He has notes to be taking! Right. He's calm. Quiet. Too gentle. Speaks as if everyone matters. A healer, definitely. His Magic is warm - not like the Flower's. He holds things close, though, I can tell. Makes you think he's revealed his full hand, when in fact he has a thousand moves hidden away. Sneaky. Keep an eye on him.

"Ah, you're all here." Elder Faerie enters the room finally, and Pristine Milk nods in greeting, still not moving off the table even if he opens his actual eyes. It feels safer, sitting above everyone - being able to move. He could easily just launch himself off the table with one of his spells, after all. Even if he injures himself in the process…

"Elder Faerie." White Lily greets with a gentle smile, and Pristine Milk narrows his eyes. Something there. Keep an eye on the flower. Elder Faerie is still… safe. Right?

"Elder Faerie! I'm glad you seem to be doing better." The golden Cookie smiles, "You seemed winded after the battle."

"It was quite an intense battle, but not enough to knock me out of commission for good." Elder Faerie replies, settling down in his seat. "Are you going to get off the table, Pristine Milk?"

Pristine Milk glances around the room, then nods slowly as he slips into his chair. It feels too constraining - especially with two Cookies he barely knows in the room. But Elder Faerie is quite discerning, he wouldn't let someone who was a risk to the Kingdom be somewhere so restricted…

It's fine, that softer part of him murmurs, Knowledge humming against his soul, You're safe - Elder Faerie of all people would never let you get hurt. Right?

…Right. Pristine Milk gives a soft exhale, lifting his gaze to meet Elder Faerie's. "What's the first order of business, Guardian?" His voice is softer - less guarded, less edged with tension.

Elder Faerie hums, "You're not aware of the events of the battle, are you, Pristine Milk?"

"No." Pristine Milk shakes his head, "I was knocked out by Spice before the… action startled."

"Did he say why?" White Lily presses.

"…No." Pristine Milk says after a moment's hesitation, voice shaky, "I… don't know why. Maybe he knew I'd try to stop them…?" Liar, liar, tail on fire~ That dark part of him sing-songs, Oh, how cute, the Truthbearer hiding the Truth once more!

It's not a lie if he's just… omitting information! He's still telling the Truth! Spice did knock him out because he knew that Pristine Milk would try to stop them, but that's just… one of the reasons.

He can't tell the full Truth - not yet. Not when he doesn't know how this board is set. This… is delicate. He has to play it safe.

Truth gives him a look, but Pristine Milk ignores it. Whatever he thinks he may feel, he doesn't. …He should probably learn what his name actually is, rather than just calling him 'Truth' in his head. Hm.

"Well. That limits our options slightly." Elder Faerie sighs, shaking his head, "No use dwelling on it, however. Pure Vanilla," Oh, that's Truth's name. "You said the other Ancients are on their way to Beast-Yeast, correct?"

Beast-Yeast… Such a disturbing name. Is that all we're remembered for? Being Beasts? What of our accomplishments? Of our gifts to the world? Of all we loved and lost? Pristine Milk sighs, shaking his head slightly. It doesn't matter. Not right now.

"They are. I informed them of the situation as fast as possible." Pure Vanilla worries his hands around his staff, "I hope they are not suffering too badly…"

Pristine Milk is silent - he Knows they probably are. If he was drawn to his other half Truth, they're likely drawn to their own Other Halves.

Pristine Milk is whole. Knowledge just recognizes Truth as a facet of itself. Pristine Milk is whole.

Keep telling yourself that. That dark part of him sighs, exasperated. Pristine Milk ignores it.

"So how do we defeat them…?" White Lily is staring directly at him, "You must have some information, right?"

Pristine Milk hesitates - he… doesn't want them to see the Spire. To see his home, to see the remnants of what he used to be.

"Fount, your Spire-"

"Was destroyed." Pristine Milk cuts Elder Faerie off, knowing what he's going to say. What he's going to demand of him.

Pristine Milk wasn't opening his Spire to anyone - no, no, that was his home! His last place of true safety!

…And, well, it may actually be destroyed. He hasn't had a chance to check. The most likely scenario was that the moment he was incapacitated his wards fell, and so Burning Spice burnt the entire building to the ground. All that would've been saved is the undergrounds sections and the parts more deeply connected to his Other Realm.

Still. He wasn't letting anyone into the once place he could call home. No. Not again. Not after the War, not after having to hear people judge him and tell him he was a liar because they couldn't accept his Knowledge. No, not after having to hide things away, having to be selective with the Truth, having to simply watch as his followers grew disillusioned and fell to Deceit no matter how hard he tried.

"I don't know if it still stands," Pristine Milk continues, gaze focused on his lap as he fidgets with his fingers, "but even if it does, it's unsafe. No one should go there."

It's a shaky excuse, but he's the Fount.

Elder Faerie looks at him for a moment, and Pristine Milk feels exposed under that intense gaze. "…Very well, Pristine Milk. You'd never led us astray before. If you say it's dangerous, I will believe you."

"Thank you, Elder Faerie." Pristine Milk raises a hand to his Soul Jam, shutting his eyes as he focuses. He can draw his mana out easier this way - pulling it from the cracks in his Soul. It's easy enough to prod at the Other Realm, only for it to spit a few books onto his lap. "Thank you," He whispers to it, feeling the faint hum in the back of his mind.

Partially sentient. Just like his Spire. He asks, and it delivers, if it feels like it.

"What are those?" Pure Vanilla leans over slightly, shifting his staff to try and get a better view.

"Books." Pristine Milk replies flatly, hauling them onto the table. "What you want aren't my accounts of the Virtues, no. What you want are my journals. The unpublished works." Pristine Milk sighs as he spreads them out. "I refused to let the wider public know that the other Virtues were… Corrupting. Slowly. I could see the cracks - but I thought… If no one knew, we'd be safer." He sighs, holding one specific journal close - the last one he wrote, before Burning Spice attacked. "We weren't."

There's a quiet that settles over the meeting room, as Pristine Milk's journals are passed around. He refuses to give up his final one, though.

He knows what's written in it.

He knows if they saw the mania, the things he had written in flurries of panic and anger, that he'd be seen as just as bad as the Beasts. He may not… act on those impulses, but even having them?

No, he's the Fount. The good, virtuous little Fount that guides everyone with a gentle smile and a soft voice. Not maniacal, not taking glee in telling people the hard Truths that hurt them, not deliberately twisting things just to see what happens.

His fingers clench ever so slightly tighter against the book he holds to his chest, but he turns his attention to the meeting once more.

"What's in that one?" White Lily asks, a pointed look at the journal Pristine Milk clings to. "Is it important?"

"It's… more personal, than those ones. I'll tell you what's relevant." His voice is soft, yet the faintest edge of despair clings to it. "I'll… not yet. But I will."

It's still too raw - in many ways, the Virtues fall was both only a few days ago, and an eternity ago. Time moves oddly in the Tree, after all.

And he has to protect himself, one way or another. Even if it means lying, hiding things. No one can know of that part of him that hisses venom into his ear, no one can know of the mania and sadism he keeps tucked deep in his cracked soul, no one can know just how close to Falling he truly is.

Pristine Milk is the last Virtue, the last hope.

Just like always.

He just hopes he doesn't screw it all up, this time.

Chapter Text

Pristine Milk hunches over the notebook in his lap - the one Lilac Faerie had given him - with his journal beside him. He'd kept it with him since the meeting, afraid of leaving it unattended.

The flower is nosy. Her desire for Knowledge rivals even mine… Pristine Milk sighs, then glances up at the sound of fluttering wings, Lilac Faerie touching down delicately in front of him.

"The status…?" Pristine Milk almost whispers, afraid of the answer.

"Parts of the Kingdom are still on fire - mostly the ones with higher magical concentrations," Lilac Faerie starts, twirling his staff in his hands. "The Spire is mostly rubble. Some of it survived, but not more than a handful of rooms. Some seem to be totally missing, though…"

"They're in my Other Realm." Pristine Milk waves his hand dismissively, "What else?"

Lilac Faerie hums, tilting his head. "The Vaults are still safe. Still buried underground. I reinforced the wards while I was there, although there's evidence that someone was trying to get in. The seal was tampered with, but poorly." He crosses his arms as his staff dissipates, glaring at the horizon, "I couldn't tell who's magic it was, either. It felt… wrong."

Pristine Milk freezes, pencil stilling from where he had been writing notes. "…Wrong?" He repeats, his voice barely audible, "Like… it was cold, yet somehow hot at the same time? Felt like a perversion of magic itself?"

"Sort of," Lilac Faerie furrows his brow, "Why do you know?"

"…I felt it in the Tree." Pristine Milk stares up at him, and Lilac Faerie just stares back, wide-eyed. "There's… something going on. Something bad. Something I can't see."

Lilac Faerie whistles, running a hand through his hair. "If you can't predict it, then…"

"It's bad. Very bad." Pristine Milk nods, glancing up to the sky.

"Did my lab survive?!" Sugar Apple calls as she runs down the garden pathway, gravel crunching under her shoes. "I had things I was working on!"

"What do you mean lab? The only labs were in the classrooms!" Pristine Milk blinks at her, bewildered. "I never gave you a lab!"

"I, um, made one?" She rocks on her heels as she skids to a stop in front of the Fount. "The kids were being mean! So I had to get back at them!"

"Sugar Apple, I told you no more chemical warfare!" Pristine Milk wonders how he ended up having to say these sorts of things, resting his face in his hands. Sigh. "No drugs, either."

"…I was not doing anything in my lab!" Sugar Apple grins at him, and Pristine Milk just groans.

"It didn't survive anyway." Lilac Faerie interjects, swatting her on the back of the head and dodging when she tries to bite him. "Most of the Spire's gone."

"Boo." Sugar Apple pouts, "I had nice equipment in there!"

"You stole it from Rice Pudding Cookie's classroom!"

"Is that why she kept asking me to replace her equipment?!" Pristine Milk whips his head up, glaring at her, "That was you?!"

"Um. Oops?" Sugar Apple gives him a sheepish smile, then spins around, "I, um, need to go see Daffodil Faerie! Bye-bye!"

"Hey- Apps!" Lilac Faerie calls, but she's already disappeared back down the pathway. She's surprisingly fast when she wants to be…

Pristine Milk just stares after her, blinking slowly. "…How many kids did she drug…?"

"Only a few." Lilac Faerie shrugs, "No one died. It was mostly laxatives, anyway."

"…Fine." He was… not going to deal with that. It's fine! "Well, thank you, Lilac Faerie." Pristine Milk finally straightens back out. "Go see that little silver Faerie you seem obsessed with, hm?"

"Oh, as if you're any better with that vanilla Cookie!" Lilac Faerie huffs, face flushed.

Pristine Milk just snickers as he storms off, only for his face to fall flat the minute he's gone as he turns his attention back to the notebook and journal, flipping his journal open to the last page he had written before he got news of the war breaking out.

'I will fall too,' He traces the words with a finger, the edges of the pages stained blue with his blood, ink splotchy from tears. 'I will destroy the world, just to make myself happy. I will relish in the chaos - turn the world to ash just for the sake of half-baked revenge. Cookies may prefer Deceit to my Truths, but is that the future I want?'

It wasn't. And he hadn't fallen - he had stayed… Whole.

"What are you working on?" Pristine Milk yelps at the voice, nearly tossing the journal into the bushes behind him. "Oh, apologies, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Truth." Pristine Milk murmurs, glancing up at him - the eye of his staff staring back. "…What do you need?"

"Ah, nothing. Sugar Apple simply told me you'd be here, and we didn't get much time to talk before…" Pure Vanilla stands in front of him, and Pristine Milk glances around before slowly shuffling over, giving him room to sit.

"I'm not really one for conversation," Pristine Milk runs his finger along the cover of the journal. It's worn, torn at the edges, stained faintly with his blood in places. "I'm much more articulate when teaching."

"That doesn't matter," Pure Vanilla offers him a gentle smile, "You needn't be good at conversation for us to chat."

Pristine Milk sighs, "What do you want?"

"Hm?"

"What do you want?" Pristine Milk repeats, "You're not the first Cookie to tell me we're just making conversation, and then to start asking me what the answers to the universe are. Just cut to the chase - what do you want?"

"Nothing at all." Pure Vanilla's tone is edged with a hint of sadness, "Do people truly use you like that?"

"Do they not do that to you, Truth?" Pristine Milk retorts flatly, "Take advantage of what you can do for them? Never seeing you as a Cookie, just a tool?"

"I… I'm sure some do," Pure Vanilla starts slowly, "but most of them do not. Plenty of people appreciate me just for being me."

"Good for you." Pristine Milk doesn't even bother to hide the bitterness. He's not bragging, scholar. That softer part of him chides gently, He's your other half, don't be so harsh.

I do not have an 'other half'! I am whole! Pristine Milk wants to scream at that voice inside of him - he's whole, he's still perfect! No one can take that from him! No one!

"…I'm sorry that you were used like that." Pure Vanilla murmurs, voice soft, gentle. "You deserved better than that."

"People want Gods and Tools, not Cookies." Pristine Milk responds, staring out across the gardens. "I am not a real person, Pure Vanilla. Ask me your questions - that's… all I'm good for." Knowledge, such a cruel burden to bear.

"I disagree." Pure Vanilla retorts, but silence falls regardless. Pristine Milk worries the edges of the tattered journal, slowly following a butterfly's flight through the flowers. "…Do you have a favorite flower?"

"Forget-me-nots." Pristine Milk replies absently, swinging his leg, his tail curled against his left one, fur brushing against his ankle. "And blue hydrangeas."

Pure Vanilla hums at that, "Those both have rather sorrowful meanings, but I'm sure you knew that."

Pristine Milk just nods as he shuts his eyes, letting the eyes in his tail's fur open instead. He'd started to prefer seeing through his other eyes - as if they could see things he couldn't, hide the Truth he doesn't want to face. His notebook rests at his side, the journal's cover being worn by his nervous fiddling as he holds it in his lap.

"What is in there?" Pure Vanilla asks - but he's not looking at the journal, but rather Pristine Milk's notebook. The one he's started scribbling notes in and doodling in when bored.

"Notes." Pristine Milk answers, reaching for it and opening his actual eyes - the ones in his tail remaining focused on Pure Vanilla. "Some scripts for new plays for Sugar Apple. She's been helping me make props when she isn't running Rhubarb Pie Cookie's bakery."

"…Rhubarb Pie Cookie?"

"Oh." Pristine Milk glances aside as he shifts through the pages of the notebook, "She… must've died long before you. She was a nice Cookie. Sugar Apple and Lilac Faerie worked for her, and I guess Sugar Apple inherited her bakery."

There's a soft hum from Pure Vanilla as Pristine Milk finally finds the page he wants in his notebook, dropping it in the healer's lap unceremoniously. It's one of the few more coherent pages - a handful of sketches of the new flora in the Silver Kingdom, neatly labeled and categorized.

"There's a few like that. Look through it if you want." Pristine Milk fidgets with the journal in his lap. Most of his less coherent writings (and all his notes on the Ancients (and Elder Faerie - there's something wrong and he hasn't found time to ask what)) are written in a shorthand only he and occasionally his kids can understand. Most other Cookies assume he's writing in a whole other language…

What have we got… Pristine Milk shuts his eyes again, letting his spectral ones take over as he sinks into his thoughts. Elder Faerie and the Flower are too connected. Need to ask him about that. Truth isn't harmful right now, but will that change? The sparkly, grumpy, and berry Cookies aren't here yet, but Truth and the Flower have spoken of them… Can't form a good placement. Is Elder Faerie on my side or theirs? Pristine Milk sighs, Can it truly even be a chessboard with three sides? Or am I simply a rogue agent? Probably that one. It's best that way. No pain once I'm sealed again… Well… Except for Sugar Apple and Lilac Faerie…

"Your notes are rather impressive," Pure Vanilla's voice startles him out of his thoughts as he hands the notebook back, "although many of them are… Unreadable. It reminds me of some of the books of the former headmaster of my academy…"

Pristine Milk files that information away. Attended my academy. I'm the only one fluent in my shorthand, even Lilac Faerie and Sugar Apple cannot fully replicate it. No other headmaster should've been able to, either. The decryption keys were burnt up in the Spire, after all.

"It was always an interesting puzzle, to try and figure out the cipher." Pure Vanilla smiles softly, as if recalling fond memories. "White Lily and I never got very far, but we had decoded a small portion of some of the books we found in the restricted section. It seemed like the cipher changed every now and then…"

Wait. The Flower knew his cipher? Well. Guess he was changing to one of his more obscure ones for his later notes. He can't risk her of all people finding his notes and suspicions.

"It did." Pristine Milk speaks without intending to, then glances around, wide-eyed as the eyes in his hair mimic the motion. "I, um, assume at least. I remember the headmaster talking to me about it."

Pure Vanilla perks up at that, "You spoke to the original headmaster?! Ah, I had always hoped to meet them, but they were gone long before me."

"I've been alive for eons, of course I spoke to them." You were them.

Pure Vanilla grins at him, and Pristine Milk has to advert his eyes lest he start blushing. There's a purity to him - something soft, gentle. Something Pristine Milk threw away in the war, left behind in puddles of blueberry jam and piles of corpses.

"Oh, I have so many questions! What were they like? What magic did they specialize in? Everyone always theorized it had to be a form of moon magic, but no one ever came to a consensus…"

Pristine Milk blinks at him, then glances back to the journal on his lap. How do you describe yourself in the past? Innocent? Naive? Too trusting, too blindly believing? "They were… kind." Is what he settles on, "Cared deeply for their students. They believed everyone had the potential to flourish - they just needed proper care. I… cannot say their magical specialty, though. Elemental magic, perhaps?" (It wasn't a lie - in those days he did primarily teach elemental magics… His Dark Moon Magic was barely a theory, and White Magic was never his specialty…)

Shame you've ruined yourself, hm? That voice in his ear laughs at him - mocks him. Too tainted now, to ever be that pure little thing that makes Truth get all sparkly-eyed. What. A. Tragedy. It hisses, and Pristine Milk just shakes his head slightly.

"I wish I could've met them." Pure Vanilla sighs wistfully, and Pristine Milk bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, choking back nausea at the taste. "Ah, well. I'm sure you have plenty of stories." He smiles, and Pristine Milk feels even more guilty for lying.

He's Truth. He knows you're lying. Pristine Milk reminds himself, He just doesn't know what about… or does he? Lying by omission causes less of a pang than a full lie - maybe he doesn't notice that?

He's Truth, fool. That venomous voice replies sarcastically, If anything, he should be able to tell better than you can! He's uncorrupted, pure, distilled Truth!

"Tru- er, Pure Vanilla," He really should stop referring to people by the titles he assigns them, "I… promised Sugar Apple the conclusion to one of our plays. Do you… wish to join us?"

He did not mean to ask that! He was just going to make an excuse to leave!

"Oh, I'd love to!" Pure Vanilla beams at him, "Please, lead the way."

Pristine Milk gives a jerky nod, floating off the bench, hugging his notebook and journal close, mentally mapping out the Kingdom. It's changed, but the vast majority of his haunts remain mostly the same. The pathways through the gardens behind the Palace should lead to the small house that Elder Faerie had give him and his kids…

Pure Vanilla walks calmly behind him, humming a faint melody (A lullaby, one Pristine Milk remembers well. Memories of flour and cold nights-) as the flowers give way to the small clearing where Pristine Milk's home stands.

A quaint thing, two floors, with colorful flower boxes outside the windows and an herb garden in the front yard, carefully being maintained by Lilac Faerie as they walk up.

"Oh, you're back." Lilac Faerie glances up, wiping sweat off his forehead as he leans against his shovel. "Sugar Apple's at the bakery."

"Are you replanting the mint?" Pristine Milk floats closer to the ground, peering at the plants, "Did it start multiplying too much again? Do I need to redo my spells?"

"Nah, I just redid them. That's why I was replant- oh, Pure Vanilla." Lilac Faerie peers over Pristine Milk's shoulder as the Fount pokes at the leaves. "Did Pristine Milk invite you?"

"He did. I wouldn't wish to impose, after all." Pure Vanilla shifts his staff as he looks over the garden, "You have a rather beautiful garden, Lilac Faerie."

"Ah," The Faerie blinks, seemingly not having expected that, "Thank you?"

"We should plant basil." Pristine Milk remarks, floating above the patch of herbs, "Is the flower garden doing well?"

"As fine as it can be." Lilac Faerie motions over his shoulder, lifting his shovel as he returns to the hole he was digging. "Go look for yourself if you're curious."

"Fine, fine~" Pristine Milk sighs, then motions for Pure Vanilla to follow him as he zips around the side of the house, floating above the massive grove of flowers. "Welcome to my pride and joy. Or, well, I guess Lilac Faerie's, since he's maintained it since I was sealed."

It was a massive patch of flowers - most of them blue, Pure Vanilla notes - all delicately maintained and blooming vibrantly. "Oh, what are these?" Pure Vanilla kneels by some white flowers growing near a patch of forget-me-nots and lavender.

"Milkcrowns." Pristine Milk was hoping he wouldn't notice them - maybe he doesn't know the origins… All Pristine Milk can think of is the garden that once existed behind the Spire, hidden under spells and illusions, a massive field of Milkcrowns - all watered by his own tears.

"Oh," Pure Vanilla tilts his head, gently running a finger along the petals, "The ones that are rumored to grow where tears fall?"

"Mhm. That's just a myth, though." His Soul Jam pangs, and Pristine Milk turns away to hide his scowl. That isn't a lie! It is a myth! They only grow when he cries, or someone replants them!

Pure Vanilla sighs, "I'll let you keep your secrets, but why are you lying over flowers?"

Pristine Milk freezes, panic only exposed by the wide eyes in his hair, awakened from their slumber to stare at Pure Vanilla, something akin to fear in them.

"It… wasn't a lie," Pristine Milk curls up slightly in the air, hugging his journal close. "It is a myth, just… not entirely. They do form from tears - just… Not every Cookie's tears."

There's a moment of quiet, with the eyes in Pristine Milk's hair focused on Pure Vanilla, teary-eyed and darting away whenever the eye of his Beholder tries to focus on them. Pure Vanilla blinks for a moment, and then gasps, "Your tears."

Pristine Milk refuses to speak, simply floating towards the porch to slip inside the house. Pure Vanilla watches after him for a moment, sighing as he follows, recognizing he's not going to get anything else out of him.

It feels almost like stepping into another world once the door is shut behind him, with Pristine Milk bustling about the kitchen as Pure Vanilla takes in the house. It's warm - soft, golden light spilling in through large windows, the living room covered in crafts and a handful of drawing supplies scattered across the table. Hand-sewn plushies on the couch, photos and small potted plants on the windowsills and side tables… The kitchen is clean, although there's a recipe book laying open on a counter, slightly stained with syrups and sauces that Sugar Apple had spilled. It's homey.

Drawings are tacked up on the wall - ranging from doodles of the trio to random things that caught Sugar Apple's eye (Pure Vanilla can't help but smile at the drawing of Pristine Milk, Sugar Apple, and Lilac Faerie that's pinned to the fridge. It's endearing, how much Pristine Milk cares for his kids.) Alphabet magnets stuck to the side spell out swears - to which there's a sticky note underneath with "Stop teaching her swears!" written in Pristine Milk's fancy handwriting. A calendar has a few dates circled - notes written in purple pen on a few - reminders of events and things that Lilac Faerie deemed important, Pure Vanilla supposes.

"Do you want tea?" Pristine Milk calls from where he floats in front of a cabinet, setting mugs on the counter, "I have hot chocolate, too, since Sugar Apple says tea is just 'hot leaf water'. She's not really wrong, though, so… I can't fault her!"

"I'll take some tea," Pure Vanilla replies, poking his head back into the kitchen from where he had been investigating a bookshelf nearby (it was stocked mostly with fairytales, some books on astronomy, and a small handful of spell books). Pristine Milk has set a kettle on to boil, two mugs placed by the stove. One's slightly misshapen, likely home-made, colored blue with white flecks like stars - the other has little gummy frogs painted on it.

"Sugar Apple calls the frog mug the 'good mug' and insists I use it whenever we have guests." Pristine Milk laughs, a fond, soft thing. "Drives Lilac Faerie mental, when he forgets to use it and she threatens to hide his staff until he fixes it."

Pure Vanilla hums, standing by Pristine Milk's side as the other watches Lilac Faerie as he tends to the flower garden in the backyard out the window over the sink. Pure Vanilla just watches the Fount - how relaxed he seems, compared to outside. The eyes in his hair and tail shut peacefully, his tail swaying slowly as he floats - peeking out from under his robe, rather than hidden away. His hair floats gently around him, brushing against his chin and bobbing slightly, as if permanently suspended in motion, stars and nebulae twinkling within (matching the ceiling in the entryway, blue-cyan-turquoise-teal all swirled together).

It feels almost sacred, to see the Fount at peace.

"Oh," Pristine Milk is startled out of whatever thoughts he was lost in by the kettle whistling, and Pure Vanilla steps aside as he begins bustling about once more, pulling out various add-ins as he pours the water into the mugs, humming happily as the tea begins to infuse within. "Do you know how to read tea leaves, Pure Vanilla? I… believe I do. Some of my memories are… getting fuzzy, these days." Pristine Milk presses a hand against his forehead, squinting down at the mugs, "…I'm sure that means nothing."

"I do," Pure Vanilla chooses to let the last part of that be - Pristine Milk seems stressed enough as is, he's not going to rile him up when he seems to be mostly relaxed for once… "Although I haven't in many years. I'm more versed in tarot."

"Ooh, tarot!" Pristine Milk hands him the gummy frog painted mug, then motions towards the array of things he'd pulled out, "Put whatever you want in the tea. I wonder if I still have my cards… No, they probably burnt…" He floats off towards the living room, mumbling to himself as he bustles about, cleaning up plushies and half-finished crafts.

Pure Vanilla finds it mildly amusing to watch the Fount float between a room down the hall - decorated with reds and whites, an apple-shaped nameplate on the door - and up the stairs, carrying random assortments of things as he goes.

"They're rather messy, are they not?" Pure Vanilla laughs as he settles into an armchair, holding his mug close as he sets the Fount's on the table.

"Well, they do live here more than I do." Pristine Milk's finally gotten things cleaned to his standard, now floating in the doorway with his arms crossed as he looks over the living room. He gives a final nod, and slowly lowers himself to the couch.

Pure Vanilla can see the way he always hesitates to move his left leg - the way he always tries to shift his weight away from it. The way he curls his tail carefully around himself, mindful of the ache of moving it, the way the eyes in his hair blink awake, scanning over everything in the room, as if there's something to be afraid of when he's no longer in the air.

"Sugar Apple should be home soon. I'll- ugh," He huffs, hugging his own mug close to his chest, letting the warmth sink into him. "I forgot to get the stuff from her room… Eh, I'll make her do it." Pristine Milk sighs, sipping his own tea.

"Ah, I've been thinking about it since the meeting… May I ask, where was the Spire?" Pure Vanilla asks, studying the Fount, the way he tenses at questions, some of the eyes in his hair flitting to focus on Pure Vanilla.

"…Sort of… Southeast from here. More east than south." Pristine Milk tilts his head as he considers, "It was on the outskirts of the Blueberry Kingdom. The kingdom sort of… built up around me." Pristine Milk gives a soft laugh - but there's something deeply sad in it. "It was a kingdom of scholars and academics. Those who sought my Knowledge and to spread it." Pristine Milk raises a hand to his Soul Jam, tracing over the cracks in it. "You would've enjoyed it. It was a… peaceful, place. Despite the hustle and bustle."

Pristine Milk missed it dearly, most days. The streets he had roamed, happily chatting with the citizens, sharing theories and ideas, engaging in debates over cups of tea and coffee, browsing the weekend markets and sharing stories of adventure in the pubs at night.

"It sounds like a beautiful place." Pure Vanilla smiles, and Pristine Milk flushes and glances away.

"…It was." He traces a finger around the rim of the mug - then nearly tosses it aside when the front door slams open.

"Pristine Milk!" Sugar Apple cheers, bounding over to the couch to leap into his lap, and then wincing at the hiss he gives. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Pristine Milk replies, despite the teary eyes in his hair and the wince he's trying to fight as he shifts her weight. "Just be careful."

"Ah, hello, Sugar Apple." Pure Vanilla sets his cup of tea on the table, offering a wave to Lilac Faerie who trails in after her to shut the door.

"Oh, hi, Vanilla!" Sugar Apple grins at him, wiggling in Pristine Milk's lap as the Fount pats her head idly, gazing at something Pure Vanilla cannot see, "Lilac! Go get the things!"

"I'm going, I'm going." Lilac Faerie groans, "Can I not have two seconds to get my shoes off?"

"No!"

"…Pristine Milk should've left you on that street corner where he found you." Lilac Faerie sighs, but the undercurrent of fondness is undeniable.

"But he didn't!" Sugar Apple cheers, and Lilac Faerie hides a snicker as he heads down the hall to her room. "It's 'cause I'm your favorite, right?"

"Whatever you say, Sugar Apple." Pristine Milk replies absently, shifting her slightly so he can take another sip of his tea. "There should still be water in the kettle if you want hot chocolate."

"Ooh, thanks, Pristine Milk!" Sugar Apple grins as she slides off his lap, Pristine Milk giving a relieved sigh as he adjusts himself, rubbing at his leg once she's out of view.

"…I can heal you, if that hurts?" Pure Vanilla offers, but Pristine Milk shakes his head.

"It's alright. Thank you, though." It did hurt. Badly. But Pristine Milk deserved it, even in these moments he deserved the pain inflicted on him. Penance, twisted repentance, for all those he hurt.

Lilac Faerie walks back into the room, dropping the box from the meeting room on the table. "You know where everything is."

"I do," Pristine Milk waves a hand, blue strings rifling through the box as he uses his other to sip at his tea once more as puppets and props are removed from the box.

"What is the story about? I only caught the very tail end…" Pure Vanilla asks, leaning forward slightly to look at everything. Some of the puppets seem strangely familiar…

Pristine Milk is quiet, handing his mug off to Lilac Faerie as the other heads to the kitchen. "…It's a tale of redemption. Of someone hurt until they see the world as nothing but an enemy, yet finding a way to love it once more."

It's a story about me, if things were just a little different. Pristine Milk doesn't say, eyes focused on the puppets as he pulls them into his lap. He hopes Pure Vanilla doesn't draw the connection - that he doesn't realize that Pristine Milk isn't telling a fictional story, but rather one from a world that could've been.

Mystic Flour may have been the Prophet, the one who granted wishes, but Pristine Milk had the prophetic dreams. Seeing things that never were, or things that could be. Another burden granted by Knowledge, no doubt - Knowing all that Could be, even if it is not what is.

It's how he knew of the corruption. How he stopped his own - and hoped he could stop the other Virtues. (He couldn't, though - he never could. No world out there exists, where he found a way to save them all. Maybe… No, he shouldn't think wishfully. Best to assume they're all gone. Pristine Milk is the last whole Virtue, and that is undeniable.)

"Sounds tragic, yet hopeful." Pure Vanilla settles back into his seat, and Pristine Milk shrugs.

"Most things in life are, aren't they?"

"Don't be all philosophical," Lilac Faerie flicks Pristine Milk on the forehead as he walks by, dropping into the chair across from Pure Vanilla as he sips at his own drink. "We're here for your stories - not a lecture." He may sound annoyed, but Pristine Milk just rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at him, to which Lilac Faerie just scoffs and hides his smile behind his mug.

Sugar Apple trots back in shortly after, setting Pristine Milk's mug on the table in front of him, and holding her own close as she climbs onto the couch beside him, leaning against his side. It's domestic - in a way Pure Vanilla didn't really imagine it would be, with these three.

Sugar Apple's often out causing mischief when she isn't running the bakery, often found causing minor amounts of chaos with her friends. Lilac Faerie's got his own ventures in the kingdom, running a radio show and chatting with the citizens to figure out the drama going on. Pristine Milk… well, he's usually not seen. Hidden away in the gardens, or roaming the streets at night. A ghost in long robes, with sparkling hair and sorrow in his eyes.

Pure Vanilla's just glad he can see these moments - ones where Pristine Milk doesn't look like he's carrying the entire weight of the world, where the panicked eyes in his hair finally close, where he's not glancing at every window and door as if plotting an escape from something no one but him can see.

No, here, Pristine Milk leans against his daughter, tail carefully wrapped around her as he sips his tea and uses one hand to manipulate the puppets and props, voice soft as he narrates a tale that feels familiar in a way Pure Vanilla cannot place.

It's a rare moment of calm, for someone always in motion.

Chapter Text

"…What is with you and the Flower?" Pristine Milk asks point blank as he sits across from Elder Faerie. "You're… different."

"…She is… important, to me." Elder Faerie speaks slowly, choosing his words carefully. "She is a great boon to this Kingdom, and I'm glad to see her well again."

"She was unwell?" Pristine Milk feels like he should Know this - but all his dreams during the Tree just… didn't make sense. Too many 'what ifs', too many worlds-that-aren't and worlds-that-could-be and worlds-that-are-so-close all mixing together in a dense sludge that Pristine Milk can't sort through.

"Yes, she… Saw the Witches' Banquet. The aftermath was not pleasant. In the wake of the Beasts revival…"

"You used your life force to revive her." Pristine Milk guesses with a sigh, "That's why you were so weak after the battle. Why you felt wrong…" He remembers Elder Faerie's mana not matching up with what he remembered - too weak, no longer the sharp gales tempered by steel swords and duty. Just a barely-there breeze and the faint smell of metal…

"Indeed." Elder Faerie stares down into his teacup, wings twitching slightly behind him, the faintest remainder of a nervous tic Pristine Milk faintly remembers. "I care for her a great deal."

"Just say you're smitten." Pristine Milk sighs, turning to stare out the window next to their table in Elder Faerie's quarters, resting a cheek on his fist. "It's unlike you, though. You've never been the type."

"Everyone changes, Fount."

"I don't." Pristine Milk wonders how change would even work for something like him. Can he change, when he already Knows so much? Is he forever stuck in one form? Doomed to exist one way, forever, while everyone else can grow - can change, can learn in a way he never can?

Why does everyone around him change so… vividly?

"…Why does the Flower have your magic? That's wrong. She shouldn't. She may have your life force, but the Guardian's power… That's impossible. We made it impossible!"

"Yet she has it, does she not?" Elder Faerie sips at his tea, "It's impossible, as you claim, yet it happened. How do you explain that?"

"There's something wrong with her." Pristine Milk huffs, "I don't like it. I want to-" He cuts himself off before he can say 'rip her apart and study her insides'. "I want to know why."

"Ask her yourself." Elder Faerie shrugs, "She won't attack you, if that is what you're worried of. You're not a Beast."

"I'm not." Pristine Milk agrees, raising a hand to his Soul Jam - those cracks… He's not a beast. "…Do you think, if we had two Guardians…" He trails off, wondering if he should even ask the question.

"That this would never have happened?" Elder Faerie guesses, then shakes his head, "I cannot say, Fount. Would having two Cookies holding the Guardian's power have kept the Beasts sealed? I do not know. White Lily and I share the burden, and even then…"

"You don't know if you can reseal us." Pristine Milk runs his finger along the rim of his cup, staring into the liquid, "I'll assist you. It'll be fine."

Elder Faerie's wings twitch, and he glances aside, "I… wish we did not have to seal you once more."

"It's my fate." Pristine Milk shrugs, still staring at his reflection in the tea. The scar over his golden eye, the bags under his eyes… "I've accepted it."

"Have you, old friend?" Elder Faerie's voice is soft in a way Pristine Milk rarely hears it, "Or are you simply saying that to convince everyone around you to not grieve for you?"

Pristine Milk is silent, simply staring into his tea. He doesn't want to face Elder Faerie - doesn't want to face the disappointment and pain he'd see if he looked up.

"…I'm sorry."

"I don't want your apologies, Pristine Milk." Elder Faerie sighs, sounding just as old as he truly is, "I just… want you to understand."

"I do understand." It sounds hollow even to Pristine Milk, even as he finally lifts his head to look at his friend. "I… I don't want everyone to hurt once I'm gone…"

"It will hurt regardless, old friend. Those who love you will grieve you regardless of if you want them to or not." Elder Faerie offers him a soft smile, standing and moving to pat his shoulder. "Do not push everyone away in pursuit of saving them from pain - you'll only hurt everyone more that way."

With that, Elder Faerie strides towards the door, glancing back at Pristine Milk, "Please, go talk to White Lily. Don't stay cooped up in here because you're afraid, got it?"

"…Okay." Pristine Milk agrees, sipping on his now cold tea as he hears the door shut behind him.

Elder Faerie is right - but Pristine Milk has always been the type to hide away, to face everything alone.

For now, at least, he'll go see that pesky little Flower. Figure out just what it is that Elder Faerie wants him to figure out.

Pristine Milk stands outside the Palace, blinking up at the midday sun. He felt weird being out in daylight - usually he hid away unless Lilac Faerie or Sugar Apple were dragging him around… Nighttime was safer - he didn't need to hide his more bestial features as much… He subconsciously curls his legs closer to himself - hiding his tail, his paws, the parts of him that are wrong.

"Silverbell." Pristine Milk calls as he spots the Silver Guard on his patrol around the Palace. "Have you seen the Flower?"

"Hm? Oh! White Lily? Yes, she's in the library." Silverbell bows slightly to him, wings fluttering. "I'm glad to see you out and about! We were getting worried…"

"You don't need to worry after me of all people, Silverbell." Pristine Milk waves a hand, studying the Faerie, "Have you and Mercurial Knight been well? I haven't had time to check in on the Silver Knights…"

"Ah, yes! Despite the incident with the Beasts, we didn't lose too many Faeries. Mercurial Knight's mostly been training the new recruits," Silverbell laughs, motioning in the general direction of the halls where the guards stay, "He won't admit it, but I think he enjoys it."

"Or he just has high standards." Pristine Milk remembers Mercurial Knight - faintly, like looking through murky water - from before he had committed himself fully to the Knights. Bright-eyed, yet with an overwhelming sense of duty. He'd been one of the first recruits, and remains one of Elder Faerie's most trusted comrades.

"That too." Silverbell laughs, "He does care deeply for the safety of the Faerie Kingdom, after all!"

Pristine Milk nods, "…I suppose he doesn't feel very good about the Beast's escaping."

"He… does not." Silverbell's tone falls slightly, a tense, sad edge to it, "I hope he doesn't go overboard trying to redeem himself…"

"There's nothing to redeem. Remind him of that." Pristine Milk crosses his arms, shaking his head, "Mercurial Knight did nothing wrong. He had no hand in the Beast's escape. Remind him of that, would you?"

"Of course! Um," Silverbell glances around, "I should get back to my patrol, if there's nothing else…?"

"No, I shouldn't keep you." Pristine Milk sighs - he knows where he's going now, anyway, "Lilac Faerie says hi, by the way. He'll be at Sugar Apple's cafe most of today."

"Oh, um, thank you?" Silverbell flushes slightly, and Pristine Milk studies him for a moment, then smirks.

"Use protection when the time comes, yeah?"

"I- WHAT?!" Silverbell yells, voice cracking as Pristine Milk cackles and floats off.

Leaving Silverbell behind, Pristine Milk tries to trace all the weird back alleys and strange side roads he used to traverse - the secret ways around the kingdom, the paths he took so people wouldn't see him. Wouldn't comment on his tail, his paws, the odd way he carries himself.

He didn't want to be a spectacle. Not right now. Not when everything felt so wrong, so fragile, as if one little wrong move would shatter everything.

The library stands silent, yet imposing against the soft silver-blue-greens of the trees. He's always found Faerie architecture to be a rather stunning thing - tall, imposing, yet one with nature at the same time.

Pristine Milk shakes his head, knowing he can't keep standing out here, and quietly floats into the library, shutting the door softly behind him and tracking the scent of lilies to the back corner of the library. White Lily is sat at a table tucked out of the way, books and Pristine Milk's own journals spread around her, alongside pages of notes and meticulous copies of parts of his journals…

"Flowe- White Lily." Pristine Milk approaches her slowly - a lingering fear, a panic from a world that isn't real, shewantstohurtme echoing in the back of his mind. Alarm bells keeping him on edge.

"Oh. Fount." White Lily glances up, squinting at him as if she could see right through him, "Why are you here?"

"…Why do you have Elder Faerie's power?" Pristine Milk asks point blank - she's too knowledge-hungry to be the type that enjoys beating around the bush… And Pristine Milk just sort of wants to get this interaction over with as fast as possible.

Elder Faerie was right that she wouldn't attack him, but that doesn't mean she trusts him in the slightest…

"He gave it to me." White Lily shifts in her chair, clearly slightly uncomfortable as Pristine Milk floats to sit on the other side of the table, squinting at her. "While he was weakened, it allowed me to seal the Beast's bodies within the Tree."

"But not mine."

"You were not chained." White Lily replies, "I am simply… trusting that the Witches made the right call."

"No, you aren't." Pristine Milk scoffs, "You must hate the Witches. Why would you ever trust them?"

"Fine. I am simply assessing your worth as an asset to us." White Lily taps a finger against one of Pristine Milk's journals. "You've given me reasons to trust you, and reasons to not."

Pristine Milk sighs. Maybe she's right to distrust me. Am I worth keeping around? With how on the brink… No, no, I'm fine. She's just being dramatic… "…I appreciate the candor. So Elder Faerie gave you his power. Yet he has it himself. How?"

"I don't know the exact process." White Lily shrugs, "I've been trying to figure it out, but there's not a whole lot of information on the Guardian's power…"

"On purpose. We didn't want anyone getting their hands on it." Pristine Milk fiddles with the hem of his robes. I don't like you having it, he doesn't say, it's too much change, too weird, too impossible. I hate you.

"…Is that all?"

"Why are you so weird?" Pristine Milk blurts, leaning forward slightly to peer at her, every eye in his hair focused on her. "You're Half-a-Cookie, I can tell. Split in two. Why? How? Elder Faerie may have revived you, and you may be Salt's Other Half, but how are you two? I suppose you should be more like a Quarter-of-a-Cookie, given you've been halved twice…"

White Lily is silent, narrowing her eyes at him, and Pristine Milk resists the urge to flinch. Red, like the fires. Like the spice- "I don't need to tell you anything about that." Her voice is tense, cold, "You're Knowledge, figure it out." She turns back to her book, and Pristine Milk simply watches her.

"Just because I'm- never mind." Pristine Milk sighs, shaking his head as he floats off the table. She doesn't need to know that his abilities have been… Impacted. That he's basically useless - a walking database of long-outdated, antiquated, archaic information.

He won't let anyone know he's useless, worthless, a relic of the long-gone past. He still has his Virtue, he can still be useful!

He just… needs to update his knowledge! Somehow. His abilities to just… Know things don't seem to be working on "new" things, but he still Knows everything about anything that existed in his time. More or less. He was a botanist and biologist back in the day, so he may know a smidgen more about plants and animals than he does architecture, but close enough!

He just needs access to books. Resources. Knowledge - then he just needs to copy down whatever he can, and shove it in his Spire. Then he'll have what he needs… But how long would that take? Does he even have the time for it?

Hush, this is important. You know you can find the answer, dear scholar. Even if there is no answer. Knowledge croons softly in his ear, gentle yet insistent, You know what to do, don't you?

Pristine Milk nods, slowly. He… knows what to do.

Sighing, Pristine Milk takes off towards the Palace once more.

It's easy enough to simply slip inside - the Palace guards all know him by now, the strange Cookie that Elder Faerie's been friends with for eons - so he zips through the Palace, chasing the scent of vanilla down the winding hallways.

Once he gets to the door he wants, though, he hesitates, hands clenched tight in the sleeves of his robe. Why did he immediately seek out his other half Pure Vanilla? Anyone would've been just as good, right?

But no. He sought out Pure Vanilla.

Pristine Milk very pointedly bats away the strands of hair that float in his periphery, the eyes within having heart pupils.

A deep breath, and he knocks.

"Ah, Elder Faerie, I wasn't expecting… you…" Pure Vanilla opens the door, then blinks in confusion as he sees Pristine Milk standing there. "Pristine Milk?"

"Take me to your kingdom!" He says it in a quick rush - afraid he'd lose his nerve.

"What?"

"Take me to your kingdom," He repeats, slower, fidgeting in place as he lowers himself closer to the ground - he felt weird towering over Pure Vanilla, and like this they only have a few inches between them… "You have to have a large library there, right? I… need to do research."

Pure Vanilla just tilts his head as he steps back from the door, allowing Pristine Milk in. "…Back in Crispia? The Beasts are here, though."

Pristine Milk lowers himself to settle on Pure Vanilla's bed, flicking his tail out from under his robes to wrap around himself. "I… cannot formulate a plan, if I do not know this world. I know my world, not… not yours."

"It's the same Earthbread." Pure Vanilla furrows his brows - Pristine Milk just noticed he's not using his staff, but rather his actual eyes. Interesting. "Shouldn't you know? Aren't you Knowledge?"

It's not said to be accusatorial, yet it still hurts as if it was.

"I… am. But I was only created with all the Knowledge of my time. The future is… a mystery to me, unless I discover it myself." Even with my dreams - I don't know what's real and what isn't. "Your kingdom is… the best bet for that."

You just want to flee, That venomous part of him sighs - almost disappointed in him. Run away, as always. Pretend you have no responsibilities here. Leave them to die - you've done your part, haven't you?

That's not true, Pristine Milk protests, I intend to return. I just… need information!

Knowledge, needing information? How pathetic. Shouldn't you have it all? Know the moment you need it? Whatever happened to your abilities, Fount?

I hate you. Pristine Milk swallows back the urge to cry and blinks up at Pure Vanilla, who's pacing around the room.

"Leaving the Faerie Kingdom and Beast Yeast… Is that truly the only option?"

No. "Y-yes. I need-I need… I need to figure out all I can, to be able to formulate a proper plan." The excuse sounds hollow to his own ears - maybe all he does want to do is run… "This world has changed too much."

"You're lying." Pure Vanilla sighs, turning to Pristine Milk. "Why?"

"I-" Pristine Milk doesn't know what the right answer here is. That he's afraid? That he doesn't know what to do? That he's terrified he'll be asked to go back to his Spire, the Blueberry Kingdom, anywhere that makes his body freeze the second he thinks of it? "…I-I don't know." His voice comes out almost strangled - broken.

Pure Vanilla slumps slightly, then shakes his head as he crosses to sit beside the Fount. "You needn't hide these things, Pristine Milk. You are as human as I am."

"…No, I'm not." If there's anything Pristine Milk Knows, it's that he Knows that he is nothing but a tool to be used. "I-I'm just a tool, Truth. I can't be of use if I don't have my only ability…"

"You're more than just your Knowledge." Pure Vanilla raises a hand to his own Soul Jam, "Just as I am more than my Truths."

"I'm not!" Pristine Milk insists, shaking his head, "I-I can't be!" If he was more than a tool, more than something to be used and discarded, then… What did that make him?

He doesn't want to face that fact - the fact that if he was more than a tool… That people just used him, through and through - not to serve his purpose, but to serve their own gains.

"…If you insist," Pure Vanilla just looks sad, "I will continue to disagree, but I can see there's no changing your mind."

Pristine Milk just feels guilty - always making people sad. Always hurting them. He supposes he should just start trying to figure out a new plan, given that he doubts Pure Vanilla will take him back to Crispia… He could teleport himself, but that would hurt, and he doesn't want to leave those he cares for behind, at risk of being attacked…

"We can return to my kingdom, if that is what you want." Pure Vanilla speaks after a moment of quiet, "I… worry for my friends, while I am gone, but it would be good to contact our other allies…"

"…Thank you." Pristine Milk sighs, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap. "We should leave soon. Elder Faerie said your airship crashed, right?" At Pure Vanilla's nod, Pristine Milk winces, "Alright. Get me a map of Crispia and your kingdom. I'll meet you back here in an hour."

This was going to hurt. Massively.

"What do you mean you're making a portal to an entirely different continent?!" Lilac Faerie glares at him, staff held in tense hands as if he's resisting the urge to smack the Fount over the head with it. "You already struggle just to teleport across the Faerie Kingdom!"

"Yeah!" Sugar Apple pouts, fists on her hips as she stands by Lilac Faerie's side, "You're doing it again!"

"Doing what?" Pristine Milk asks meekly, yelping as Sugar Apple steps closer.

"Hurting yourself because you think you gotta!" Sugar Apple complains.

"I-um, it's… easier this way?" Pristine Milk offers, and both his kids groan.

"Let me and Lilac make the portal, then!" Sugar Apple huffs, but Lilac Faerie just sighs.

"Apps, you don't have the aptitude for that. I've seen your… attempts. They don't go well, do they?"

"Well, um… no. But still! I'm sure no one will explode with you here, Lilac!"

"That gives me zero confidence," Lilac Faerie sighs, patting her on the head. "Pristine Milk. At least allow me to assist you."

Pristine Milk goes to refuse - he doesn't want to burden them, he should be able to do this alone! He's the best mage on Earthbread!

…Or, well, he used to be.

"…You should just allow them to assist you, Pristine Milk." Pure Vanilla speaks up from where he stands by their sides, the eye of his staff flitting between them. "It would be easier, no?"

Pristine Milk just sighs, knowing he's outnumbered as he summons his staff and removes his Soul Jam from his collar to slot it back into place, the key humming faintly with power. "Ready, Lilac?"

"On your mark." Lilac Faerie twirls his staff, brandishing it to cross with Pristine Milk's key. A deep breath, and Pristine Milk channels magic into his staff - Pure Vanilla and Sugar Apple watching as a portal slowly blooms into existence between the two.

"Steady…" Lilac Faerie murmurs, staff trembling slightly as he shifts his stance to steady himself, magic flickering and space warping between them, "and… Got it!"

Pristine Milk slouches, arm going slack as he leans heavily on his staff, blinking slowly as he watches the portal stabilize. "Good…?"

"Good." Lilac Faerie confirms as Sugar Apple scurries over to Pristine Milk's side, flitting about him as if to check for injury. The Fount wasn't even floating anymore - mana drained and body exhausted.

"It's just a bit of exhaustion, fret not." Pristine Milk sighs as he motions to the portal, "Let's go. I can't keep it up for too long, even with Lilac Faerie stabilizing it."

It makes him dizzy - nauseous, even - to step through his own portal. He remembers a time when his magic was near limitless, he could cast any spell he'd like, make portals across the world, drag his Other Realm just a smidgen into reality if he so chose, shape mountains and rivers with a flick of a finger. (Or at least some claimed - he did know how to conjure rainstorms, though!)

Now even a simple portal makes him exhausted and weak. Pathetic.

…Or maybe it's just nerves. Crispia doesn't feel like the Yeast Continent. No, it's… different. The air is lighter, less oppressive. The skies seem clearer, somehow.

"Come on, Pristine Milk." Lilac Faerie nudges him, "Pure Vanilla's going to show us around while his staff gets rooms ready for us."

"Oh," Pristine Milk glances between Pure Vanilla and Sugar Apple a few steps away, and the window he stands beside, "…You go on ahead. I'll catch up."

Lilac Faerie scrutinizes him for a moment, then shakes his head as he steps back. "Just don't disappear, got it?"

"…Got it." He hates how observant Lilac Faerie is - he knows Pristine Milk is going to bolt the second they're out of sight.

Lilac Faerie gives him one last glance, sighing as he turns to Sugar Apple and Pure Vanilla. Pristine Milk ignores the look Pure Vanilla sends him, and watches them go with some of his spectral eyes.

There's a distinct stab of guilt, the fact that he's hiding away again, shoving everyone away in pursuit of a lonely road. The road to his own demise.

Pristine Milk still does bolt, though. Following the scent of flowers to a garden, and settling quietly amidst a patch of hydrangea bushes, soft grass beneath him as he properly sets himself on the ground, clutching at his Soul Jam. The mana seepage is only getting worse, his magic is suffering. This Kingdom has some lingering magic in the air, given Pure Vanilla's own status as a powerful mage, but it's unfamiliar magic. He can't use it, like he can his own and the Faerie's.

It's fine - it hurts, but it's fine. He just needs to optimize his spells more, cut out the theatrics, get the bare fundamentals working. Preserve the mana he has, until he can figure out how to at least slow the leaks…

He swears he feels his Soul Jam crack ever so slightly more.

Pristine Milk yawns as he slowly blinks awake, the quiet sound of water dripping and humming floating to him from nearby.

It feels like a dream - the soft warmth of the sun, the gentle scent of flowers and vanilla in the air. Everything feels hazy, syrupy and distant in a way Pristine Milk is unfamiliar with. It has to be a dream - everything feels too… Perfect.

"Ah, you're awake. Good afternoon, Pristine Milk." Pure Vanilla kneels beside him - Pristine Milk didn't even notice him… Why is Pure Vanilla in his dreams…?

"Nils." Pristine Milk yawns, "Mm, what're you doing?"

"Tending my garden," Pure Vanilla laughs, a soft, gentle thing, "I didn't wish to disturb you, but I did still need to water my plants. We got back early enough that my staff hadn't done so yet."

"It's a nice garden." Pristine Milk rubs his eyes, slowly sitting up, and shifting to lean heavily against Pure Vanilla, head resting on his shoulder. "…You're taller than me, Nils."

"Only by a little." Pure Vanilla shifts his watering can to his other hand, using his now freed one to pet through Pristine Milk's hair. "Are you feeling alright?"

Pristine Milk nods sleepily, yawning as he relaxes against the healer. He does feel fine for once - the ache in his body soothed, his Soul Jam not hurting, mind not running at a million miles per hour - he's just… Sleepy and warm.

"I'm glad," Pure Vanilla smiles at him, and Pristine Milk returns it sleepily, struggling to keep his eyes open. He wishes he could have these sorts of dreams more often… Mostly he just had nightmares. Or visions of worlds he couldn't recognize… "You seem to be in pain a lot - I'm glad I can soothe your pains, for once."

"It always hurts," Pristine Milk mumbles, tail slowly twining around Pure Vanilla's waist. "Always aches. Always cold… It's nice, now, though… Warm."

"People do say I tend to feel warmer than the average Cookie," Pure Vanilla scratches at Pristine Milk's scalp, combing through the white and blue strands. The faint rumble that Pristine Milk can hear is unfamiliar, although Pure Vanilla's hand stills in his hair for a moment. "Hm. You truly are just like a cat, aren't you?"

"Hm?" Pristine Milk has no idea what he's talking about, but Pure Vanilla just laughs, resuming his petting.

"Nothing, nothing. Go back to sleep if you're so tired - I'll ensure you get inside safely."

"'Kay, Nils…" Pristine Milk yawns, nuzzling against his shoulder and allowing himself to fully drift off once again. He swears he can feel the sensation of being moved, pulled into Pure Vanilla's lap. It's comfortable, yet he knows he'd be mortified if he was awake.

But Pure Vanilla is just humming quietly, petting through his hair, and Pristine Milk decides to not question it.

It's a dream. And he's warm. He can indulge, just this once…

When Pristine awakens - for real, this time - it's in an unfamiliar bed. Waffle cone patterned sheets and soft pillows, a massive comforter bundled around him. It smells like vanilla… But most things do in this kingdom, he supposes. He's curled up tight, hidden under the blankets, something warm by his side and his tail wrapped around himself, fur brushing against his chin where he holds it against his chest.

"Good evening, Pristine Milk." The voice at his side makes him yelp, clawing at the blankets over his head until they fall off and he can see properly. It's just Pure Vanilla, writing a letter and giving him a concerned look. "Sorry, did I startle you?"

"…Am I in your bed?" Pristine Milk blinks down at the sheets - he doesn't remember getting here… Just his dream from the gardens after he had passed out.

Pure Vanilla flushes slightly at that, but nods nonetheless. "I… figured you would not want to wake up alone, in an unfamiliar room. Your kids were busy settling in, and I didn't wish to disturb them…"

Pristine Milk hums, running his fingers along the soft blankets. He sort of just wants to burrow back into them, curl up at Pure Vanilla's side and hide there in the vanilla-scented warmth.

But he can't - he's already indulged just by staying here. He has things to be doing - Pristine Milk can't just keep… lazing around. He's slept enough that his mana's recovered enough…

He hates shoving away the blankets and pulling himself out of bed. Hates how cold the air feels as he floats once more. "I… thank you for letting me stay here. I should be getting to work, though… I came here to do research, not…" He shakes his head, "I need to catch up on history. I'll see you around?"

"Ah, wait, I'll take you to the library. You didn't get to come on the tour, after all!" Pure Vanilla smiles at him, reaching for his staff. "…Are you sure you're not cold, Pristine Milk?" He tilts his head, studying how the Fount curls into himself, tail wrapped tight around himself.

"I'm fine." He was cold. His paw pads hurt from it. Why was the air here so cold?!

(Okay, yes, they are high up and thus the temperature is much chillier, but still!)

"If you say so." Pure Vanilla sighs, glancing between the Fount and his cloak, before tossing it over his shoulders, ignoring the Fount's confused squeak as he adjusts it to rest better over him. "There."

"I-what?" Pristine Milk flushes, clinging to the edges of the cloak as he pulls it tighter around himself - it is warm… Vanillian clothing must be made extra insulating, given the altitude…

"You were cold," Pure Vanilla grins at him, cheeky yet soft, "I can tell when you lie, Pristine Milk. It wouldn't sit right with me if I let you remain cold."

Pristine Milk just nods, burrowing into the cloak - fingers brushing metal that makes him jump. Pure Vanilla keeps his Soul Jam's brooch clipped to his cloak… Pristine Milk carefully reaches around the metal - and there it is.

The cool surface of the Soul Jam. Pure Vanilla just gave him his cloak, that he kept it on. Why? How can the healer trust him that much? It feels wrong. How can anyone trust him with something so precious?

Yet Pristine Milk still keeps the cloak on. Selfish little thing, part of him hisses, don't take too much, little Fount, lest you end up alone.

Just let me have this, he begs to himself, but it's useless. The guilt eats at him regardless - why does he get to be comfortable, to be warm, when he failed so many others before?

Yet he knows the warmth won't last - he'll be thrust back into the cold and the dark sooner rather than later. Pristine Milk is prepared for the moment the end comes for him - the moment where he has to give his life once more to save the world. There's no Sealing Spell that doesn't require him, after all. His magic, his presence. He has to be there.

He can't escape fate, no matter how much he wishes he could.

Pristine Milk watches Pure Vanilla's back as he motions to various paintings around the castle, telling stories and chatting with the few castle staff that cross their path.

He's so bright, in a way Pristine Milk never could be. The sun and the moon - Pristine Milk never could shine on his own, he always just stole the light from others.

Yet Pure Vanilla will continue to shine once he's gone. No one needs the moon, but everyone needs the sun.

Pristine Milk wishes he could keep hold of that warmth, of that light, for just a little while longer.

Maybe, he can pretend, just once, that he doesn't know where this all has to end.

Chapter Text

The library is quiet as Pristine Milk floats through the bookshelves, clinging to Pure Vanilla's cloak as he runs his finger along the spines of the books.

Pure Vanilla has been following after him, happily carrying the books Pristine Milk hands him and pointing out some recommendations of his own.

"…Who's Dark Enchantress?" Pristine Milk calls as he floats upside-down, squinting at a page of the book he's been flipping through, "Oh. The Flower's weird… Other-half-thing, right?"

"…Yes. Dark Enchantress is White Lily," Pure Vanilla confirms, sorrow in his tone, "She harbors immense guilt over it, yet… They're two different Cookies, are they not?"

"They are. Technically," Pristine Milk sets the book on the top of the pile in Pure Vanilla's arms, "They may come from the same consciousness, but the degree of overlap? That varies, I suppose."

"So she shouldn't feel guilt for what Dark Enchantress does?" There's a hopeful note, yet Pristine Milk just shrugs.

"That's for her to decide, Truth." Pristine Milk runs a finger along the scar over his eye, "When do you truly stop being you, and become someone else? I don't think anyone can truly say."

Where does Pristine Milk end, and Shadow Milk begin? Where does Shadow Milk end, and Pristine Milk begin?

"…I don't believe they're the same." Pure Vanilla sighs, shifting the books in his grasp. "White Lily may be determined to seek Knowledge, but Dark Enchantress…"

"She simply seeks domination. Some ephemeral, ultimate goal. One I do not know." Pristine Milk leads the way back to the table he's monopolized, notebooks, pencils, and pens scattered about the surface. "Different goals, yet… It's the Flower's Knowledge that lets her do as much as she does, no?"

Pure Vanilla sets the books onto the table as he settles back in his own seat. "Not necessarily, Dark Enchantress has started operating on her own. She knows things Lily does not, and vice versa."

"They're not a hive mind. They just come from the same base." Pristine Milk waves a hand, tugging a book free of the stack, "Of course their Knowledge has diverged. It'd be insane if it didn't. Also a little terrifying." Pristine Milk tilts his head, squinting at Pure Vanilla, "I hope they aren't a hive mind…"

"They… probably are not." Pure Vanilla confirms, albeit after a moment of hesitation, "That seems highly unlikely, at the very least."

Pristine Milk hums, shaking his head. He does not really want to consider the possibility of White Lily being some sort of liability. She seems useful enough…

More useful than you. That voice snarks, At least she's still in Beast Yeast, unlike a certain someone.

Oh, shut it. Pristine Milk rolls his eyes as he studies the book in front of him - a history of the Vanilla Kingdom, leading up to the Dark Flour war. We need this Knowledge. The technological advances alone are… stunning. We can use these things!

You just want an excuse.

Pristine Milk doesn't even reply, simply studying an image of the kingdom from a thousand years ago. "Your kingdom has recovered nicely," There's an edge of melancholy to his tone, "Just as stunning as it used to be, no?"

"I suppose so," Pure Vanilla shifts his staff to get a better view of the book, "Maybe in some ways, it's even better than it used to be."

"Maybe." Pristine Milk echoes, mind far away - if he hadn't been sealed, could he have rebuilt the Blueberry Kingdom? Could he have brought the remainder of his citizens home? (They weren't 'his', but he's long since taken to considering the Kingdom to be under his jurisdiction. They were built around him - they sought his Knowledge. It's his Kingdom, even if he served no role politically.) Could he have fixed everything…?

No, he couldn't. He freezes the minute he thinks about genuinely going back there - he could never do it when the fires were still raging at their peak, when the scent of blood and sugar and burnt flesh still hung in the air like a choking miasma.

He should go back, some day. Lilac said the Spire's Vaults were still intact, he needs to make sure the wards weren't tampered with too badly… Especially since Lilac said that weird magic was found around them - his magic should be difficult enough to decode (archaic, methods long gone out of fashion - yet reinforced so heavily that it's still near-impossible to brute force without sufficient effort) that he has time, but…

…Lilac said he reinforced them. Pristine Milk never taught him that. He didn't even let his kids near the Vaults…

"…" Pristine Milk lifts his head from the book, glancing towards the door, "Do you happen to know where Lilac Faerie is?"

"Oh, likely in his room. It's two doors down from mine, if you remember the way?" At Pristine Milk's nod, Pure Vanilla tilts his head, "Why do you ask, though?"

"I… need to speak to him about something." Pristine Milk floats out of his chair, arms crossed as he sets the book on top of the pile, "I'll be back shortly."

He zips down the halls, skidding to a stop midair as he finds Pure Vanilla's room - he wonders what the room between them is for - and knocks on Lilac Faerie's door. The Faerie seems exhausted, the room behind him already decorated in his signature purples and blacks, and Pristine Milk squints at him.

"Oh. Pristine Milk. Glad you're up and about." Lilac Faerie shoves the door open fully, "I was a bit worried when you vanished on us, glad to see you didn't pull a total disappearing act."

"I'm not that bad!" Pristine Milk insists as he floats into the room, Lilac Faerie tossing himself down on a beanbag, adjusting his wings behind him to settle comfortably. "I wouldn't just vanish on you!"

"You would vanish if me and Sugar Apple weren't here." Lilac Faerie counters, arms crossed as he studies the Fount, "I've known you for too long, Pristine Milk. You can't hide from me."

Pristine Milk just groans, lowering himself to hover just a bit over the ground, tail flicking impatiently behind him. "Fine, yes, whatever - why do you know how to reinforce the wards?"

"The- what?" Lilac Faerie squints at him, head titled, "Oh, the Spire's? Ah…"

"What did you do." Pristine Milk blinks at him, expression neutral, yet all the eyes in his hair and tail are open, staring directly at Lilac Faerie with a sharp intensity.

"…Fine, I broke into the Vaults not too long after you were sealed. So I had to figure out how to reset the wards."

"Why would you do that?! I forbade you from going in there for a reason!" Pristine Milk hates raising his voice - but he kept them out of there on purpose! It was dangerous! The Vaults held his most volatile spells, the worst of his experiments, the things he wanted to hide away and never face. Who knows what's lurking down there after years of being sealed?!

"You left us behind." Lilac Faerie replies, glaring at the Fount, "I had to find a way to keep Sugar Apple alive! She was all I had left."

Pristine Milk slumps slightly, fingers clenched in Pure Vanilla's cloak - he kind of forgot he was still wearing that… "I… I'm sorry, okay? I just… don't want you to get hurt."

"What you want isn't always what happens." Lilac Faerie scoffs, "You've never understood that, have you?"

"I-I know that!" Pristine Milk insists, fidgeting with the hems of Pure Vanilla's cloak, "I…"

"I used one of your experimental spells. Is that what you wanted to know?" Lilac Faerie's tone is flat, yet tinged with bitterness. "She's alive, I'm alive, that's all that matters."

"I… yes. That's true. That's… that's all that matters." Pristine Milk nods, guilt gnawing at him - of course he shouldn't get upset. Lilac Faerie was just keeping his sister alive, not intending to hurt himself or anyone else… "I-I'm sorry. I just…"

"Yeah, yeah, you don't want us getting hurt. You say that every time - yet you keep hiding things. How can we avoid getting hurt if you don't tell us anything?!"

"I-"

"Don't tell me you're sorry. Not again. You always say that, yet nothing ever changes, does it, Pristine Milk?" Lilac Faerie shoves himself upright, glaring at Pristine Milk as the other curls into himself. "You always dumped Sugar Apple on me to go run off and do your little experiments and teach your students. You'd disappear for months without a word! And then you'd waltz back in and apologize as if that fixed anything - and then do it all over again!"

Pristine Milk can do nothing but stare - he knows Lilac Faerie is correct. He knows the point of those little expeditions was to escape the responsibilities. The ones he chose himself - he could've left Lilac Faerie with Powdered Sugar, refused to take him in when he came to the Spire, could've let her take in Sugar Apple as well…

Powdered Sugar wasn't the best parent, but maybe she would've been better than he was.

"Nothing to say?" Lilac Faerie sighs, shaking his head, "You're… You can be mad at me for breaking the wards all you want - but I still fixed them. I still kept Sugar Apple alive after you intended to just let her die and break your promise."

"…I didn't want her to live a life stuck in my shadow. Waiting for something that could never happen."

"So you'd rather she die?"

"…No… But what else could I do?"

"Use the spell before you were sealed?! Or teach it to me? Or to Elder Faerie?" Lilac Faerie studies him for a moment, "But no, you never think of anyone else, nor the consequences of your actions, do you?"

"I-I do!" Pristine Milk insists, but he knows that it's at least partially a lie. Considering others… Their emotions, their wants and needs - that's never been Pristine Milk's strong suit. He acts on his own beliefs and desires - only considering the fallout once it's upon him. (And even when he can account for others - he somehow always makes the worst choice while believing it's what's best.)

Selfish, aren't you? It's as I've always said - you're getting too greedy. How long until he leaves, just like Pure Vanilla will, hm?

…They won't leave, Pristine Milk pleads with himself, they can't leave me! They can't! They need me! Right? Right?!

Lilac Faerie just shakes his head, "…Is that all you came to scold me on? Breaking your wards?"

"I didn't- I wasn't coming to scold you, you just… Shouldn't know how to do that! I was curious…" Pristine Milk winces, fidgeting with the hem of Pure Vanilla's cloak, resisting the urge to dig his claws in.

"You were coming to scold me." Lilac Faerie repeats, crossing his arms, "I won't apologize for keeping Sugar Apple and myself alive, when you were willing to simply let us die."

"I didn't want you to die!" Pristine Milk yells - loud enough that his voice cracks, throwing his arms out and nearly dislodging the cloak, floating ever so slightly closer to Lilac Faerie before he backs off, tail lashing as he curls back into himself. "I just- I didn't- I didn't want you to mourn me! To get stuck living in my shadow! I wanted you- I wanted you to be able to live without me!"

"So why didn't you teach me, or Elder Faerie, or someone that spell? If you wanted us to live, why?"

"I-I don't… It was dangerous. I didn't know what it would do. I didn't want to use someone as a guinea pig so it-it was best to seal it away and forget about it." Pristine Milk reaches up to rub at his eyes, at the tears he knows are there. "I thought… if you had normal lifespans, you'd… Do something. Stop waiting for me. Have a life of your own."

"You should know by now we never wanted that." Lilac Faerie's tone has softened slightly, bitterness melting away ever-so-slightly under the weight of Pristine Milk's emotions, "We just wanted to remain by your side. Regardless of how long we had to wait."

"But you shouldn't!" Pristine Milk digs his claws into Pure Vanilla's cloak, "You- you should live your own lives! Not constantly be fretting over me. You're barely an adult by Faerie standards, Lilac… You should be making your own fate, not- not blindly following me."

"Who are you to determine our fates?" Lilac Faerie challenges, narrowing his eyes. "You may be Knowledge, you may Know the world, but what gives you the right to determine what we do with our lives?"

Pristine Milk blinks at him, tilting his head. Lilac Faerie just scoffs.

"Why do you insist on playing god? On acting like you know our own wishes and desires better than we do?" Lilac Faerie gives him a flat look, "You're not god, Pristine Milk. You're just…" He groans, shaking his head, "Just… You can't change what I did, nor do I regret it. You just have to accept that you can't control everything."

Pristine Milk nods, slowly. "…You still…" He shakes his head, "No, no, it's… It's fine. I'm glad you're making your own fate, Lilac." He uncoils slightly, body aching from the tension, and winces at the small holes he made in Pure Vanilla's cloak with his claws.

"…You saved me from Powdered Sugar, all those years ago." Lilac Faerie sighs, "I wouldn't just… abandon you, Pristine Milk. You and Sugar Apple…" There's a faint smile, "You're all I've really got. So don't go running off, got it?"

"I- yeah. Okay." Pristine Milk sighs, stretching out his left leg and wincing at the ache. "…Please don't hate me, Lilac."

"I don't." He shrugs, finally settling back down onto the beanbag, "I'm just… I don't know, Pristine Milk, just… Why don't you go back to your research?"

"…Okay." Pristine Milk studies him for a moment, and then floats towards the door, "I'm… sorry."

"So you've said. Apologies can't fix everything, Pristine Milk." Lilac Faerie sighs. "Just go back to Pure Vanilla, hm? I'll see you later."

Pristine Milk nods, slipping out of Lilac Faerie's room and shutting the door quietly behind him, resting a hand on the wood for just a moment, before he lets it drop and floats back towards the library.

There's nothing more he can do - anything he'd say would just make everything worse. I'm sorry. How do I make everything better? How do I fix everything? How do I make it so all this pain and agony never has to happen again? How do I make it as if I never tainted you all?

…How do I disappear, without leaving devastation in my wake?

Pristine Milk ends up stopping partway, sitting on a windowsill that overlooks the bustling kingdom down below. Streetlights are just starting to be lit, shop and house windows illuminating, the markets beginning to pack up. Everything cast in a syrupy haze of orange-pink.

He adjusts Pure Vanilla's cloak around his shoulders, reaching up to run a hand along the Soul Jam of Truth. It's smooth - warm, humming happily where it rests close to his own.

Mine… Part of Pristine Milk purrs, warm and content, kept close to his other half.

…I don't have an 'other half'. He reminds himself, shaking himself out of his thoughts as he watches the kingdom.

…Would it be better, had I become Shadow Milk? Maybe then I wouldn't care so much. Pristine Milk sighs, watching his breath fog up the glass in front of him. But caring is all I have, isn't it? The cowardly little Fount, or the maniacal, larger-than-life Jester… Are those the only paths for me?

He doodles the image of the Soul Jam in the fog caused by his breath. Pure Vanilla's Truth, his Knowledge - inverses of one another.

Could I ever be like you? He wonders as he drags his fingers through the drawing of his Soul Jam, leaving lines that cut like scars through it. Or am I forever broken?

"Do you wish to go see the markets?" A soft voice calls, and Pristine Milk yelps, nearly falling off the windowsill. "Ah, I didn't mean to scare you!"

"How did you-" Pristine Milk blinks, then glances down to where his hand still rests over Pure Vanilla's Soul Jam, "…ah."

The Soul Jam is warm under his hand, and Pristine Milk wants to press his own to it - just to see what would happen. Would some of Pure Vanilla's warmth fill in all the gaps in his own soul? (Would he be washed clean by purifying light? Scalded until all the wrong parts of him melt away, until he's left nothing but the perfect person he was meant to be?)

"Well? We can go see the markets, if you'd like." Pure Vanilla offers, smiling softly.

Pristine Milk glances back out the window, at those warmly lit streets, at the hustle and bustle.

I want to.

…But do I deserve to?

Well, that's an answer he's Known all along. "…N-no, it's… it's okay."

Pure Vanilla just gives him a look, then sighs. "…If you say so. I took the books from the library up to your room, so you can continue your studies." He steps back slightly, gazing up at Pristine Milk, "I have some duties to attend to, however… I'll come check up on you later?"

Code for 'I'm sick of you', hm?

Pristine Milk nods, "…Good luck. You… don't need to come check on me, though. I'll be okay."

"Nonsense - you're my guest. The least I can do is ensure you're settling in alright." Pure Vanilla smiles at him, all soft and gentle and caring, "I'll see you later."

Pristine Milk simply watches as he leaves, murmuring a quiet "See you," Once Pure Vanilla is far enough away to not hear him.

It's only when he goes to return to his room, that he realizes he's still wearing Pure Vanilla's cloak.

…Maybe he'll just leave the Soul Jam in Pure Vanilla's room… Surely he has more cloaks, right…?

(That suppressed, animal part of him purrs at the notion of keeping it - something warm, something that smells so deeply of vanilla. He wants to curl up in it, surround himself in the scent.)

Pristine Milk sighs, shoving himself off the windowsill and floating back towards Pure Vanilla's room. He'll just… Leave the Soul Jam there, and maybe Pure Vanilla won't notice the missing cloak…?

Pristine Milk hides his flush in the collar of the cloak as he slips into Pure Vanilla's room, gently setting his Soul Jam on the desk, settled atop a small stack of papers. Hopefully that will make it obvious…

As much as he wants to keep the Soul Jam of Truth close, it doesn't feel right to hold something so precious with his own tainted claws. It's Pure Vanilla's Soul Jam - warm, glowing softly, comforting. Knowledge is cold, distant, even its glow seems colder somehow…

The room between Pure Vanilla's and Lilac Faerie's is open, the door left ajar, and Pristine Milk pokes his head in - there's a stack of books on the desk, but little else. Must be his room, then.

It's just… a plain guestroom. Impersonal. Pristine Milk nuzzles against the cloak, breathing in the scent of vanilla - it's much more pleasant than the scent of dust and faint laundry detergent.

Well, at least he has his books. Even if the room feels a bit lonely… When has Pristine Milk ever shied away from being alone?

"Ah, may I… borrow you two?" Pure Vanilla pokes his head into the kitchen, where Lilac Faerie and Sugar Apple are finishing up their dishes from dinner.

"Hm? What do you need, Pure Vanilla?" Lilac Faerie hands Sugar Apple a towel as he turns to lean on the counter.

"Nothing much, just… Would you accompany me down to the markets before they close?"

"Ooh, can we, Lilac?!" Sugar Apple tugs on his arm. Lilac Faerie just rolls his eyes, ruffling her hair.

"Alright, we'll humor you. C'mon, Apps." Lilac Faerie sighs, although it's entirely fond exasperation.

"Wait!" Sugar Apple calls, standing on her tip-toes to pick through the dish rack - only to push a mug at Pure Vanilla.

It's a simple, cream-colored mug, adorned with vanilla orchids and forget-me-nots.

"There! 'Cause Pristine Milk likes you, you should have your own mug!" She grins up at him, holding out the mug.

"Oh, thank you, Sugar Apple." Pure Vanilla offers her a gentle smile, taking the mug carefully.(Forget-me-nots, Pristine Milk's favorite flowers, and his own Vanilla Orchids… It's not subtle, but it makes him smile nonetheless.)

"That's basically her giving you her seal of approval," Lilac Faerie snickers as he walks past Pure Vanilla, "Now you've just got to get the Fount himself, hm?"

Pure Vanilla really questions what Lilac Faerie's motives are here, but… Pure Vanilla simply sighs fondly, setting the mug back by the rest of theirs, and moves to follow the duo. It feels strangely right, to see his mug set beside theirs…

It's chilly during sunset, yet Sugar Apple seems perfectly content in her dress and leggings, Lilac Faerie meandering behind her in his tailcoat and pants. At least someone is properly dressed for the weather…

Pure Vanilla goes to adjust his cloak to help keep the chill off - only to be met with empty air.

Ah. Right. Pristine Milk still had it… Part of Pure Vanilla warms at the fact that the Fount had accepted it at all - that he had let Pure Vanilla keep him warm. (And that cute look of surprise when he's treated kindly and doesn't know how to respond - the way he'd bury his face into the cloak when he blushed, how he clung to it for comfort…)

Well, he won't be all that surprised if it goes missing for a little while. He has spares, so he'll let Pristine Milk be.

…As long as the Fount returns his Soul Jam. Although Pure Vanilla's pretty sure he has no real desire for it beyond intellectual curiosity. (He hopes not, at least, given the rumors of the Beasts being after his friend's Soul Jams… Yet Pristine Milk, as cagey and prone to lying about unnecessary things he is, really hasn't shown himself to be a threat…)

"Your kingdom's really busy," Sugar Apple remarks as she slows her skipping as they approach the square proper, "The Blueberry Kingdom used to be like this, too. Pristine Milk knew everyone!"

"It's too quiet there, these days." Lilac Faerie sighs, hands clasped behind his back as he follows his sister. "Nothing but distant fires and rubble. Not even the animals of the Yeast Continent want it. The air still tastes like ash and blood, so I don't blame them…"

"…What was it like?" Pure Vanilla asks as he follows the two into the market, Sugar Apple cheerfully darting between the stalls and chatting with the vendors.

Lilac Faerie hums at his side, eyes tracking Sugar Apple, yet he seems miles away. "It was… a beautiful kingdom, once. All shining white stone, blue and gold accents… It felt regal, no matter where you went. Peaceful, but always busy. The markets on the weekends were always Pristine Milk's favorite part - he'd be out there from dawn to dusk, chatting with everyone…" His voice is soft, nostalgic, tinged with melancholy, "Pristine Milk hasn't been himself since the kingdom fell. He's got nothing tethering him anymore."

"He has you, does he not?"

"…We're different, Pure Vanilla," Lilac Faerie watches as Sugar Apple digs in her pocket for her money, handing over a few coins in exchange for a handful of sparkly fabrics and craft materials. "Much like him, we're untethered from time. The Sugar Apple and Lilac Faerie of today could be considered entirely different people from the Sugar Apple and Lilac Faerie of the era of the Virtues."

"We're not that different. Don't get all dramatic!" Sugar Apple huffs, then tugs at Pure Vanilla's sleeve, "Come here! I wanna show you something!"

Sugar Apple tugs him over to a stall of toys and plushies, Lilac Faerie trailing behind. "Get one for Pristine Milk!" She nods with finality, bouncing on her heels by his side.

Pure Vanilla tilts his head at her, studying the plushies with his staff.

"He's a… lonely person." Lilac Faerie elaborates, standing on Pure Vanilla's other side, "He's always been drawn to these sorts of things - I won't be surprised if when you return to the castle you find him asleep under your cloak." He snickers, "He's a lot more… hm, what's a polite way to describe it…?"

"He's a cat." Sugar Apple replies bluntly, "The other Virtues aren't as, um… Creature-y… As he is."

"Remember Flour's horns?" Lilac Faerie sounds strangely sad, despite how off-handed the comment is.

"Oh. Yeah. I wonder how she's doing…" Sugar Apple hums, "You should've seen Pure Flour's horns back in the day, Pure Vanilla! They were so pretty… And Powdered Sugar's wings!"

"She still has those, Apps." Lilac Faerie flicks her forehead.

"Meanie. It's still different! Only Faeries have wings now!" Sugar Apple crosses her arms, then bounces forward when she realizes Pure Vanilla's chosen something, "Oh, a sheep? Interesting."

"Well, they are my favorite animal… And they're rather soft, are they not?" Pure Vanilla smiles down at the plush, "I'm sure Pristine Milk will enjoy it."

"I'm pretty sure you could gift him anything and he'd enjoy it," Lilac Faerie mutters, shaking his head, "Well. At the very least it's more for his… Ah. Never mind."

Pure Vanilla blinks at him in confusion as they meander further into the markets, Sugar Apple running off once more.

"I can feel you staring at me," Lilac Faerie huffs, "I'm not telling. It's Pristine Milk's business anyway."

"I suppose I'll ask him, then." Pure Vanilla replies, watching as Sugar Apple excitedly chatters with one of the stall owners - they're selling flowers, and she seems to be pointing out specific ones, studying them intently.

Lilac Faerie sighs, nodding slowly. Pure Vanilla can sense there's things he wants to say - but he stays silent nonetheless, simply watching Sugar Apple as she bustles around.

"…How long have you and Sugar Apple been together?" Pure Vanilla asks quietly, "Since before the Tree?"

"Since before the Tree," Lilac Faerie confirms, "I fled Powdered Sugar's Paradise and Pristine Milk took me in. He found Sugar Apple abandoned as a baby and refused to part with her - even if I was often the one caring for her."

"Oh? I didn't think he'd be one for children - he always seemed to avoid the younger Faeries when I was with him…"

"…He isn't, even less so these days. Something about her though…" Lilac Faerie sighs - fondness leaking through regardless - as he watches Sugar Apple hop up on the edge of the fountain and throw her arms out to balance as she walks along it. "Well, he refused to let her go, even when Powdered Sugar offered to take her."

"Powdered Sugar… Eternal Sugar?" Pure Vanilla draws the connection finally, "She's related to you?"

"…Unfortunately." Lilac Faerie sighs, instinctively reaching out as Sugar Apple wobbles, only for her to stick her tongue out at him as she regains her balance. "Pristine Milk's Spire was often a place of respite for me and my brother. Although I haven't seen him since the war…"

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope he's alright." Pure Vanilla sounds sad, "Would he have been able to survive as long as you have?"

Lilac Faerie squints at him, gears turning in his head, "He could be, I suppose. Even though I'm a Faerie, he's more closely connected to mother - so her immortality may have passed down…"

"Is immortality genetic?" Pure Vanilla remarks, using a quick pulse of magic to keep Sugar Apple from slipping into the fountain, "I suppose it could be - although Hollyberry has children, I don't know if they're immortal."

"Ah, but you were granted immortality." Lilac Faerie taps at his own chest - where Pure Vanilla's Soul Jam would sit, "The Virtues were created with it."

"Their immortality is different from ours, then?"

Lilac Faerie nods, "There's… differences. Ones you'd better be comparing with Pristine Milk. Sugar Apple and I… our immortality is… even more different." He's being evasive, but Pure Vanilla supposes that seems to just be the norm with these three, even if Sugar Apple is often more forthcoming…

"Mhm. Powdered Sugar and Pristine Milk are weird." Sugar Apple nods sagely as she hops down from the fountain, following along as Pure Vanilla steers them back towards the castle.

"Hm. Mother did always have her… quirks." Lilac Faerie sighs, shaking his head.

"…You said Pristine Milk took you in, but you still call Eternal Sugar 'mother' - are you…?"

"Ew." Sugar Apple sticks her tongue out.

"No." Lilac Faerie says it with such sharpness that it almost makes Pure Vanilla jump, "That's… ew. Just wrong."

"Yeah, Powdered Sugar and Pristine Milk are like, siblings! Ew." Sugar Apple mimes gagging, despite falling into a fit of giggles, "You modern Cookies really don't know anything about the Virtues, do you?"

"Well, no. Most records of them disappeared." Pure Vanilla admits, "Most of what we have is from the Faeries, and now the few journals Pristine Milk gave us…"

"Really?" Lilac Faerie glances towards the castle, "…Ah, I suppose it makes sense. Pristine Milk's libraries aren't… accessible, without the Spire. And I doubt the Faeries have a very pleasant view of the now-Beasts…"

"It's dumb, Pristine Milk didn't do anything wrong! Can't you get more of the books, Lilac?" Sugar Apple pouts, but Lilac Faerie shakes his head.

"I've tried."

"…Is that bad?"

"Probably."

It feels like an entire conversation in just a few words - one Pure Vanilla cannot fully grasp the weight of. He supposes he'll leave them to it, as long as they aren't keeping secrets that may cause harm…

The rest of the walk is quiet - Lilac Faerie seemingly lost in thought, and Sugar Apple strangely subdued at his side. Pure Vanilla forgets sometimes, that she's also thousands of years old. He's glad she's still cheerful and optimistic despite the years - he knows himself that it can be hard to keep that joy…

Lilac Faerie disappears without a word once they arrive back at the castle, Sugar Apple at least waving goodbye as she races off after him - leaving Pure Vanilla standing alone, watching them go. He'll follow in a moment - he wants to gather something for Pristine Milk to snack on, since he knows that the Fount likely hasn't eaten a thing.

Lilac Faerie and Sugar Apple had said that Pristine Milk's immortality was 'different'… Maybe he does actually have to eat - given that Pure Vanilla knows he lied about that…

Well, he'll just ask, although he doesn't expect an actual answer… Not with how evasive Pristine Milk is when talking about himself.

Pure Vanilla sighs, leaning against the counter as he studies the two mugs he has set in front of him while he waits for the kettle to boil.

Misshapen, dark blue, flecked with white stars, chipped in places and worn away by the years, and a brand-new, cream-colored mug, dotted with painted flowers.

They're quite the pair, aren't they? Each other's opposite…

Too-sweet tea set on a tray with a few pastries by it's side, and Pure Vanilla does his best to gather everything in his arms so he can still see properly and not drop anything…

It takes a moment to navigate the halls and to make his way to Pristine Milk's room, especially with how unbalanced everything in his arms is, but he manages to make it up unscathed.

"Pristine Milk?" Pure Vanilla knocks on his door - quietly, just in case - and upon not hearing anything for a few moment tries the door.

It swings open easily with just a simple nudge of his shoulder, and Pure Vanilla pokes his head in. Pristine Milk is curled up on the floor, covered by Pure Vanilla's cloak, some books spread out around him, and his tail and Soul Jam held close to his chest.

It was a strange habit of the Fount's, Pure Vanilla had noticed, to always hold onto his tail when he slept. Perhaps it served the same purpose as a stuffed animal, to comfort him and make him feel safer… Or maybe it was a way to make himself smaller, to take up less space, to make his needs as minuscule as possible… (Maybe it was both.)

Pure Vanilla just sighs fondly, setting the tray aside and kneeling beside the Fount, listening to his quiet breathing as he looks over the books and notebooks nearby. Most of them are history books, although… One is a fairy tale - a book Pure Vanilla had slipped in, given it was his favorite, and he had wanted to know what Pristine Milk thought.

It's open to a page halfway through, with the notebook sitting in front of it being a delicate, yet highly-detailed recreation of the picture. Pure Vanilla slowly takes the notebook, flipping through the pages - the page with a spread of the cover of the book has 'it's pure vanilla's favorite. need a copy for the spire.' scribbled in the margins.

…He's making a copy, because it's Pure Vanilla's favorite?

"You're strangely sappy, given how much you enjoy ignoring your feelings." Pure Vanilla chuckles, setting the notebook back down and looking over Pristine Milk, shivering slightly even while underneath Pure Vanilla's cloak. "Ah, you must be cold… You could try sleeping in a bed, without me dragging you there, you know." He chides gently, smiling despite it.

As Pure Vanilla gently lifts the Fount - he's so light Pure Vanilla really only needs one arm to carry him - he gets the distinct urge to take him back to his room. To leave the books and notes behind, to wrap Pristine Milk up in warm blankets and safety - but he's already been presumptuous once. He doesn't need to drag Pristine Milk back to his bed every time the other falls asleep in a strange place…

Pure Vanilla glances between the door and the bed, then gives an annoyed sigh through his nose as he moves towards the door. It's fine - Pristine Milk will likely appreciate the extra warmth, given how cold the other always is…

Pure Vanilla settles Pristine Milk into his bed, adjusting his cloak around the other - ensuring he's covered and warm, carefully pulling the blankets up as the other nuzzles into the pillows, breathing deeply as he seems to properly relax. (Pure Vanilla does slip the sheep plushie he had bought next to Pristine Milk, as well - hoping it'd bring him at least some comfort in his sleep.)

He sighs as he looks over the bed, holding Pristine Milk's Soul Jam. He had gently removed the brooch from where it was attached to Pristine Milk's robes - and made a mental note to offer him other clothes, since he seems to only have his robes - to look it over.

Cracks spiderweb over the surface, the slit in the center peering up at him like the spectral eyes in Pristine Milk's hair. Pure Vanilla delicately runs his fingers over the cracks, feeling the texture, the chill of Pristine Milk's mana leaking out.

Pure Vanilla wonders how it ended up cracked in the first place - it looks deliberate. That small inkling of intent is what scares Pure Vanilla. Who would go as far as to not try to shatter a Soul Jam, but to permanently crack it instead?

…Pure Vanilla doesn't really want an answer to that.

Shaking his head, Pure Vanilla sets the Soul Jam down on the nightstand, moving to collect his own to set beside the Fount's. A little extra comfort, as the healer climbs into bed beside Pristine Milk, watching him sleep - the way his breathing barely disturbs the blankets, how he's curled up tight, tail and the sheep plushie held close to his chest.

It's all Pure Vanilla can do for now - offering him somewhere warm and safe to sleep. He just hopes it helps.

(And if the faint purr he can hear is anything to go off of - it does.)

Chapter Text

Pristine Milk wakes up far warmer than he expected to - curled under those vanilla-scented sheets once more, fur and something soft pressed to his face.

He can't tell what time it is, buried under the blankets as he is, and doesn't want to. He can hide here - warm, safe, the world outside unimportant.

How did I get here…? Pristine Milk wonders after a minute, blinking sleepily in the dark as his eyes adjust. The faint sound of breathing reaches him, and Pristine Milk debates simply curling back up, ignoring the responsibilities he knows he has, and staying here in the warm darkness by Pure Vanilla's side.

He'd be safe here - Pure Vanilla wouldn't let him get hurt. He could just go back to sleep, pressed against his side, and wake up warm and comfortable…

But he can't actually do that, can he? No matter how much he wishes to.

You sleep too much. That voice sighs, bored, Really, can't handle being awake?

I'm just tired. Pristine Milk huffs, finally wiggling his way free of the blankets - it's still dark, the sky outside ever-so-slightly tinged blue-green with the impending sunrise, stars still twinkling faintly.

Pristine Milk glances down at the plush still held in his arms, then at Pure Vanilla, asleep peacefully beside him, and then back out the window.

Stay, or go?

Go. You know you have to. Comfort isn't for you - these indulgences are just wastes of time!

…Right.

Pristine Milk sighs, shivering slightly at the loss of the blankets - he still has Pure Vanilla's cloak wrapped around him…

It takes a moment for the fact that Pure Vanilla saw him with the cloak, having stolen it because he didn't want to give it up, to actually sink in. The flush that spreads across his face makes him bite back a whine as he buries his face into the collar of the cloak.

He's not giving it back, though!

He doesn't want to! He doesn't!

…But it's just another indulgence, isn't it? Making himself happy when he should be focusing on everyone else. Selfish little thing…

Pristine Milk gently pulls it off, staring at it as the cold seeps back in. Warmth is for those deserving, he reminds himself, carefully wrapping the sheep plushie in the cloak. It's for the best.

Why does the best always hurt? Pristine Milk sighs as he floats out of the bed, staring down at it - the urge to just wrap up in the cloak again, to dive back under the blankets, anything but this, bubbling up. He just shakes it away, turning to leave.

He floats slowly across the room, glancing back at Pure Vanilla, at the lightening sky outside, at the warm blankets he had left behind - before he opens the door and slips out into the hallway beyond.

He doesn't want to close the door - he doesn't want to let go of that warmth, but he has to.

Something in him aches as he near-silently pulls the door closed, resting a hand against the wood for just a moment. He wants to cry, for some odd reason.

The 'best' always hurts, because you're doing what's best for them, not you. Don't be selfish. Pristine Milk scolds himself as he floats towards the library, wiping away the beginnings of tears. They turn to petals on his fingers, and he resists the urge to crush them.

At least if his tears fall on the stone of the castle, Milkcrowns won't grow - can't take root in the pristine stone of Pure Vanilla's castle. (Milkcrowns grew in the more ruined parts of the Spire - white flowers peeking up between crumbling stones, soft petals drifting to dusty floors while Pristine Milk hides away. The Spire hid him when he willed it to - and he rotted amongst those abandoned, ruined floors until he could pretend to be normal again.)

The halls are silent as he floats towards the library - only the sound of his fur dragging against the floor greeting him in the early-morning light. Something about it makes him ache even further.

Just too many daydreams, he supposes. (Daydreams of waking up warm and comfortable, of the early morning no longer being a hallmark of another lonely day ahead. Of existing without feeling wrong for not being useful - of being anything but the Fount.)

It'll never happen.

The library doors are heavy, and it takes Pristine Milk shoving his entire body against them to open - the only real drawback of his floating is the total lack of friction against the floor…

It feels almost too quiet in the stillness of early-morning, without Pure Vanilla there to fill the emptiness with warmth, to give his thoughts on books, to recommend those that may assist Pristine Milk…

It's alright, though. Pristine Milk will find what he needs… Books on history, the evolution of magic, on modern day affairs - he'll copy down what he needs, then shove it in the Spire's libraries for later.

Once he has what he needs stored safely away where Knowledge can access it, he'll make his plans.

He has to go deal with the Beasts, but the Corrupted Flower? That's an enigma. Truth would probably appreciate his help, but Pristine Milk isn't going to deviate from his main goal if he doesn't see a good reason to. ('Being sappy' isn't a good reason, anyway.)

He needs contingencies, regardless. Backup plans for his backup plans. Ones to account for the Corrupted Flower and ones that do not. Ones to account for if his sister and Flour decide this fight is not theirs - or cannot bring themselves to fight him, and ones where he has to destroy them just the same as Salt and Spice.

He hates it. He doesn't want to fight them - not again. He only ever truly faced Burning Spice in battle - Eternal Sugar and Mystic Flour kept to their domains, and Pristine Milk had no need to attempt to find them. Salt massacred his forces and then vanished, and Pristine Milk wasn't about to go trying to find him after that! (He likely wasn't immune to Flour's plague nor Sugar's miasma - so it was best to avoid it. If he can catch standard illnesses, what's to say he can't succumb to them?)

Part of him wants to just return to the Yeast Continent, to rebuild the Spire, to pretend nothing is wrong and nothing hurts. That the Virtues never fell - that Pristine Milk never failed. That Cherry Jubilee is still practicing magic under Banana Milkshake's tutelage, that Burnt Toffee is still racing around taking care of everything, that Choco Nutmeg is loyally keeping tabs on the Academy and reporting to him with all the affairs that need his attention…

Pristine Milk sighs as he grabs another book, wondering how he'll get them all back to his room. Maybe a small portal would be fine…? He's already struggling to stay awake with how much mana's been leaking from his Soul Jam, so using it unnecessarily is a bad idea. His body relies on that flow of mana, more so than the other Virtues do - if he runs out…

If this goes on long enough, will I fall asleep for good? Pristine Milk freezes at the realization, If I'm not fast enough, do I fail everyone regardless of how hard I try?

…That can't happen. No more drifting off - we stay awake until we die.

Pristine Milk clenches his fingers in his robes, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to contain himself. He wants to scream, he wants to level the castle to the ground, he wants to crawl back into bed beside Pure Vanilla, he wants to explode into a blaze of fire and stardust until there's nothing left-

Stop it. Pristine Milk forces himself to relax, tail lashing behind him as he returns to browsing the bookshelves. No exploding. Not yet. Keep it together, Fount. You have one goal. You have to achieve that before you become totally useless!

Pristine Milk nods to himself, hauling all his books into his arms and floating back towards his room. He hesitates outside Pure Vanilla's door, but ultimately backs away with a shake of his head. He can't waste more time, he can't indulge. Not now.

Not again.

Truth is becoming a bit of a distraction, hm? That voice snarks as Pristine Milk floats into his room, Don't get attached. You know where this ends.

Pristine Milk shuts his door near-silently behind him, then sets the books down as he drops himself to stand on his own paws, ache in his leg be damned, even if it nearly buckles under him as he stands - he's not going to be able to break this once he does this, not without sleeping, or eating, or something to replenish his mana, so it's the best way to keep him working. No escape.

The spell shouldn't even be draining - it's a simple lock, beyond easy for even Sugar Apple to break through, but his magic is waning and his Soul Jam is slowly disintegrating. It's enough to keep him in, and make it obvious he doesn't want to be disturbed, at least.

Even if he feels dizzy once the magic fades, even if he ends up collapsing and having to crawl over to where he was working last night. Even if he wastes away in here, he's been writing his notes in the common script - even if they find him permanently asleep, his mana too weak to sustain him, they'll still be able to enact his plans.

May I be useful, even in death.

"…Have either of you seen Pristine Milk?" Pure Vanilla had woken up alone, that soft purr that had lulled him to sleep missing - just the sheep plushie and his stolen cloak left behind.

Lilac Faerie and Sugar Apple share a look over their breakfast, with Lilac Faerie groaning and shoving his plate aside to drop his face to the table. "Really? After all I said yesterday…"

"He's, um, probably locked himself in his room?" Sugar Apple offers hesitantly, as Lilac Faerie seems to be resisting the urge to scream. "You could break in really easy though! But you shouldn't."

"Why not? If it's that easy to break…?" Pure Vanilla tilts his head as he moves around the kitchen to gather his own breakfast, looking for the mug Sugar Apple had gifted him - only to realize it was probably still in Pristine Milk's room where he left the tray of pastries, as well… Ah, at least it means the Fount might eat?

…Even if stale pastries and cold tea are all he has, it's better than nothing, which seems to be the Fount's normal diet.

Lilac Faerie just groans, wings drooping as he keeps his face pressed against the table. Sugar Apple gives a nervous glance between him and Pure Vanilla, then slides off her chair while motioning to the healer.

Pure Vanilla follows her, even as she keeps glancing back at Lilac Faerie, until they're out of sight.

"…Pristine Milk… he locks himself away because he feels he has to do everything." Sugar Apple fidgets with her fingers, not meeting Pure Vanilla's gaze, "He does it to hurt himself, 'cause he feels like he can't be anything but useful."

It's strange to see Sugar Apple of all Cookies being quiet and subdued, her normal cheer nowhere to be seen.

"Lilac's probably just mad because he does this a lot…" She sighs, "I-I'm thousands of years old, Pure Vanilla, but I still don't know how to help him!" She finally lifts her head, eyes teary as she stares up at him, "He's always so… off in his own world! Nothing I do seems to make it better…"

Pure Vanilla just gently pats her head, "I don't know what to tell you, Sugar Apple. You and Lilac Faerie know him best, don't you?" She nods, dislodging his hand, and Pure Vanilla sighs, fidgeting with his staff. "If even you do not know, I… I'm unsure what I could be doing to help."

"You're new." Sugar Apple states, "Not… part of the past he hates. You could get through to him!" She sounds almost desperate, pleading, "I don't want him to hurt himself more… He doesn't know I know, either."

"Know what?" Pure Vanilla hopes what she's implying isn't true - but the way Pristine Milk acts… Cagey, hiding himself away - it does ring a lot of alarm bells in the healer's mind.

Sugar Apple glances around nervously, wiping at her tears, "I… I know how he hurts himself. How he pretends he isn't. How he hides it…" She rocks on her heels, hands fidgeting against her skirt, "He- I… Just…" She groans, digging her fingers in, "Keep an eye on him, please?"

"I'll do what I can." Pure Vanilla agrees, watching as she sighs, slumping into herself slightly.

"…Thank you." She murmurs, turning around to walk back to the kitchen, "…I'm sorry. You shouldn't need to get involved. Pristine Milk…" She just shakes her head, falling silent as she walks away.

…Those three really are dysfunctional, aren't they?

Pure Vanilla sighs, glancing down the hallway - he'll at least try to go check up on Pristine Milk.

The air in the hallway feels strangely oppressive - as if it's trying to tell him to leave. Pristine Milk's door is sealed with a weak lock - is that… truly all Pristine Milk can do anymore? Or is it just as Lilac Faerie said - a symbol rather than a true lock?

Pure Vanilla gently knocks, "Pristine Milk? Are you alright?"

There's the faint sound of something falling and papers rustling, and Pure Vanilla wonders if he'll get an answer at all.

"…I'm fine." It's soft, almost inaudible through the door, "Don't worry about me."

Pure Vanilla can tell that it's a lie - even without his Soul Jam telling him so. Pristine Milk sounds off, voice strangely raspy, an ache echoing down their bond. "Are you certain? I can bring you up something to eat, if you'd like…?" It's a half-hearted attempt at best to get in - but maybe he'd cave to Pure Vanilla?

Pristine Milk is quiet, and Pure Vanilla sighs, "Alright, well… If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

Silence is all he gets, and Pure Vanilla knows he's not getting anywhere. Part of him wants to settle outside the door, talk through it whether Pristine Milk is listening or not, keep him company.

Yet he gets the sense Pristine Milk would never accept that - would just stay silent until he left, would wheedle him into returning to work rather than sitting there just for him. As if he didn't matter - as if Pure Vanilla hadn't abdicated the throne. (Well, he does have a lot of work still, but nothing that he can't simply delegate away or put off for a bit.)

"…I'll bring you some lunch later." Pure Vanilla studies the door, the faint pulses of magic, of starlight and cold sunshine. A winter twilight… He wonders, if he leaned close enough, if Pristine Milk would smell of stardust and the chill of winter underneath the blueberries and cream.

Pure Vanilla does wonder if this is what Pristine Milk's magic has always felt like - or was it warmer, once upon a time? Maybe he'll never know.

The cracks in the Fount's Soul Jam worries him - as does the fact that he seems to sleep so often… The records of the Virtues are almost non-existent, and those that Pristine Milk gave them dart around some of the more… minute details, while Pristine Milk himself is almost never mentioned at all.

Yet one detail that exists about all the Virtues - is that they do not need sleep, nor food, nor any mortal 'comforts' to survive - yet Pristine Milk does? He's hiding something (everything) and Pure Vanilla cannot tell why.

What does he have to fear, so greatly? Why does he think if people see him that he'll be left behind?

(Pure Vanilla hopes he'll see all of him someday - where the fur on his legs ends; how his tail connects to his back; the scars he bears and everything he hides away.)

"Didn't work, huh?" Lilac Faerie sighs as he walks down the hall towards his own room, Sugar Apple following at his side. "Just leave it. He'll either waste away, run away, or figure out what it is he wants. It doesn't matter. You'll get your answer eventually either way. It's just a matter of how quickly." Lilac Faerie sounds tired, yet bitter. "…Just leave him be."

"…Pristine Milk isn't that bad!" Sugar Apple's voice is weak, though - lacking that normal edge when she defends the Fount. One look from Lilac Faerie has her sighing, glancing aside as she murmurs, "Okay, he is…"

The three stand in silence - only the faint sound of paper rustling and things being slid across the floor reaching them from behind the door.

Pristine Milk is unreachable, just as he seemed to have intended.

It becomes routine, for Pure Vanilla to find Sugar Apple sat outside Pristine Milk's door, chattering away despite not getting an answer. She works on sewing projects and arts and crafts, tells him about her day, about what Lilac Faerie has been up to, about Pure Vanilla's work. About the things she'd baked under the watchful eye of the kitchen staff, about the radio show Lilac Faerie started hosting, about that strange little silver Faerie that occasionally pops up to visit him, about Pure Vanilla's gardens and the flowers he's growing.

(Pure Vanilla had planted a small patch of forget-me-nots and blue hydrangea in view of Pristine Milk's window. He hopes it brings him some type of comfort. He thinks he's seen Pristine Milk leaning out the window once or twice, watching him garden…)

Sometimes Pure Vanilla catches pieces of paper slipping out from under the door - sewing patterns and tutorials for various types of crafts. Little lessons and corrections of assignments, bits of fabric with his signature blues, speckled with stars and moons.

It's endearing to Pure Vanilla - that even at Pristine Milk's worst, he still cares for his children.

…Although he never sees Lilac Faerie doing anything beyond glaring at the door from across the hall, as if he wants to break it down and drag Pristine Milk out.

("Sometimes, I want to reinforce the seal. Trap him in there." Lilac Faerie murmurs to him one night, nursing a mug of tea as he stares out into the darkness beyond the castle. "But that's cruel, isn't it? He spent thousands of years trapped - I… I can't make him relieve that.")

It takes two weeks before Sugar Apple is nervously tugging on Pure Vanilla's sleeve, dragging him towards Pristine Milk's door.

"He hasn't been responding." Sugar Apple seems nervous as she glances at the door, "He usually at least does… something, so I know he's fine! But he hasn't in a while… At first I thought he must've just been sleeping or something, but it-it's been too long!"

"…Are you sure, Sugar Apple? You've said he doesn't want to be disturbed." Pure Vanilla still follows along dutifully, Sugar Apple nodding rapidly.

"It- he- he never goes silent for this long! You… You gotta, okay?" She sounds desperate as they stop in front of the door, and Pure Vanilla nods.

He rests a hand on the door - the magic over it is weak, barely holding on. It takes barely a thought to dispel it, and he gently pushes the door open.

The room is dark, filled with scattered papers and books, journals and notebooks, pencils and pens and multiple colors of markers. The curtains are drawn shut, although a faint draft reveals the window to be open, rustling a few papers closer to the window. The tray with the two mugs is empty - the pastries eaten and the tea drained - and Pristine Milk lays in the center of all the chaos, curled up in a nest of blankets.

"Oh, Pristine Milk…"

"And that's all!" Choco Nutmeg grins at him, their eyes soft as Pristine Milk nods. "The Academy is flourishing quite well under Green Tea's tutelage!"

"Green Tea was my first choice," Pristine Milk glances over the reports, "He's always been shadowing me, after all. I'm glad he accepted."

"Quite a good choice, indeed." Choco Nutmeg nods, glancing around the messy study, "…What will you do, now? If the Academy is no longer entirely under your purview?"

"Explore, perhaps." Pristine Milk's gaze turns to the large skylights, the warm sunlight streaming in and highlighting Choco Nutmeg in shades of gold. "It's been a time since I was last out in the world. Maybe visit the other Virtues? I'm sure my sister misses me…"

Choco Nutmeg hums, tilting their head, "I can oversee affairs here, if you wish me to. I've been overseeing the Academy for long enough that I'm sure I could be of use!"

Pristine Milk just shakes his head with a soft laugh, "Your job is at the Academy, Choco Nutmeg. I won't ask you to take over being Knowledge."

"Hm, alright." Choco Nutmeg sighs - but still grins at him. "I'll see you around then, Pristine Milk?"

"Of course."

The day trickles by slowly, the sun warming his fur as he sprawls out on the floor, legs crossed as he lays on his back, papers held above his head as he squints at them, tail smacking against the floor in content. It's rare for him to not be wearing his robes - but today was one of those days where his tailcoat and pants serve him better, especially with the summer haze rolling in…

…He's still barefoot though. Even though everyone heckles him about that. Shoes are just uncomfortable when you have paws! He doesn't want to deal with that!

He wonders how Pure Flour is - he's been trying to find new ornaments for her antlers. She'd always wear anything he gifted her, after all. Perhaps something in the shape of fireflies… Maybe he could even enchant them to glow! (The soft haze of flour drifting through the serene pagoda, catching the light as the two share a quiet meal, Pristine Milk gently helping her adjust the adornments in her antlers, never noticing the soft, fond smile on her face.)

Maybe he'd stop by the Spice Deserts on his way home, see what Fragrant Spice is up to. Perhaps he's made new competitions? Pristine Milk always liked to attempt to join in, despite how frail he was, Spice always let him - even if he got knocked on his ass in the first round. (Sand in his fur, grains making his paws itchy - but he's grinning, Spice standing at his side as they overlook the arena. Spice is preparing for the final match, with Pristine Milk still panting from his half-baked attempts in the qualifiers.)

Then he could go see Powdered Sugar's Paradise! She'd been talking about how she'd been attempting to get more species of flowers to grow to aid in making some of her subjects happier, and she wished for his assistance. He knew almost everything there was to know on botany, so he just had to find the time… (Sugar's wing wrapped around him, Pristine Milk's tail wrapped around her. Created together - inseparable in a way the other Virtues were not. She always protected him, and he always attempted to do everything he could for her.)

…He doesn't think he wants to go to Sea Salt's domain, though. As much as he enjoys seeing the Knights, something about them unnerve him. He appreciates them immensely, though… Salt stood with the weak, after all, and Pristine Milk was the weakest of the Virtues despite his magical prowess. Frail, easily disabled… (Pristine Milk stares up at Sea Salt, stars in his eyes as the other brandishes their sword in his defense - as pathetic as Pristine Milk is, Sea Salt wouldn't see him injured on their watch.)

Pristine Milk sighs, letting go of the papers and watching them drift down around him, some getting swatted aside by his tail. Maybe he'll just leave - the Spire would keep running in his absence, and Lilac Faerie would be alright. Pavlova was visiting once more, after all! Lilac Faerie always seemed excited to see his brother.

Well, he'll at least take a walk around the kingdom before he decides what to do.

It's always bustling this time of afternoon, and Pristine Milk happily trots down the streets, chatting with whoever comes up to him, happily engaging in debates and teasing those who he tripped up. He let kids chase him around the square, slipping just out of grasp before they could catch him - only to let them win at the last moment of their game of tag. He hopped up on the edge of the fountain in the center square to give an impromptu lecture - the topic undecided, and he simply rambled off of what Cookies asked of him.

It was… pleasant. The sun against his fur, warming him up. The sparkles in his fur always attracted children - curious of how it worked. He'd point out constellations in the stars, speak in a hushed tone of the cosmos far beyond the sky - he always encouraged children to learn, to dream and never stop dreaming.

Pristine Milk dreamed. More than he should've. Yet it all worked out, even if he was often lost in his head, slipping through the kingdom like a ghost, or dancing through it like he'd been born to exist in the spotlight.

He liked to look up at the stars, talk to the Moon and hope She could hear him, to draw constellations in the sky with his magic and wonder if they'd stick. Little bear jellies and gummy frogs, weapons that tell of Sea Salt and Fragrant Spice's conquests and competitions, the sugary-sweet flowers of Powdered Sugar's domain, the peaches and dumplings from Pure Flour's.

Pristine Milk yawns as he settles on a hill just outside the kingdom, tucked near an orchard. (Butter Biscuit often scolded him for taking their fruits without asking - but never truly stopped him. Pristine Milk always paid, and Hibiscus Cookie always seemed happy to see him.)

It's a faint, yet shrill sound that gets his attention and snaps him out of his doze, pointed ear flicking as he scans the orchard. It was out of season, and so Butter Biscuit and Hibiscus likely wouldn't be out here, so what was it? One of their kids, maybe?

…The last thing Pristine Milk expected to find, was something tiny. Defenseless. A baby dough - small enough that Pristine Milk worried about hurting it. Why would someone leave a child behind in an orchard of all places?

Butter Biscuit and Hibiscus had been baffled as well, but said they couldn't take her in - they had their own children to take care of, and Hibiscus was expecting another any day, after all.

So Pristine Milk had done the most logical thing. Ran to the Spire, grabbed Lilac Faerie, and booked it to Powdered Sugar's domain, stumbling through a portal into the sun-warmed Gardens.

"Oh? Blue? What brings you here?" Powdered Sugar descends easily from the clouds once she senses the Fount's magic, wings kicking up sugary dust around them. "Is that a baby?"

"Yes!" Pristine Milk squeaks, Lilac Faerie standing on his tip-toes to try and see. "What do I do?!"

"…Why do you have a baby?" Powdered Sugar moves slightly closer, peering at the small thing in his arms, "She doesn't look anything like you."

"She's not mine!" Pristine Milk near-yells, face flushed a bright blue. "Why- I- why would you- even assume that?!" He sputters, and Powdered Sugar giggles.

"Relax, Blue. I was just teasing~" She sing-songs, leaning back and tilting her head, "What do you intend to do with her?"

"I don't- I don't know." Pristine Milk stares down at the small bundle in his arms, holding her ever-so-slightly closer, "I don't know what to do, Sugar."

"Well, I can take her, if you so wish. I've raised children before, after all." Powdered Sugar hums, "Is Pavlova with you?"

Pristine Milk blinks. "A-ah. He… is at my Spire, yes. I… forgot."

"I figured," Powdered Sugar giggles, "Tell him to be home soon, alright?"

Pristine Milk nods, still staring down at the baby in his arms with wide, panicked eyes as she reaches for him. "I-I… I want to keep her." It feels strange to say - he didn't have to raise Lilac Faerie, the Faerie had simply come to him as a child and begged to become his apprentice so he could stay at the Spire.

"…Is she gonna be my sister?" Lilac Faerie finally speaks up from where he hovers at Pristine Milk's side, wings fluttering as he tries to boost himself up to see into his arms. "I wanna see."

Pristine Milk carefully crouches to be at Lilac Faerie's eye level, the Faerie giggling at her reaching for him.

"…What are you going to call her, then?" Powdered Sugar sounds worried - likely because Pristine Milk has zero experience with children aside from Lilac Faerie (an irregular child to begin with, with how independent he was) and those of the Blueberry Kingdom (who he did not have to raise, and often his only duties were playing with them while their parents were busy.)

Pristine Milk hums - the name seems to come from nowhere, but it feels right the moment he says it.

"Sugar Apple."

Chapter Text

"He's not doing well." Pure Vanilla frets, a hand resting against the Fount's forehead. The always-cold Cookie was now running an extremely high fever, and Pure Vanilla wasn't even sure where to begin.

Pristine Milk's Soul Jam looked like it had been torn up by his own claws, the brooch having faint bite marks, bent and scuffed in places, the Soul Jam itself seemingly having been slowly torn apart from the cracks that already existed. Pure Vanilla's healing couldn't fully repair the Soul Jam, but he at least healed some of the new damage.

"Stupid Fount." Sugar Apple pouts, but she sounds near tears. "Always hurting himself!"

Pure Vanilla sighs, sitting on the bed beside the Fount. The poor thing wasn't even coherent even when he was awake - always mumbling names Pure Vanilla didn't entirely recognize, talking about things that made no sense, slipping into long-dead tongues. Words Pure Vanilla half-recognizes, pleas and cries for people who no longer exist, for affection and love and care.

Yet he still seems to always reach for Pure Vanilla whenever he's close, tail weakly wrapping around whatever part of him is closest, claws snagging in his robes.

"…I've never seen him this ill." Even Lilac Faerie seems worried, despite the animosity that seems to have been brewing between the two. "He's gotten sick before but this is…" He shakes his head, sighing.

Sugar Apple glances between them nervously, fidgeting with the notebook in her lap - they had been slowly going through Pristine Milk's research, with Sugar Apple and Lilac Faerie working to decode the handful of journals written in Pristine Milk's ciphers.

Lilac Faerie sighs, reaching for one of the journals. Only to wince and lean closer to Sugar Apple, who yanks the journal out of his hands and runs to Pure Vanilla's side.

"…Sugar Apple, you are aware I cannot read his ciphers, correct?"

"Oh." She glances around, then sighs. "He… wrote that he knew this was gonna happen. That the magic he needs to sustain himself is getting weak. So he just… kept working. 'Cause he wanted to be useful. Even if he died." Her fingers dig into the edge of the journal, crinkling the pages, "He's… Not gonna die, right?"

Pure Vanilla keeps his eyes focused on the Fount, watching his shaky breathing, the fact that he cries in his sleep… "He won't." Pure Vanilla is certain of that one fact, "Even if he relies on the Soul Jam's magic, eventually he'll wake up."

Sugar Apple sighs in relief, relaxing her grip on the journal as she watches him. "It's… weird. Seeing him like this."

Pure Vanilla had changed him out of his robes into lighter clothes - just a spare set of shorts and a light shirt Pure Vanilla had buried in his wardrobe - to try and cool the fever. His paws on full display, the fur of his tail matted, the fact that he's so tiny… It worries Pure Vanilla.

Pure Vanilla sighs, gently running a hand through the fur that trails up Pristine Milk's leg. It's soft, just like his tail… (Pure Vanilla will admit he's indulged his own curiosity a bit - Pristine Milk's paw pads are interesting to poke at - the way Pristine Milk twitches when he does so is slightly amusing to him.)

"He'll be okay." Sugar Apple repeats with a nod, as if she's trying to make herself believe it. "…Okay." She sighs, setting the journal down as she turns to the door, "…I'm gonna go get something to eat."

"Good idea," Pure Vanilla glances towards Lilac Faerie, "You should go with her - no reason to be sitting around here all day."

Lilac Faerie glances between Pure Vanilla and Pristine Milk, then snickers. "Alright, whatever you want. Just don't take advantage of h-IM!" Lilac Faerie yelps as Sugar Apple yanks him forward.

"Don't be gross!" Sugar Apple huffs, yanking him out the door and slamming it behind them.

Pure Vanilla just blinks at the now-shut door, then sighs as he settles more comfortably onto the bed beside Pristine Milk, the Fount instinctively reaching for him.

"You're alright, aren't you?" Pure Vanilla murmurs as he runs a hand through Pristine Milk's hair, trying to soothe him, "Just a bit hurt, but you'll be okay."

Pure Vanilla reaches for the Soul Jam of Knowledge, running his fingers along the cracks, gently pushing his white magic into it - it hums under his touch, glowing gently as the cracks seal ever-so-slightly more.

"Nils…" Pristine Milk whines in that half-conscious way that Pure Vanilla has gotten used to, claws digging into his robes, "Make it stooooooop…"

"I know," Pure Vanilla sets the Soul Jam aside, shifting to gently card his fingers through Pristine Milk's hair, dodging teary eyes. "You'll be okay."

"Hurts." Pristine Milk whines, blinking open hazy blue and gold eyes, staring up at him.

"I know." Pure Vanilla repeats, pressing the back of his hand against Pristine Milk's forehead - the fever seems to be reducing slightly, at least. "You doing any better?"

Pristine Milk just whines again, shifting to press his face into Pure Vanilla's leg, clinging to him as his tail lands in Pure Vanilla's lap, much to his amusement.

"Just a little too short to reach, hm?" Pure Vanilla teases as he pets through the fur of Pristine Milk's tail, carding through soft fur as small sparkles fall off, glinting in the dim light of the room like glitter. The limb keeps trying to twine around his wrist, yet Pure Vanilla keeps gently pulling away - it's cute watching Pristine Milk get frustrated over it, even if he's ill.

"Nilssssssss…" Pristine Milk whines, tilting his head to let his blue eye peer up at Pure Vanilla, pouting. "Stop bein' mean."

"Sorry, sorry." Pure Vanilla laughs, petting through the Fount's hair as his tail finally wraps gently around his wrist, keeping him in place. Pristine Milk just yawns, burrowing against his side once more.

It's quiet, Pure Vanilla simply petting through Pristine Milk's fur, listening to the Fount breathe. He seems to be asleep again, much to Pure Vanilla's relief - he needs the rest, the poor thing.

"You're okay, aren't you?" Pure Vanilla murmurs, carefully unwinding Pristine Milk's tail from his wrist, "I'm not going far." Even as he slides out of bed, Pristine Milk reaches for him.

He feels guilty despite the fact that all he's doing is adjusting the blankets - Pristine Milk had basically made a nest before, and he seemed comfortable, so Pure Vanilla was doing his best to mimic it. All warm blankets and soft pillows, one of his cloaks settled near Pristine Milk's head - and that sheep plush placed close to his chest.

Pristine Milk does seem to relax a little more when not out in the open. It's comfortable, even as Pure Vanilla settles into the nest beside him, tugging the Fount to curl up by his side while he opens a book. He can at least catch up on reading while Pristine Milk takes a nap on top of him…

It doesn't take long for Pristine Milk to end up curled up against his chest, tail thrown over his legs while the Fount clings to him. Pure Vanilla wonders if he's listening to his heartbeat - does it soothe him, to know he's not alone?

Pure Vanilla just shifts his grip on his book to free a hand, tugging a blanket up over them and petting through Pristine Milk's hair - that raspy, shaky little purr bubbling up after a few moments.

(Does he even know he can purr? He never seems to do it when awake - only when asleep, or so out of it he doesn't even seem like the anxious Fount that Pure Vanilla knows.)

"You're alright," Pure Vanilla murmurs as Pristine Milk shifts, clinging tighter, "I'm here."

The room falls quiet, a faint breeze from the open window keeping the room cool, the sound of Pristine Milk's faint purr and the turning of pages the only noises that break the quiet.

Pure Vanilla ends up drifting off not too long later, arms wrapped around Pristine Milk to keep him close.

"It's hot." Pristine Milk whines, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"That's what you get for wearing those robes of your to the jungle, Blue!" Powdered Sugar giggles, flapping her wings to kick up a breeze for him nonetheless. Pink, orange, and yellow leaves swirling around them, getting stuck in Powdered Sugar's wings. "We're almost there, though, so don't worry."

"Ugh." Pristine Milk huffs, then yelps as he's scooped up by armor-clad arms. "Salt! Put me down!" He smacks a hand against Sea Salt's armor, only to recoil with a hiss. He really needed to stop doing that…

Sea Salt just shakes their head, and Pristine Milk swears he can see the smile on their face underneath that helmet.

"Sorry, pipsqueak. If you complain that much, someone's gonna help you." Fragrant Spice laughs, peeking over Sea Salt's shoulders, sun glinting off of his horns. "Don't complain, we all know you enjoy being doted on!"

"Nuh-uh." Pristine Milk huffs, crossing his arms, but still leans into Salt's sun-warmed armor. He's always enjoyed the warmth - his naturally low body temperature leading him to sprawling out in the sun or cuddling up to fireplaces or his warmer-blooded friends.

Slowly the jungle parts, revealing the lake Powdered Sugar had told them about. Her wings flutter in delight as she floats forward, peering into the water. It sparkles faintly in the sunlight, shimmering and vibrant, a faint turquoise tinge to the water.

"It should be clean!" Powdered Sugar cheers as she leaps into the water, resurfacing with a grin, wings splaying out wide and sending droplets through the air, catching the sunlight like shooting stars as they arc back towards the water. "Come on~"

Pure Flour sighs, making her way to the shore as she settles down, legs tucked carefully under her. "I do not wish to go in, but I will watch from here."

"Aw, no fun, Flour!" Powdered Sugar pouts, but doesn't press, "C'mon, you three! The water's nice and warm!"

Sea Salt sets Pristine Milk down beside Pure Flour, the healer humming as she looks him over, the ornaments in her antlers gently clinking together with the motion. Little stars and moons, a few flowers, a handful of peach blossoms… Pristine Milk always liked seeing what ornaments she chose - they always accentuate her natural grace.

Fragrant Spice has already raced to the lake, leaping in and sending water flying. Sea Salt simply sets up on Pristine Milk's other side, standing quietly as they look everyone over. Protective, yet quiet. Pristine Milk always feels a little better with Sea Salt standing nearby.

"Go on," Pure Flour gently nudges Pristine Milk, "You've been overworking yourself, haven't you?"

"I haven't!" Pristine Milk protests, but he knows it's a lie. The last time he even stepped foot in the Spire was three weeks ago - he'd had a lot to do with the Academy's expansion plans, the bubbling turmoil in the political side of things, and the fact that he was still a scholar and academic on top of it! Classes to teach, research to do, spells to create…

"Go on." Flour urges once more, shaking her head fondly. "You deserve some rest too."

"Fine." Pristine Milk sighs, fidgeting with his robe as he unclasps it, standing in a shirt and shorts, rubbing his arms. He always feels odd not covering his animal features, even if they're not an oddity. Not with the other Virtues.

Not with Powdered Sugar's dual sets of wings, not with Pure Flour's antlers and soft, rounded ears, not with Fragrant Spice's horns and hooves and tail.

A cat, a bird, a deer, a chimera or whatever Spice is, and whatever Sea Salt may be. What a combination.

(Pristine Milk had been studying why animal traits had been slowly dissipating in the wider population - his answer had been simple. The genes are recessive, and only getting more and more dilute as time goes on.)

Soon the fur, his paws, his tail - they'd all mark him as other. They'd all be strange, but when haven't they been?

Pristine Milk folds his robe, setting it beside Pure Flour, and trots off towards the water.

For now, he doesn't need to be the Fount of Knowledge, the head of the Academy, the strategist or the one in charge.

He's just Pristine Milk - the youngest of the Virtues, weak yet doted on, pathetic yet still loved.

Powdered Sugar and Fragrant Spice cheer as he leaps into the lake, with Powdered Sugar scolding him for not tying back his hair as she removes a tie from her own to pin his back.

"Your hair is almost as long as mine, Blue! Come on!" She huffs, smacking him with a wet wing as she lets his hair fall, messily tied back. He splashes her back, and can hear Spice cheer as a whole war breaks out between them.

It was summer. Warm, hazy. Cicadas chirping in the trees, frogs croaking in the distance. The sound of laughter and splashing filling the air.

Did we ever do something like that again…? Or was that the last time we all saw one another…?

Pure Vanilla wakes up at sunset, the room bathed in hues of gold and orange, Pristine Milk still curled up against him. His book's been set on the side table beside their Soul Jams, along with a small plate of sandwiches, a sticky note attached written in Lilac Faerie's handwriting - 'Keep yourself fed. I know you're probably not leaving his side, so consider this us taking care of you. Since you're taking care of him.'

Pure Vanilla just shakes his head fondly, shifting slightly to reach for a sandwich - and shushing Pristine Milk when he whines at being jostled. At least Pristine Milk's fever seems to be reducing for the time being - but it might just spring back up again…

"You should eat something, too…" Pure Vanilla sighs as he nibbles on his sandwich. "If you need rest to replenish your mana, food must help as well, right?"

All he gets in response is an annoyed whine, cut through by that soft purr.

"Hm, well, I'll still save you some." Pure Vanilla shakes his head, fond yet exasperated. "You better thank me when you wake up, hm?" An annoyed grumble, and Pure Vanilla laughs, "No, no, I'd never actually expect that. I'd take care of you without expecting thanks - although I know you would trip over yourself to, regardless."

The soft purr he gets in response feels like the best answer he could've gotten. He wonders if Pristine Milk even really knows what he's responding to with those noises - or if it's just all static in that overheated brain of his.

Pure Vanilla simply lets Pristine Milk settle once more, breathing deeply as he falls back into a deeper sleep - and reaches for his Soul Jam. The Soul Jam of Knowledge pulses slightly, as if in acknowledgement of him, and he wonders for a brief moment if Knowledge can see through that pupil-like slit. What would Knowledge think of him?

The cracks Pristine Milk seem to have inflicted are all healed, but the initial cracking from before he was sealed - Pure Vanilla's magic can't touch. But he can gently pour his magic into the Soul Jam regardless, allow Pristine Milk's body to slowly process it - and eventually it should boost his mana enough to let him wake up properly.

It just takes time.

(It feels cruel - Pure Vanilla knows that if he keeps doing this, keeps feeding Pristine Milk's dwindling mana like this, that he'll get dependent until those cracks are sealed. His natural mana regeneration is already poor - and Pure Vanilla's only impeding it more as time goes on. But what's a little dependency, if it means that Pristine Milk can be alive?)

"Give up." Fragrant Spice stands above him, axe pointed at his neck. "Do you surrender?"

"Never!" Pristine Milk grins as he slips out from under Fragrant Spice, bouncing back to his feet, paws digging into the sand. "Not until you make me!"

Fragrant Spice gives a harsh bark of a laugh, charging at Pristine Milk as the other dodges - Pristine Milk's never made it to the finals, but Spice agreed to indulge him in a match for once. The festivities are being taken down around them as they duel in the arena, kicking up sand and dust, Pristine Milk laughing as he lets Fragrant Spice chase him around.

He didn't have physical power, but he was fast!

"Slow down!" Fragrant Spice barks, but it's tinged with laughter as Pristine Milk dances out of the way once more, leaving nothing but the glitter-like stardust that falls from his tail behind.

"Never!" Pristine Milk laughs, bouncing out of the way of another strike - he knows Spice is going easy on him, but it's fun. Even with the collection of bruises he has, he's enjoying himself. Testing his stamina, dancing around Spice, sweating under the hot sun of the Spice Deserts.

Fragrant Spice seems to be wising up to his tricks, though - starting to try and fake him out, make him slip up. It only takes one miscalculation for him to nearly slip, paws struggling for purchase against fine sand.

Pristine Milk yelps as Fragrant Spice manages to grip the edge of his shirt, lifting him by the collar as he flails, trying to gain purchase.

"Caught ya, furball." Fragrant Spice chuckles, and Pristine Milk sulks, ears and tail drooping. "Should've paid more attention! You've watched my matches, after all."

"Boo. Mean." Pristine Milk huffs, shaking himself out once Fragrant Spice sets him down, sending sand flying from his hair and fur. "I'll get you one of theses days."

"Sure you will." Fragrant Spice laughs, gently leading Pristine Milk away from the arena and back towards the remainder of the stalls from the festivities.

The Cookies seemed to have been waiting for them, offering them cold drinks and food, which Pristine Milk takes gratefully. Even if he just picks at the food given - those in the Spice Deserts really like spice. Who would've guessed? He's at least grateful for the cold drinks, yawning even as Fragrant Spice picks him up to carry him back to the temple.

"You sure do get exhausted fast, furball." Fragrant Spice looks concerned, and Pristine Milk shrugs.

"You know I don't have the same-" He yawns, tears beading in his eyes, "stamina you guys have."

"You're still better at magic than most of us!" Fragrant Spice counters, "You don't need stamina when you can just make your enemies explode!"

Pristine Milk chuckles, but shakes his head. "I'm not violent, Spicy. I'm not making anyone explode…"

"That's not what Lilac Faerie told me, after you taught Sugar Apple that fire spell…" Fragrant Spice teases, and Pristine Milk groans.

"I didn't know she was going to jump to arson immediately, okay!"

"Sure you didn't, furball." Fragrant Spice laughs, shifting Pristine Milk's weight in his arm as the other smacks him with his tail.

"I didn't…" Pristine Milk protests with a yawn, "Can we fight again?"

"After you're done falling asleep on my shoulder, sure." Fragrant Spice chuckles, and Pristine Milk huffs. "Are you sure you're alright though, furball?"

Pristine Milk yawns, but nods. "I'm just weaker than you guys. You know this."

"Sure, doesn't mean I'm not gonna worry, though." Fragrant Spice shrugs, and Pristine Milk hums. "C'mon, I'll get you inside so you can rest."

…When did Fragrant Spice get so mean, again…? Didn't he always care for me…?

"There you are." Pure Vanilla brushes Pristine Milk's bangs out of his face, watching as hazy cerulean and gold eyes focus on him for just a moment before slipping shut again. "No, no, stay up. I need you to eat."

Pristine Milk whines, but Pure Vanilla just chuckles and gently shifts to sit up, dragging pristine Milk with him despite his whines of protest.

"Come on, no complaining." Pure Vanilla pets his hair, reaching for one of the sandwiches - they had been cut in half, likely Lilac Faerie's doing, so it was easy enough to try and coax Pristine Milk into eating. "Lilac Faerie said he made something you'd enjoy. It's light, alright?"

It seemed to be some type of cucumber sandwich - simple, light, and easy. It takes some coaxing, but Pristine Milk eventually does let Pure Vanilla feed him. Even if he seems to be drifting off between bites, at least he's eating.

"That'll help, right?" Pure Vanilla rests his chin atop Pristine Milk's head. They don't even have that large of a height difference - yet Pristine Milk seems so tiny where he's pressed up against him. "You can rest, I won't make you eat more unless you want to."

There's a small whine, and Pristine Milk pokes at him - he's been strangely nonverbal lately, but Pure Vanilla figures he's just lost in the fever's haze and his own exhaustion.

"What, do you want more?" At Pristine Milk's slow nod, Pure Vanilla brightens and reaches for another half of a sandwich, "Good. I'm glad you want to eat. You can nap after, alright?"

Pristine Milk just purrs, sleepily eating the sandwiches as Pure Vanilla offers them - although he occasionally nudges at Pure Vanilla's wrist as if he's trying to tell Pure Vanilla to eat some himself - so he indulges him. It makes Pristine Milk purr louder when he does, so he's clearly doing something right.

Eventually Pristine Milk shifts, wiggling to be chest-to-chest with Pure Vanilla, his head nestled against Pure Vanilla's shoulder.

"Done eating, I take it." Pure Vanilla laughs, petting through his hair as he finishes off the last of the sandwiches - at least Pristine Milk had eaten most of it. He'll need to remember that he has an affinity for both sweets and lighter foods…

It's comfortable, with Pristine Milk pressed against him, warm breath on his neck and the soft vibrations of his purr resonating between them. Pure Vanilla just gently raises a hand to rub his back, giggling slightly when it makes the purring ramp up.

Pure Vanilla gently tugs a blanket up over them, and Pristine Milk's purring softens as he drifts off. Pure Vanilla simply eases himself back, bringing Pristine Milk with him, and tucking the Fount's head under his chin.

"Sleep well, Bluebird."

"Are you doing alright?" Pure Flour's tone is soft, quiet, as Pristine Milk kneels in front of her.

The war had been building for months at this point - Pristine Milk stuck in the middle of trying to keep everything together - Sugar's not-paradise, Spice's deterioration into chaos, Salt's strange disappearances… At least Flour was mostly normal.

"I don't know." Pristine Milk runs a hand through his hair, fighting back tears. "Why's everyone… doing this?" He doesn't understand - what changed?! What's happened?

"I cannot explain their motives, Pristine Milk." Pure Flour shifts to kneel, the small firefly ornaments in her antlers glowing softly as she reaches for the Fount, pulling him into a gentle hug. "They simply… aren't doing well."

"I could've helped." Pristine Milk whines, miserable. "Why didn't they ask?! Why did-" he chokes, squeezing his eyes shut, "why did Sugar do this?"

Pure Flour just hums, rubbing his back as Pristine Milk cries. A lullaby she often hummed for him when he couldn't sleep or was distressed… "I don't think she meant to hurt you, Pristine Milk. She's always loved you, hasn't she?"

"Then why didn't she talk to me?!" Pristine Milk retorts, "If-if she cared that much, she would've- she would've tried!"

Pure Flour sighs, gently tugging Pristine Milk upright as she stands, "Come, let's go for a walk."

"I don't wanna…" Pristine Milk whines, but follows her nonetheless. "…Is your antler okay?" One of them seems to be chipped towards the base - deep, sharp, startling against the always-pristine ivory, but Pure Flour just nods.

"Just a superficial wound. Meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Do not concern yourself with it."

"…Okay." Pristine Milk keeps staring at it even as she gently pulls him along. It feels wrong to see Pure Flour ruffled in any way - the chip in her antler makes him afraid for a reason he cannot tell. (Those antlers, cut off in a moment of agony, in a scream Pristine Milk was helpless to stop, too late even as Pure Flour turned the entire pagoda to naught but white dust. Pristine Milk coated in flour, even as she pants heavily, a hand pressed against the shattered base of her antlers, a terrified look in her eyes as they meet his. Pristine Milk hadn't seen Pure Flour again, after that day.)

The scent of peach blossoms reaches them as she leads him into the garden, settling down on a stone bench amidst pink petals and delicately swaying flowers. They sit quietly, Pristine Milk pulling his legs up to rest his chin on them, adjusting his robe around his legs.

"Is everything going to fall apart?" Pristine Milk asks, despite Knowing the answer - his dreams have been telling him for months that something was going to go wrong. He'd begged Knowledge for specifics, for ways to fix everything - anything! But Knowledge hadn't answered.

"Perhaps." Pure Flour gazes across the gardens, the sound of trickling water and wind chimes floating to them on the breeze. "But it is not the end, is it?"

"It could be." Pristine Milk knows the Virtues could annihilate Earthbread if they chose - even if Pristine Milk would stand in their way the entire time, he was easy to overpower. If even just Spice wanted to… It would be little more than a thought that would send him flying.

"But it won't be, will it?" Pure Flour coaxes, studying the garden. The gentle breeze making peach blossoms and camellias dance in the wind. "You will continue on, even if all of us Fall."

Pristine Milk drops his gaze to his lap, fidgeting with his fingers. "I… I don't want to live in a world without you all, though."

"Yet even if you have to, you'd survive, wouldn't you?" Pure Flour reaches up, removing the firefly ornaments from her antlers, and holds them out to him. "Take these, Pristine Milk."

"Wh- but… I made them for you?" Pristine Milk still accepts them, drawing his arms close to his chest as he cradles the ornaments - they leak a soft green light from between his fingers, and Pure Flour offers him a smile - yet it seems sad.

"Just in case." She says, standing with all the grace she was created with, petals swirling around her as she turns to walk back to the pagoda. "Just in case." She repeats, and Pristine Milk is left alone, staring after her.

…She was gone not too long after that, wasn't she? I remember how she looked back before she left. She loved me, I think…

"Ah, sorry." Lilac Faerie whispers when he notices Pure Vanilla blinking awake slowly, "Did I wake you?"

He's holding the empty plate - seemingly he had come to collect it.

"It's quite alright. What are you doing?" Pure Vanilla yawns, stretching as he does so - only to immediately lower his arms when Pristine Milk whines in complaint. Lilac Faerie just snorts at the scene, shaking his head.

"I just wanted to collect this in case you hadn't finished it," He wiggles the plate, "didn't want food to go to waste. I take it he ate?"

"He did!" Pure Vanilla perks up, smiling softly down at the Fount. "Quite a bit, too. Hopefully he'll wake up properly soon…"

Lilac Faerie hums, glancing down at Pristine Milk - held comfortably by Pure Vanilla, basically entirely in the healer's lap, sleeping against him. "It's good you got him to eat. I don't think I've ever seen him eat on his own volition…"

"Never?" Pure Vanilla rubs Pristine Milk's back, that faint purring kicking up again as the Fount leans heavily into him.

"Never." Lilac Faerie confirms with a sigh, "What, did you hand feed him or something? I've only seen him eat stuff other people give him." There's a moment of quiet, Pure Vanilla's hand falling still, and Lilac Faerie snorts. "You did, didn't you? Well, if it works it works. Even if you two are disgustingly sappy."

"I-well, he-!" Pure Vanilla sputters, and Lilac Faerie tries his best to muffle his laughter as he moves towards the door.

"It's fine, it's fine~ I'll bring up more sandwiches later, alright?" Lilac Faerie's voice is still tinged with laughter, wings fluttering in delight, and Pure Vanilla nods, even though his face is still flushed bright red.

The door shuts quietly as Lilac Faerie slips out, and Pure Vanilla sighs, ruffling Pristine Milk's hair as he yawns, purring once more.

The room is quiet - it's dark outside, probably close to midnight. Strange that Lilac Faerie chose now of all times to come collect the plate, yet he is rather quiet, Pure Vanilla is just a light sleeper…

Pristine Milk grumbles in annoyance against him, wiggling to get comfortable, and Pure Vanilla laughs softly, lifting his arms to let him settle with a huff.

"You are just a big cat, aren't you?" Pure Vanilla sighs, lowering his arms once more now that Pristine Milk is comfortable - an arm around his waist, with the other petting through his hair. "You're never going to let me out of your sight once you recover, are you?" A pause, and Pure Vanilla's hand freezes in his hair for a moment, "Or maybe you'll just push me away harder. Regardless, I'll always be here, Bluebird."

Pristine Milk just purrs - and Pure Vanilla hopes, desperately, that if anything gets through to him despite the fever's haze, that it's that.

I won't abandon you, Pure Vanilla promises with a gentle kiss to Pristine Milk's temple, the Fount purring and arching into the touch. No matter what.

"…Do you think I'll ever fall in love?" Pristine Milk asks one night, settled in the heart of Powdered Sugar's Garden, the two staring up at the stars as clouds drift lazily by.

"Do you wish to?" Powdered Sugar replies, a wing wrapped around him as he leans into her side. "If it would make you Happy-"

"Don't force it." Pristine Milk shakes his head with a sigh, "It's not right that way, you know? I want… I want someone to want me for me. Not because they're… forced. Or they just want my power. I don't want to be wanted just because I'm the Fount…"

Powdered Sugar simply hums, wing wrapping ever-so-slightly tighter around him, almost in an approximation of a hug. She's long since learned to choose her battles - and Pristine Milk's obsession with romance is one she'd never win against.

Another daydream of Pristine Milk's - that ideal romance, chasing after something that doesn't exist. (Even in the futures he's seen, he's still alone. So devastatingly, depressingly alone. Knowledge is a burden he'll bear in isolation for eternity, it seems.)

"You're in your head again, Blue." Powdered Sugar flicks his forehead, leaning forward slightly to peer into his face, pink eyes studying him intently. "Don't think of the 'what if's right now. Just enjoy the night."

"…Alright." Pristine Milk sighs as he stares up at the moon. "I want to, though."

"…You want to fall in love?" Powdered Sugar repeats, and Pristine Milk nods, the motion almost undetectable, if not for him being pressed right up against her shoulder. "You will, Blue. Some day you'll get what you want."

"But I won't." Pristine Milk retorts with a heavy sigh, "I-I've seen the future, Sugar. There's… nothing waiting for me there, except pain and myself."

"And your kids." Powdered Sugar reminds him with a frown, "Or are they gone, too, in those lonely little fantasies of yours?"

"They'll have their own lives." Pristine Milk murmurs, gaze unfocused as he stares into the distance - it's raining over the jungle. "They won't need me forever."

Pristine Milk thinks of those lives he's seen. Lonely, shut up in his Spire, reaching out so desperately only to be ignored. Sharing his Knowledge, watching his friends fall as he stands alone, clinging to the remnants of a long-gone past.

In many of those lives, he dies.

Spice slaughters him, axe glinting with blue blood as he grins. Sugar cannot bear to truly harm him and instead slips him into a permanent dream. Flour gently turns him to dust, apathetic yet mournful at the same time. Salt stabs through his chest, saying that he's the last thing standing in the way of his goals. (Pristine Milk kills himself, Soul Jam shattered beneath his staff as he gasps and wheezes, clutching at his chest - at the Soul he just shattered on the ground. It's a painful, slow death, but at least it's one on his terms.)

In none of those lives, is anyone by his side. He's the Fount of Knowledge, the God, the Ruler, the Politician and Scholar. He's never just Pristine Milk.

"You will find love." Powdered Sugar repeats softly, "Your kids love you, don't they?"

"It's different." Pristine Milk sighs, "They're my kids. Entirely different type of love, Sugar."

"It's still love!" She insists, wings fluttering before they settle back down. "It counts!"

"…It's not the type I want." Pristine Milk sighs, letting his eyes slip shut as raindrops start to reach them, tugging his tail in close to save the fur from getting drenched. "I want…"

I want someone to want me, to care for me, to not want my Knowledge, my power, my body - to want me as I am. The strange, half-feline Cookie, the eccentric academic, the scholar who only studies that which interests him.

Pristine Milk wants to be held like he's precious - not because of his Knowledge, but because he's loved. He wants to be looked at with soft affection, not awe and reverence. He wants to be cared for, to be wanted, to not feel like he has to always be performing.

…But that sort of love isn't for something like him.

All he deserves is the type that hurts. The type that leads to him crying to Sugar in the early-mornings, that leaves him cowering behind Salt as the other protects him. The type that leaves him raw and aching and hurt.

"I know, Blue." Sugar hums, wing wrapping tighter around him as the rain properly arrives, droplets sliding off waterproof down with ease. "I know."

At least it's warm, pressed up against her, listening to rain patter on the leaves and her feathers.

She was wrong, anyway. I never fell in love. Not in the way I wanted to. All anyone wanted me for was my power, or status, or the fact that I'd do whatever they asked of me if I was convinced they loved me, too…

"Good morning." Pure Vanilla murmurs as Pristine Milk's purr hitches and stops, dazed blue and gold eyes blinking up at him. "Feeling any better?"

Pristine Milk opens his mouth - yet no sound comes out, just a raspy wheeze. His head is still fuzzy, everything feels hazy and warm, and speech seems almost impossible. He barely even knows where he is - what time it is, what day it is.

All he knows is that Pure Vanilla is here. Amidst the syrupy haze of his fever, he has been the one constant. The scent of vanilla and gentle hands, soft words and softer touches. Pristine Milk's pretty sure it's a dream - no one would ever touch him like this.

He's the Fount, a God. He's not meant to be treated like he's fragile, like he's glass. (No matter how much he wants, he knows it is not for him.)

"It's alright," Pure Vanilla scratches at his scalp, hand trailing through his hair. "No need to speak."

He wants to, though. He wants to say something - anything. Beg to know why Pure Vanilla is taking care of him, why he treats him so softly, as if he's worthy of this sort of touch (this sort of love) from someone so holy?

He wants to believe he is - so, so desperately. He wants to believe that he could could be touched so gently, so softly, and not be struck down by the Witches for taking something so pure and holy and defiling it with his mere existence.

"Pristine Milk?" Pure Vanilla sounds confused, and Pristine Milk blinks to clear his vision - tears had welled up as he had shifted to straddle Pure Vanilla, hands planted on the other's chest to keep himself upright. He squints down at the healer beneath him, head tilted. "Are you alright…?"

Pristine Milk just nods, slowly. You cannot be real. I am still in the Tree. This is all a lie - a fantasy, a daydream. Sugar's likely put me to sleep and none of this is real. It can't be, it's impossible. His mind races, yet Pure Vanilla is warm beneath him, heat seeping through his nightgown and into Pristine Milk, soft breathing and a heartbeat beneath him.

"Are you certain?" Pure Vanilla shifts to press a hand against Pristine Milk's forehead, "You feel less feverish, at least."

There's warring desires in his head - the want to lean into the touch, to sink his fangs into Pure Vanilla, to burst into tears and wail until he feels alright, to shove himself away and disappear into the Other Realm because how dare he tarnish Pure Vanilla's light like this?

Instead, he simply remains where he is, staring down at Pure Vanilla as the other looks up at him, a soft smile on his face as he shifts his hand to cup the other's cheek, gently wiping away tears with his thumb.

Soft. Gentle in a way something like Pristine Milk has never deserved.

Yet he wants it. So desperately.

Don't be selfish, that one part of him hisses, You're just going to ruin everything! Hurt everyone!

Shut up. Pristine Milk shuts it down, fingers clenching in Pure Vanilla's nightgown, I-I can… This- I… Just shut up!

He punctuates his own desperate thoughts by leaning down, pressing his lips to Pure Vanilla's and swallowing the squeak of surprise - kissing him desperately, as if Pure Vanilla could wash away all his sins, as if he could drown in the other.

It doesn't take long for Pure Vanilla's hand to shift to card through his hair, the other coming to rest on his hip - the Ancient slowly taking the lead as Pristine Milk's confidence fades.

He tastes like vanilla. Pristine Milk feels half delirious as Pure Vanilla slips his tongue into the Fount's mouth, swallowing the soft whines and whimpers that escape him. Pristine Milk doesn't want this moment to end - doesn't want to open his eyes and find this another dream, doesn't want the taste of vanilla to disappear from his mouth.

Yet Pure Vanilla gently pushes him back, Pristine Milk panting heavily as Pure Vanilla removes the hand from his hair to wipe his own mouth, eyes glazed over slightly. "You taste like blueberries."

Pristine Milk just whines again - desperate, aching, and Pure Vanilla laughs softly and tugs him into another gentle kiss. It's no less intense, Pristine Milk trembling against him, whining and whimpering - overwhelmed, yet never wanting to stop.

He wants to drown in Pure Vanilla. Crawl into his chest and live there. Shatter his own Soul Jam and shove it into Pure Vanilla's in a desperate bid to become one, he wants to press their Soul Jams together just to see what would happen, he wants to melt into Pure Vanilla's soul, leave his mark on the Ancient - stained, defiled, yet his.

Pristine Milk whines as Pure Vanilla nudges him back once more to catch his breath. "I still need to breathe, Bluebird." The Ancient laughs, soft, slightly dazed, as Pristine Milk stares down at him.

He's never even kissed anyone before this - is it meant to be this all-consuming? Meant to make him want to never stop? To want to mesh himself with Pure Vanilla until they're indistinguishable? To want to forsake the world simply to remain by his side?

Pure Vanilla is just gently scratching at a spot behind Pristine Milk's ear, the hand on his hip rubbing gentle circles as he tries to soothe the Fount - trembling, overwhelmed noises escaping him still, yet…

That vibration - that strange rumble, that he's heard a few times. Only ever around Pure Vanilla. Yet… It's coming from him, not the healer beneath him.

Pristine Milk furrows his brows, raising a hand to his own throat - he can feel the vibration. It doesn't make sense to him - he's never made this sound before. What even is it? Why is it? Why would he be making this sort of noise?

"…Did you not know you could purr, Bluebird?" Pure Vanilla's tone is strangely sad, and Pristine Milk wonders if kissing him again would fix it. "It's… often a sign of comfort and contentment in cats. Perhaps the same applies to you?"

Why would he have never purred before now, though? What was different? Pristine Milk doesn't know, he just knows it scares him. He didn't Know something about his own body? How horrible of a Virtue of Knowledge was he?!

"Calm down," Pure Vanilla murmurs, gently tugging him down - straight into another kiss, immediately knocking every worry out of Pristine Milk's head. Vanilla overwhelming his senses, that desperation consuming him once more, the purr ratcheting up despite it.

He wants. It burns under his skin, makes him dig his claws in ever so slightly further to Pure Vanilla's nightgown, makes him want to merge together with him. He feels half-insane, whining desperately into the kiss as Pure Vanilla deepens it.

"Needy, aren't you?" Pure Vanilla whispers against his lips when they pull back briefly, and Pristine Milk just blinks at him, dazed, yet still so desperate. Pure Vanilla just laughs, pulling him into another kiss.

He's not sure how long they spend, entangled with one another. Pristine Milk's brain feels fried. He's purring so loudly it nearly hurts his throat.

And yet, Pure Vanilla is still there, holding him gently, a hand brushing through the fur on his tail with his other arm securely around him.

Pristine Milk doesn't want to fall asleep again, doesn't want this to just be a dream - he wants this to be reality, he wants to have Pure Vanilla be his. He doesn't want to let go - not this time. When something he wants so deeply, so desperately, is right within his grasp.

It's almost instinctive, when he shifts from where he's nestled against Pure Vanilla's collarbone, to nose against his neck - and before Pure Vanilla can do anything, Pristine Milk bites.

He hears the sharp intake of breath, the taste of iron and vanilla on his tongue, and yet he keeps his teeth there - maybe it'd scar. Like those old time-y mating marks that some of those like him used to give one another. A symbol of care, of trust, of belonging to one another. A near-permanent mark of being bound to someone - an ancient, instinctive, animal ritual.

"Pristine Milk," Pure Vanilla's voice is clipped, pained, and Pristine Milk whimpers as he releases his jaw, leaning back as he licks blood off his lips. "Calm down." The other sounds so serious, and Pristine Milk whines again. He doesn't want to upset Pure Vanilla, but he can barely think - his brain so fried that rational speech feels entirely beyond him.

He just blinks dazedly down at Pure Vanilla, who stares up at him with such a soft look. He wonders if Pure Vanilla would bite him back… Make it a proper claim… That'd be nice, he thinks - being bound to sunshine personified seems rather pleasant on his cold, tainted existence.

"…Are you going to explain what that bite was about?" Pure Vanilla sounds confused, but he doesn't sound angry.

"You're mine." Is what Pristine Milk murmurs with a nod, eyes half-lidded, mind fuzzy. "'S proof."

"You cannot own another Cookie, Bluebird." Pure Vanilla just sounds amused, shaking his head as he gently pulls Pristine Milk down into a chaste kiss - still so warm and loving, making Pristine Milk's purr ever so slightly louder. "I imagine it comes from your heritage, hm?" He reaches to scratch at the base of Pristine Milk's tail, "Where all that fur and fluff of yours comes from?"

Pristine Milk just shrugs, yawning as he's tucked against Pure Vanilla again, head tucked under the healer's chin.

He doesn't care - not in this moment. Not with his head all hazy and feeling like it's stuffed with cotton, not when he's so warm and cared for and loved for the first time in eons. It's easy to drift off, trusting in Pure Vanilla to stay.

He can explain everything later - for now, he can simply rest.

Chapter Text

"He bit me." Pure Vanilla states blandly over breakfast, Pristine Milk left back in his bed - asleep, so deeply that even his hair had dimmed.

"Oh." Sugar Apple blinks at him, "So it worked!"

"What worked?"

"My plan." She giggles, causing Lilac Faerie to flick her forehead.

"She set you up, basically." The Faerie leans back in his chair as he fidgets with his fork, studying his reflection in it - a strange look of nervousness in his eyes. "Pristine Milk is a beast, in the end."

"He's not a Beast!" Pure Vanilla retorts immediately, narrowing his eyes at the Faerie.

"Not like that - he's a Bestial Cookie, Pure Vanilla. They were called Beasts even in our era. Not our fault that the fallen Virtues took the name and ran with it." Lilac Faerie shrugs. "Have you noticed him stealing your clothing? Carrying around that sheep you gave him?"

"I… have. Yes." Pure Vanilla doesn't think Pristine Milk's really let go of that sheep… He always has it nearby, at least.

"It's a courtship thing." Sugar Apple giggles, "He's all cat-like, so he sees you as able to protect him. So he clings to you~"

"…He doesn't need protection, though?" Pure Vanilla tilts his head - it doesn't truly make sense. Pristine Milk is strong, even when weakened. He's a better mage than Pure Vanilla is in some ways, even.

Lilac Faerie shakes his head, a soft smile on his face. "Doesn't matter. It's one of those weird instinctual things. As long as he sees you as being able to protect and provide for him - he isn't going far."

"That sounds too much like I'd be controlling him…" Pure Vanilla frets, but Sugar Apple just giggles.

"It's normal! Well. For us, I guess." She grins at him, all warmth and happiness. "He won't see it like that! It's fine~ Just keep an eye on him. Don't…" She trails off, glancing at Lilac Faerie, who nods as if to tell her to go ahead. "Don't let him worship you. That's… when it gets dangerous."

Pure Vanilla nods - a little concerned, but he knows they mean well, then startles at a warmth at his back. Sleepy, mismatched eyes blink up at him from the shadows of the cloak he wears. "Oh, hello, Bluebird."

"Oh, he can do that again?" Sugar Apple leans forward slightly, hands on the table to boost herself up. "That's good! He's getting stronger again!"

Pristine Milk just mumbles something - cloaked in the shadows as he is, it just feels like a faint rumble against Pure Vanilla's side. He seems content to simply remain there, though, and Pure Vanilla isn't going to oust him. He's still got the edges of a fever clinging to him, but he's more lucid lately.

"I'm going to go work on my scripts." Lilac Faerie pushes himself upright abruptly, gathering his dishes as he goes. "Silverbell wants to review my next radio play before it goes live, so I should finish it up."

Pure Vanilla just lets him go - he can tell the Faerie just doesn't want to be around Pristine Milk, and he's not about to start any fights - not when everything seems calm for once… He startles when he notices Sugar Apple leaning further across the table, holding her fork out - only for Pristine Milk to emerge slightly from the shadows to accept the bite of egg she was offering him.

Once again - he never eats unless offered. Strange little habits… Sugar Apple nods at him, as if encouraging him to do the same - so Pure Vanilla starts alternating bites of food with the shadows at his side. Pristine Milk seems to enjoy fruit more than anything else, so Pure Vanilla makes sure to give him the majority. (He does get a strange rush of affection every time Pristine Milk accepts an apple slice from his hand, blinking up at him sleepily. He truly is like a cat, isn't he?)

Neither of them eats a lot, so it works out, he supposes. Even if they both only eat half a meal, it's better than nothing. Pristine Milk is content, if the soft rumbling he can feel is any indication.

"He seems happy." Sugar Apple comments as she pushes the remnants of her eggs around her plate, oddly pensive. "I'm glad. He was always so… sad. Before."

"Pristine Milk?" Pure Vanilla asks, although it feels a bit silly given he's the only other person in the room.

Sugar Apple nods, "I bet you dunno the last time he…" She sighs, fidgeting with the fork. "It was… bad. The other Virtues… He kinda… disappeared for a while. Auntie Flour was beside herself with worry. It was weird seeing her so upset…" Sugar Apple's voice is soft, sad in a way that Pure Vanilla rarely hears from her. It's also the first time he's heard her refer to the other Virtues with any type of familial title… Interesting.

"…What happened?"

Sugar Apple finally looks up at him, then glances down to where Pristine Milk is half-dozing in the shadows of his cloak. "Nothing good. That's all I'll say. I'm just… glad he's happy now."

She stands up, carefully gathering the dishes and shaking her head when Pure Vanilla offers to help.

"Spend time with him." She smiles at him, eyes bright. "He likes you. Remind him what it's like to be happy, okay?"

"…Okay." It feels oddly touching - Sugar Apple is always so determined to cheer up Pristine Milk, always at his side, following after his every whim and shadowing his every move. And yet she's letting Pure Vanilla be the one to cheer him up, letting him be the one closest to the Fount. "Thank you, Sugar Apple."

She just smiles at him as she turns to the dishes, and Pure Vanilla begins the walk back to his room. Pristine Milk murmurs in complaint at being jostled, but eventually seems to find a comfortable spot to settle in the shadows, the faint feeling of a tail curled around his arm, soft fur brushing against his skin.

Pure Vanilla's seen all that fluff of his - yet it still always feels special when Pristine Milk doesn't hide those more animal parts of himself. (He still wants to see it all - to see all the ways Pristine Milk varies from his own body. How much of him is different?)

Although he could do without the faint sensation of fangs against his neck once again - not pressing in, but enough to remind him of those sharp little points that cut into him so easily.

"Come on, Bluebird. No fangs." Pure Vanilla murmurs, and Pristine Milk huffs - yet the sensation fades. "I'm not going anywhere."

Pristine Milk does seem to properly settle, at least. Although a decent few of the staff are startled by the eyes in the shadows of Pure Vanilla's cloak - he seems to have a few of his spectral eyes open, keeping an eye on everything.

The bedroom is quiet when Pure Vanilla enters - the bed still dominated by Pristine Milk's nest, the Fount himself slipping out of Pure Vanilla's cloak to rematerialize in the bed, curled up around his sheep plush and staring at Pure Vanilla with narrowed, sleepy eyes.

"I know, I know. You'd keep me in bed all day if you could." Pure Vanilla sighs, although he can't help but smile. Pristine Milk, the untouchable Fount of Knowledge, is pouting because Pure Vanilla left the bed to get breakfast. Terrifying.

"'s comfy." Pristine Milk mumbles, eyes slipping shut even as the spectral ones in his hair remain open and focused on the healer, Pristine Milk reaching out for him before his arms drop when Pure Vanilla doesn't get closer.

"I'm not coming back to bed. You need to be up eventually too, Bluebird." Pure Vanilla sighs as he moves towards his desk - Pristine Milk at least usually lets him be so long as they're in the same room.

Not this time, seemingly, given that he almost immediately has a lap full of sulking fuzz once he sits down.

"Yes, yes, I know you're upset I'm not coming back to bed. You're not changing my mind, Bluebird." Pure Vanilla laughs, resting his chin atop Pristine Milk's head as the other wiggles to get comfortable, seemingly accepting Pure Vanilla needs to work so long as he gets to sit directly on top of him.

Pristine Milk just huffs, finally settling down - wrapped in one of Pure Vanilla's cloaks, head tucked under Pure Vanilla's, sheep plush held loosely against his chest, tail brushing the floor and wrapping slightly around one of Pure Vanilla's ankles. Comfortable and warm - the exact way Pure Vanilla wants him.

Knowledge hums happily from where it's pressed close to his own Soul Jam, and Pure Vanilla feels faintly relieved that his magic was assimilated so easily - Pristine Milk should be able to sustain himself with Pure Vanilla's residual magic, now… It's dangerous, making him reliant on Pure Vanilla's magic, but it's a way to keep him awake and functional for now. His own magic is weakening - Pure Vanilla can still feel that faint sensation of cold sunlight and starlight, but it's dimming.

How much magic does Pristine Milk have left? Why can't his body replenish it fast enough? It's worrisome - but at least Pure Vanilla can keep him more-or-less awake, for now.

(They have to return to Beast-Yeast eventually, though… And what happens then? Does Pure Vanilla simply remain by his side for good, to ensure Pristine Milk never falls asleep for the final time? To ensure he keeps waking up - he keeps being the Fount everyone needs him to be?)

"Comfy?" Pure Vanilla asks, rubbing Pristine Milk's back as the other starts purring. "Are you going to behave, at the very least?"

He doesn't get a verbal answer - but he wasn't really expecting one, anyway. Pristine Milk remains still, and Pure Vanilla accepts that as an answer.

It's dark. But it always is.

When is it not, here?

Pristine Milk wonders if he should know what day it is. If he should be counting time on anything other than their reappearance. If he should be doing anything aside from sitting placidly on the edge of the bed where he was placed - hands resting in his lap, eyes trained on the door.

Too many locks on that door.

Why do they need so many locks? Pristine Milk wouldn't leave - they've told him not to.

He could leave.

He just doesn't want to. He wants to listen to them. They love him, don't they? Why would he disobey, when that results in nothing but pain? Last time he disobeyed…

No, best not to think about it. They told him that he wouldn't be punished again if he behaved.

So he'll behave.

Pristine Milk wonders what day it is. Will they be home soon? How long does he have to wait?

No, no, he shouldn't be selfish - they have important things to be doing. He's lucky he gets the time and attention he does. He's even lucky that they have taken over a lot of his duties, so he has more time to spend at home!

So he should be grateful.

Because if he's too selfish, he'll be abandoned. They've left him here, alone and in the dark, for days (months? years? he doesn't know) before. He doesn't want to be punished again…

But they love him, so he'll accept it. He just shouldn't be so selfish or needy - then they won't leave him!

Maybe they'll appreciate his answers, today. They were upset, last time he told the Truth. Maybe he should lie? He hates doing that - but maybe then they'd stay? Just a little longer?

…Is that being selfish, or is that doing what he's supposed to?

Pristine Milk doesn't know.

But if they're happy, then he supposes it doesn't matter. He just has to give the right answer, and they will keep loving him.

He wonders what day it is.

Sometimes on Tuesdays they bring home extra snacks for him. On Fridays they're usually home, but he never knows if they will stay the weekend or not… He always wants to ask, but last time he asked he was left alone for a long time...

They told him not to be selfish, to not be greedy. They already take care of him, so why does he keep asking for more? Selfish little thing he is.

They aren't wrong, anyway. He is taken care of… So he simply waits, and takes what he's given.

He hopes it's Friday.

"What are you dreaming of, Bluebird?" Pure Vanilla murmurs, wiping tears from Pristine Milk's face as the other sleeps. He cries quite often in his sleep, Pure Vanilla has noticed.

He always clings tighter when he cries, too - claws hooked into Pure Vanilla's robes, tail coiled tighter around his leg. As if he's afraid, even in sleep. Afraid of what, though? Abandonment? Pure Vanilla isn't going anywhere - he quite enjoys having Pristine Milk curled up close to him, after all. He'd happily carry him around all day, if Pristine Milk asked it of him.

"…Nothin'." Pristine Milk mumbles, startling Pure Vanilla who didn't even realize he had woken up. He wiggles slightly, hugging the sheep plush tighter. "I'm okay."

"…If you say so, Pristine Milk." Pure Vanilla sighs. He doesn't want to drag answers out of the Fount, but he's so cagey… Pure Vanilla can't help him unless Pristine Milk lets him help. Yet Pristine Milk seems determined to do everything himself, to bottle everything up and hide away until he explodes in on himself.

Pure Vanilla simply shifts to hug Pristine Milk a little tighter - to hold him a little more snugly. Pristine Milk may intend to implode on himself, but Pure Vanilla isn't going to let him go easily. He's traumatized, Pure Vanilla can recognize that easily, but the question is 'in what ways'?

Pure Vanilla has ideas - from the way he speaks of himself like a tool, from the way he acts as if he's unimportant to everyone - as if any small scrap of time and care is something special, not the norm, from the way he shies away from affection despite craving it so deeply.

From the way Sugar Apple speaks of some enigmatic 'before' time - one where the other Virtues worried after him.

What had happened to Pristine Milk in the past, to hurt him so?

Sugar Apple won't tell him anything, Pure Vanilla is sure of that. She cares for the Fount too much to spill his secrets. Lilac Faerie might, but that feels too much like taking advantage of their presently rocky relationship. Pristine Milk himself would take all his secrets to his nonexistent grave, pretending everything is fine with a shaky smile as he hides himself away.

He's somewhat tempted to attempt contact with some of the former-Virtues. Eternal Sugar and Mystic Flour seemed particularly close to Pristine Milk - they'd have answers, wouldn't they?

(Pure Vanilla can't be the only one who noticed the way the Beast of Apathy glanced back at the Tree as they escaped, the way she seemed to soften ever so slightly. He wasn't just imagining that - he wasn't just imagining her care for the Fount, right?)

Pristine Milk shifts slightly on Pure Vanilla's lap, and the healer hums. "Doing okay, Bluebird?"

The Fount just shrugs, sighing. "…Can you get the… I- um…" Pristine Milk fidgets slightly, then shakes his head, "No, it's nothing. Don't worry…"

"If you want me to ask the staff to bring you strawberries, I can do so." Pure Vanilla just files that into the pile of concerning behaviors - his fear to speak up or ask for anything.

"It's fine." Pristine Milk mumbles, yet Pure Vanilla still writes up a small note and uses his magic to slip it under the door - someone would find it eventually. "I don't need anything…"

Pure Vanilla sighs, shifting his hand to pet the part of the Fount's tail that he can reach. "You don't need to be afraid to ask for things, Bluebird. Your happiness matters to me."

Pristine Milk doesn't reply, and Pure Vanilla simply lets it be - there's no point in trying to make the Fount change his mind. He'll just keep treating him kindly and hope that some day it sticks in that too-smart brain of his.

Pure Vanilla is just happy that Pristine Milk is curled against him, warm and safe, letting Pure Vanilla hold him. He accepts affection easier as of late, at least. Even without that haze of fever clouding his mind. (They've only kissed when he was feverish and delirious - now Pristine Milk seems too shy to bring it up, and Pure Vanilla doesn't want to push. Even if Pure Vanilla wants more at times - just having Pristine Milk is enough.)

The staff do eventually find the note, it seems, as not too long later a maid knocks on the door and quietly enters the room, glancing between Pure Vanilla and Pristine Milk. They seem to decide they don't need nor want to pry, simply setting the bowl of strawberries on the edge of the desk, bowing, and leaving as quietly as they came.

At least Pure Vanilla can trust the staff not to gossip. Pristine Milk would probably lock himself away for good if they did… He's far too nervous about affection in the public eye.

"Here," Pure Vanilla reaches for the bowl, Pristine Milk tilting his head to glance at it - only to perk up, reaching for the bowl happily as he wiggles in Pure Vanilla's lap, clutching the bowl to his chest with the sheep plush on his lap. "Comfy, Bluebird?"

"Mhm." Pristine Milk seems content for the moment, at least. Tail still twined around Pure Vanilla's ankle. Pure Vanilla is just glad he has a penchant for eating fruit - it's healthy, at least…

Pristine Milk seems content to eat his berries and be held by Pure Vanilla, so at least he can get back to dealing with all the political duties of running a kingdom… Even if he did abdicate, he still takes on most of the work. Exhausting, but worth it to see his kingdom flourish. Pristine Milk even occasionally pitches in his thoughts - and occasionally offers a strawberry to Pure Vanilla.

Pure Vanilla always takes them. It seems to encourage Pristine Milk to eat more, and he's not about to ruin what little progress they've made.

It's cold.

But it always is.

He doesn't remember the last time they were here.

But that's okay. They love him, so he'll be good. He says what they want him to say, does what they want him to do, and then everyone is happy.

Pristine Milk still gets to spread his Knowledge, standing in front of crowds of students and hopped up on the edge of the fountain in the square.

The citizens of the kingdom have started to question him, though. Claiming he looks too pale, too gaunt, sickly and nervous in a way he never did before.

Pristine Milk tells them all they're being silly - just seeing things.

He's happy. Even if they lock him away most of the time, somewhere dark and cold and quiet and lonely, he's happy. Because they love him.

So he must be good. Or else they will leave him again. He doesn't want that.

So he'll sit in the cold until they come home to Pristine Milk waiting like a good little pet.

Pristine Milk hasn't been outside in a while. Maybe if he asks nicely, they will let him go wander the markets this weekend…? He misses doing that. But he doesn't want to upset them…

The door would be so easy to open.

Yet Pristine Milk simply scoots back into the bed, curling up in the center of it, shivering. They said the blankets and sheets needed to be washed, so he doesn't have much for warmth.

Winters in the Blueberry Kingdom are harsh. But he knows they will return soon, and he can be warm again. Even in the thin clothes they make him wear, his warm robes all back at his Spire. But they say he looks nice in them, so he doesn't mind. He likes the praise.

Even if he's cold, he'll wait patiently. They will be home soon.

…Right?

"It's snowing." Pristine Milk peers out the window, eyes following flakes as they descend. He hasn't seen snow in an eon…

"Ah. That does happen here, yes." Pure Vanilla glances out the window, Pristine Milk leaning so close to it his breath fogs the pane. "More often than other kingdoms. Barring Dark Cacao's, I suppose, but it's almost always snowing there." Pure Vanilla laughs, and Pristine Milk hums.

"I don't like the snow." He mumbles, but keeps watching. "It's cold. It hurts."

"It… hurts?" Pure Vanilla finally turns his full attention to the Fount - his fur is puffed up, body tense, eyes narrowed, as if he's sizing up something that wants to hurt him.

"The cold hurts." Pristine Milk nods slightly, "I don't wanna be cold."

"You don't need to be?" Pure Vanilla tilts his head - he's acting weird. Weirder than usual.

Pristine Milk just keeps glaring out at the snow. Shivering despite the fact that he's wrapped in one of Pure Vanilla's cloaks, the sheep plush tucked in one of the hidden inside pockets. "Last time I saw the snow… It was too red. It hurt."

"…What happened, Bluebird?" Pure Vanilla stands, walking up beside him. There's nothing out there - the gardens are empty save for the plants, and the distant horizon is lost to a haze of blue-grey.

"I did something wrong." Pristine Milk's voice is airy, as if he's a million miles away, fingers clenched in the edges of the stolen cloak he wears. "I… don't remember. Just the cold. It hurt."

That is… not concerning at all. Definitely not. Pure Vanilla sighs, reaching slowly for Pristine Milk, breathing a faint sigh of relief when the Fount doesn't freak out the second his hands are on him.

Pristine Milk just glances at him, the haze in his eyes clearing slightly as Pure Vanilla pets through his hair. "…What were we talking about?"

"The snow." Pure Vanilla blinks - he doesn't remember? They were just speaking.

"Oh. Right. I haven't seen snow in a while." Pristine Milk hums, eyes focusing back on the snow - yet that haze doesn't return. Whatever memory had been brought up must be gone - or he's ignoring it on purpose. "It used to snow in the Blueberry Kingdom…"

"Oh?" Pure Vanilla simply keeps stroking through his hair - he wonders if it used to be longer. It seemed choppily cut, as if done in haste… Did he do it during the war? Did his hair simply never grow out in the Tree…?

"The kids used to like to make snowmen and have snowball fights… Sugar Apple would always drag me and Lilac Faerie out to build snow forts." Pristine Milk seems happy, and Pure Vanilla imagines it must be a good memory for him, with how much he loves those kids.

It's a shame he and Lilac Faerie seem to be going through it. Pristine Milk seems to care so deeply… They really should talk, eventually. Pure Vanilla should try to coax Pristine Milk into discussing things with the Faerie eventually… Once he seems a bit more stable, perhaps.

"Do you miss your kingdom?"

Pristine Milk just shrugs in response, shaking himself loose of Pure Vanilla's touch and meandering back towards the bed - he walks, more often than not, these days… Pure Vanilla knows it hurts him, yet he refuses to float or even just let Pure Vanilla heal him…

Pristine Milk simply flops into the bed, wiggling around to pull the sheep plush out of his pocket so he can curl up around it. Sugar Apple wasn't lying - he really would just carry it around everywhere, wouldn't he?

Pure Vanilla had been given a few books on Bestial Cookies habits by the girl, and he learned that it wasn't uncommon for someone to carry around a courtship gift - especially the one that initially began the ritual. Although courtship gifts tended to be small trinkets or jewelry - things easier to keep on your person - but Pristine Milk seemed content carrying the plush around.

Pure Vanilla watches Pristine Milk as he stretches out in the bed, yawning. Courtship was important to beasts - although Pristine Milk seemed to acknowledge the steps with a hesitancy that bordered on fear.

Something bad happened in the past - Pure Vanilla can gather that much.

But what was it?

"I-um, it's a courtship gift!" Pristine Milk smiles nervously, fidgeting with the hem of his robes. He made them something small, a blue gemstone he found and polished himself, carefully formed into the shape of a crescent moon, held on a silver chain. "I.. made it myself."

They just look at him, but accept it silently. Pristine Milk is glad they seem to like it - he worked hard. He wanted to make something perfect!

They speak, but he doesn't remember the words. He remembers them leaving, though. Claiming they would be back with something for him. Pristine Milk had been excited - they had liked his gift! So maybe he'd get something special?

He quietly, maybe naively, hopes so. He wants to feel special - he's never been the one to receive courtship gifts, anyway. All those who courted him made him do all the steps, and never truly reciprocated…

It was okay, though. Pristine Milk knew that the courtship methods he knew and cherished were falling out of fashion. New rituals and events, the changing of the times - but Pristine Milk still liked the originals.

He liked the quiet dedication that came with them all - the consideration and love that went into every step.

Pristine Milk would always put his everything into it - crafting gifts, perfecting recipes, learning new hobbies and memorizing everything about his partner.

…Why did no one ever do that for him?

Well. It is old fashioned.

Pristine Milk stares at the door. Where they had left. It had been hours, now. He simply sat quietly in an empty kitchen, staring out the window above the sink.

He wonders when they will get more food… He doesn't need it - but he's still hungry. Maybe they will bring him strawberries - those have always been his favorite.

…Every time he asks they yell at him, so he had stopped asking. But maybe they will remember? Maybe that's what they will bring him, as a reward for making something good? He hopes so.

It's quiet. And cold. The sun's set, and Pristine Milk feels distinctly alone in this empty apartment.

He misses his Spire. He misses Sugar Apple and Lilac Faerie. He misses being warm.

He's happy here. It's okay. He's here because he wants to be.

They come home smelling of someone else - the gift he had given them nowhere to be seen.

Pristine Milk simply ignores the way it hurts, and greets them with an excited smile - even as they tell him he's being annoying again. When he quietly asks what they brought him, they just roll their eyes and disappear into the bathroom.

It's okay. They love him. Even as he bites his tongue to stifle whatever sound wanted to escape him.

…His ideas of courtship were outdated anyway. It's okay.

It hurts. Why does it hurt?

He's happy. It's okay. He'll just keep trying.

Maybe the next thing he makes will make them happier?

Pure Vanilla's noticed that Pristine Milk leaves a lot of little trinkets for him - small carved cats and sheep made of wood and stone, gemstones from who-knows-where, little bits of sheep's wool and fabrics alongside small hand-sewn plushies.

He knew that was a courtship thing, too. Offering your partner gifts. Pristine Milk never seemed to want anything from him, though. He'd always just say that Pure Vanilla already gave him everything he wanted.

But Pure Vanilla knew that wasn't the point - it was a reinforcement of their feelings, a reminder that they were still thinking of one another. Pristine Milk seemed almost afraid whenever Pure Vanilla brought up wanting to get him something - yet he felt bad, with everything Pristine Milk had been giving him.

The fear always made him hesitate. He already seems nervous enough as is - only ever leaving things behind when Pure Vanilla isn't around.

So Pure Vanilla just kept accepting the little gifts, and did his own little things for Pristine Milk. Always leaving one of his cloaks around, always making sure he had some strawberries stashed away in the fridge just for him, making hot cocoa on the nights the Fount couldn't sleep.

He wonders if Pristine Milk recognizes the actions as his own form of courtship - Pristine Milk won't accept things, but he accepts actions, at the very least.

When Pure Vanilla had asked Sugar Apple, she had just looked sad and told him to keep doing what he was doing - Pristine Milk would recognize it. He just hopes she was right.

Pristine Milk just keeps carrying that plush around, sleeping with it held close to his chest like he does with his tail, almost entirely covered by Pure Vanilla's cloak.

Pure Vanilla quietly watches him sleep - the Fount always seems a little more at peace in the dark of night, tucked safely against Pure Vanilla's side.

It's all Pure Vanilla really feels he can offer, Pristine Milk purring quietly as Pure Vanilla pets through his hair, scratching gently behind one of his ears.

Pure Vanilla always notices small things in these moments - how small Pristine Milk is, the way he curls up so tight, as if he needs to take up as little space as possible. The way he had slowly been deconstructing the little blanket nest he likes to make, even though it always seems to soothe him.

How many times was he told he shouldn't be himself, Pure Vanilla wonders. How deep does the hurt run?

Pure Vanilla thinks of the scars on his side, of the improperly healed leg, of the scar across his eye, of the small marks he hides away. He hides himself, as if he's wrong somehow. Always sleeping curled up, his tail hugged close to his chest, almost hiding his face in the fluff at the end of it, stars within sparkling despite how dim they are.

He's small. But Pure Vanilla will love him regardless. Until he doesn't feel like he needs to hide himself so wholly. Until he lets Pure Vanilla see all the parts of him he hides.

"…Oh, you're staying?" Pristine Milk murmurs as he feels a weight settle in the bed beside him. They rarely spend time here, lately.

"Don't ruin it." They huff, "I'm just tired."

"…Sorry." Pristine Milk keeps his eyes trained on the wall, stars in his hair shimmering. There's a meteor shower tonight. He had told them he wanted to go see it. Maybe they didn't hear him when he asked…? It's okay. They come around yearly. He could see it next year. Maybe then they would want to come with…?

"Can you make your hair dimmer or something? Jeez." They complain, and Pristine Milk curls in on himself further. They have the blanket, so he can't even hide it that way. He already keeps his tail curled to his chest…

(But is it truly for them, or just for his own comfort?)

"Sorry." He murmurs again. They just grumble something, and Pristine Milk feels cold.

Maybe if his body wasn't so weird, they would hold him. He remembers they used to. It was warm, then. He's just wrong, and weird, and he doesn't blame them for not wanting to touch him.

He wouldn't want to touch himself, either.

The tail, the paws, the fur on his legs, the claws, the pointed ears, the sharp fangs, the weird, sparkly hair… He's not normal. He can't blame them for not liking it.

Pristine Milk doesn't like it, either. He's ripped his own claws out, tried to hide his tail under his clothes, tied his hair back so it wasn't so prominent, tried to hide his paws and the fur beneath robes and pants. He's stared at himself in the mirror, wondering if he should try ripping his own fangs out.

If he couldn't bite, if he was no longer a danger, would he finally be pretty to them? Would he finally be worth looking at? Worth holding?

He's never been able to do it. It's too terrifying, too permanent. He wants them to love him - but he can't bring himself to mutilate himself.

They always seem disappointed when his claws grow back, or when he lets his hair down, or when they catch sight of his tail or paws.

He's wrong. He knows that. He wishes he was normal, too. He wants to be pretty, wants to be desirable, wants to be wanted.

Instead, he's too much of a beast and not enough of a person. Too much of a person and not enough of a tool.

Maybe some day he'd be right. Then they would love him in his entirety.

They already love him - but he knows they are still disgusted by him in many ways. Too emotional, too much of a beast…

He wants to be right. He wants to be loved.

Pristine Milk sits quietly, surrounded by books and journals, chewing on the end of a pencil. Pure Vanilla watches on as he methodically transcribes information from one book into one of the journals. He wonders if Pristine Milk even knows what he's reading, or if it's a mindless task to him.

Pure Vanilla had been dedicating more time to his study of the Bestial Cookies. It felt important, to know Pristine Milk.

Pristine Milk had already seemed to memorize a lot about him - the way Pure Vanilla takes his tea, his normal schedule, the foods he prefers to eat, the things he likes and dislikes… Pristine Milk was much more flighty - he seemed happy with anything and everything provided it was Pure Vanilla giving it to him.

But that felt more like a trauma response than something related to his bestial nature. He'd peeked into those journals once or twice - he knows how Pristine Milk writes about himself versus Pure Vanilla.

The Fount nearly worships him. Sees him as some bastion of purity and light, as everything he could never be, as more worthy to wield Knowledge than even he is. Pristine Milk sees himself as barely anything - meant to be tiny, meant to be controlled, meant to be forgotten until he's needed, and then thrown away once more.

The most heartbreaking thing Pure Vanilla had read, was that Pristine Milk didn't understand what Pure Vanilla wanted from him. He couldn't figure out why Pure Vanilla stayed, why he never seemed to want to throw Pristine Milk away. Why he stays so close, instead of leaving Pristine Milk alone. Instead of abandoning him.

Pristine Milk expected to be abandoned. Expected to be left behind, left in the cold, left alone until he was needed.

Pristine Milk was not a person - he was a tool.

It hurt Pure Vanilla to know he thought of himself so lowly. He sees the way Pristine Milk looks at him, the reverence in his eyes, the way he's always so quick to follow anything he sees as a command or a request.

("If I'm good, he'll stay." Pristine Milk had written in shaky lettering, the page stained - likely with tears. "If I'm good, I won't be abandoned. I should keep making things - keep making him happy. Then it'll be okay.")

Those desperate ramblings in his journals, as if Pure Vanilla would just abruptly decide Pristine Milk is too much effort. He's noticed around the dates of those entries were times when Pristine Milk's paranoid actions ramped up - he was clingier, made and left more things for Pure Vanilla, seemed almost afraid to sleep, as if he'd wake up alone.

It seems almost like a cycle - he'll calm down, then work himself back up. Pure Vanilla hasn't figured out what makes it happen, and maybe he never will.

Pristine Milk is so afraid. So alone.

Pure Vanilla hates whoever made him feel like he was nothing - whoever told him to be tiny, to not have needs, to not be anything more than a tool. Pristine Milk is so full of love and Knowledge and energy - yet he hides it all away. As if he even breathed too loud, it'd all shatter.

Pure Vanilla startles at the sound of something falling - only to realize Pristine Milk has dropped the pencil and slumped over slightly, dozing off. It's for the best, Pure Vanilla knows he hasn't been sleeping lately. He's felt the eyes on him when he wakes up at night, felt the faint tug of claws in his nightgowns when he goes to get up, only for Pristine Milk to not even be looking at him when he glances back.

"Come on, Bluebird." Pure Vanilla sighs, gently lifting Pristine Milk, the other nuzzling against his shoulder almost immediately. He still clings to that plush, even in sleep…

("It's the only courtship gift I've gotten… Does that mean he loves me? he cares for me? Or was it just happenstance?")

The only courtship gift. Pure Vanilla had been a little appalled when he read that - Pristine Milk had apparently been courted in the past, yet… None of them ever reciprocated? He wants to ask the Fount, but knows he probably won't get an answer…

"Bluebird?" Pure Vanilla asks as he settles the other into bed, Pristine Milk blinking up at him sleepily. He's tempted to ask, to see what Pristine Milk says in his sleepy state, but ultimately just smiles and shakes his head, pressing a kiss to Pristine Milk's forehead, making the other whine. "Rest well."

Pristine Milk just hums, settling down in bed - curled up tight, as always.

So small. So afraid. What for? Pure Vanilla wouldn't leave him, wouldn't hurt him like others seemed to.

He just wanted Pristine Milk to be happy. To be safe, and warm, and content. To be loved.

Pristine Milk blinks at the door, tilting his head. "Flour?"

"Oh, Witches. Pristine Milk." She crosses the room in just a few strides, cupping Pristine Milk's face, her eyes wide, rimmed with tears.

"…Are you okay?" He asks, blinking at her. Why would she be so sad? She's never very emotional.

"I am now," She tugs him into a hug, tight yet protective. "You've been gone for so long…"

"It's not that long." Pristine Milk protests, feeling strangely anxious at the fact that she's here, that she's moved him from his spot on the bed. What if they come back?!

"It's been nearly half a year since anyone's seen you!" She retorts, pulling back to study Pristine Milk's face. "Oh, Pristine Milk, what did they do to you?"

"…Nothing?" Pristine Milk doesn't get it. Why does she seem so worried? He's okay. He's here because he wants to be.

"…Come on." Pure Flour gently pulls Pristine Milk upright, leading him to the door.

Pristine Milk panics, yanking his hand from her grasp as she crosses the threshold, backing away from the doorway. "I-I can't leave! They'll get mad! I'm not supposed to go out without permission!"

"Oh, Witches…" Pure Flour covers her mouth with her hands, horrified.

"If I leave, then- then they'll- I- I can't!" Pristine Milk scrabbles against the wall, as if he could somehow get further back into the apartment. Maybe he could hide in the closet? "I don't want to get hurt!"

"They can't hurt you," Pure Flour's voice is choked, tears glistening in long, pale eyelashes. "Not anymore. You're safe."

"I'm safe here!" Pristine Milk protests, "I'm happy here!"

"Are you? Truly?"

"I am." Pristine Milk nods. Of course he's happy here - they take care of him, as long as he behaves. They let him sleep in the bed, and give him clothes, and sometimes bring him food. They ensure he's safe, and warm, and fed.

(The apartment was cold. Mostly empty. Pristine Milk hadn't eaten in nearly three weeks. They hadn't been home in five days. The heating never seemed to work, and Pristine Milk had gotten used to freezing showers, curling up in the bed as if he could somehow warm up again - even with all the blankets and sheets missing, as per usual. Being cold had become his warmth - true warmth felt scalding, far beyond anything he deserves.)

Pure Flour simply kneels in front of him, looking guilty. "I'm sorry, Pristine Milk."

"For what?" Pristine Milk tries to ask, but everything fades before he can get the words out.

The bed is warm, when Pristine Milk awakens. It smells like vanilla. Like what his mind has come to associate with safety.

…He still feels wrong, being warm. He craves it, so desperately, but it still feels wrong.

He remembers the aftermath - the weird, hazy feeling of his beliefs and memories being shattered in front of him. He denied it for so long - but Flour wasn't wrong.

He was used.

But he was happy for a time, wasn't he? So was he truly used, if he was happy? If he wanted to be there?

…Pristine Milk doesn't really know. He can hear Pure Vanilla breathing softly in sleep, the sound of rain against the window - it must've warmed up enough to stop snowing… The weather above the clouds is so odd.

It's quiet. Peaceful. Warm.

Pristine Milk itches with the urge to ruin it. He doesn't know how peace works anymore - it feels wrong. He needs to be in motion, he needs noise, chaos, something.

The quiet isn't made for something like him - it's meant for Cookies like Pure Vanilla. Like his kids. Those who deserve softness and peace.

Not Pristine Milk. He's always deserved the cold, to be the one standing guard while everyone else rests. A cowardly guardian, but a guardian nonetheless. He deserves to stand on the edges, to hide away while everyone else smiles and laughs together - to shrink into the shadows and be nothing but a pair of watchful eyes.

(They taught him that - to be small. Insignificant. To leave the good things to those who deserved them. Pristine Milk was never deserving - could never be deserving. He was too tainted, too wrong.)

He craves it - oh, he's always craved the quiet and stillness that comes with peace, but he knows it's not for him.

Pristine Milk tilts his head to look up at Pure Vanilla, the healer sleeping soundly, a soft smile on his lips - Pristine Milk hopes he's having good dreams. He wants to protect those dreams - he wants to keep the healer safe.

Pristine Milk is a creature made to hurt, despite his pacifist nature. So he'll bare his claws and fangs in defense of those he loves.

It was all he was good for, wasn't it? To serve, to give the answers and Truths others wanted to hear, to trail after other's light as if he could ever have any of his own.

Pure Vanilla is the sun. Pristine Milk is the moon - stealing light from others, never able to cast any of his own. A creature of shadow washed out by the light he basks in.

He… wishes things were better. Pristine Milk knows he should be grateful - he still has a grasp on his sanity, he never corrupted, he has Pure Vanilla's attention, his kids are more or less happy in the Vanilla Kingdom…

But all he wants is for things to go back to how they were.

He misses his Spire. The roof he would sit on late at night to watch the stars. The endless corridors and stairs to nowhere. The always-changing layout of the upper floors. The classrooms and libraries of the first floor, always busy, always bustling.

He misses the Blueberry Kingdom. Regal in it's shining whites and golds and detailed in blue. He misses the markets he once wandered through on the regular, the Cookies he once knew. (He misses that small apartment on the edge of the kingdom - his prison, yet his freedom.)

He misses Lilac Faerie and Sugar Apple being young. The way the Faerie was so dedicated to learning magic, to studying anything and everything, the way he doted on his sister. The way Sugar Apple would always cheerfully tug him around and ask him to teach her new things. The little experiments she did and the chaos she caused… He regrets missing so much of their lives.

Pristine Milk sighs, settling back down against Pure Vanilla, but not shutting his eyes. He'll keep watch, tonight.

Nothing would dare harm the former-king, but Pristine Milk will be sure of his safety regardless.

It's all he's good for, after all.

Chapter Text

"Oh, you're up?" Pure Vanilla murmurs behind him, and Pristine Milk glances over his shoulder - he'd taken up sitting at the end of the bed, spectral eyes focused on the windows while he watched the balcony doors. "Something the matter?"

"No." Pristine Milk turns back to watching the doors. He feels like something is coming. Something big. Something bad. He'd said that to Lilac Faerie forever ago - but he keeps feeling that inevitable dread draw closer and closer.

Pristine Milk hates it, the way it makes him feel itchy, restless. He wants to go home - he wants things to be normal again.

"Are you sure?" Pure Vanilla shifts behind him, but Pristine Milk doesn't glance back again. What if he misses something in the few seconds his attention is diverted? "You seem tense, Bluebird."

"I'm fine." Pristine Milk is glad his hair is shorter these days - the glowing is so much dimmer. His tail's easily tucked under the cloak he wears, curled at his side. All that gives him away is the glint of his eyes in the dim light.

"No, you aren't." Pure Vanilla sighs, and Pristine Milk yelps when a weight settles across his shoulders - Pure Vanilla's pulled him close, his head placed atop Pristine Milk's. "What's wrong?"

Pristine Milk is silent - he doesn't know how to answer that. Not with all those stupid memories that have been resurfacing.

(The snow, the blood, the time he messed up-)

"I'm fine." Pristine Milk repeats, but doesn't try to shake himself free of Pure Vanilla's grasp. Selfish little thing - that voice in his head hisses. Always so selfish. So needy.

Pristine Milk sometimes wonders what would happen if he simply blew up something. Would Pure Vanilla get mad? Would he throw him out like they always did?

…Probably. Pure Vanilla is merciful, but Pristine Milk's mistakes are always far too large for mercy.

He just has to not mess up. Easy. He's been trained for this - made into a good, obedient little thing. He does what he's told, he says what he's told to say, and he doesn't fuck up, and everything is fine!

"You're thinking too loudly." Pure Vanilla mumbles against his hair, and Pristine Milk shrugs. All he does is think. He can't stop it. "Something's bothering you, I can tell."

What is the right answer here? To tell Pure Vanilla the Truth? To keep lying, hiding behind the veil of Deceit he's come to cling to?

"…You don't have to tell me," Pure Vanilla sighs, "just… Stop hiding when you're hurting, Bluebird. You're not alone anymore."

Pristine Milk just remains still, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that want to fall. Pure Vanilla is here, he's not alone, but for how long? Every time he thought they would stay, he was left alone. It's all just a trap, isn't it? A ploy to make him fall in love - to make him weak and obedient, too loyal to leave - so he can be used again, isn't it?

(Pristine Milk knows it's already too late - he loves Pure Vanilla. He may still be whole, but Pure Vanilla is connected to Knowledge one way or another. Pristine Milk doesn't want to let him go - but he's already flown too close to the sun too many times to count, feathers burnt and soot-stained. Yet he'd already do anything for the other, regardless of if he gets burnt again… Pristine Milk can tolerate pain. Even if it burns, he'll still love him.)

Pure Vanilla just hums, nuzzling Pristine Milk's hair, "Come on, Bluebird. You need sleep."

"I don't need to sleep." Pristine Milk mumbles, but still lets Pure Vanilla tug him backwards into the bed, pulling the blankets up over them - and passing Pristine Milk the sheep plush.

…It feels almost too domestic - better than anything Pristine Milk deserves. Yet he still accepts it, still curls up against Pure Vanilla's chest, still hugs the plush tight to his chest.

"Maybe not, but it's still good for you, hm?" Pure Vanilla yawns, holding Pristine Milk close. It's subconscious to twine his tail around one of Pure Vanilla's legs. Security. (Comfort, that Pristine Milk knows he's greedy for wanting. For taking.)

(They always got mad at him for that. His stupid feline habits. Whenever he made them have to face his bestial side, they always seemed so disgusted. He tried his hardest to suppress it, to hide himself away, but they were still never happy… He tried so hard, yet Pristine Milk could never be enough. Could never be perfect like he needs to be.)

"Your fur is soft, you know?" Pure Vanilla hums, gently running a hand over his lower thigh, "How do you do that… Is it just like washing your hair?"

"Kind of." Pristine Milk doesn't really think about it - he doesn't really pay any special attention to his fur. It used to be sleeker, more silky - but he hates how different it makes him, so he does the bare minimum now. It's still soft, but that's just the natural texture of it… Sometimes he misses the luster his fur once had - he took pride in it, once. Took pride in being feline, in his bestial heritage.

Now he knows better. It's just another reason to scorn him, to be disgusted by him.

"You should let me take care of it, some day." Pure Vanilla gently cards through his fur, almost reverent in his touch, as if Pristine Milk was something worth touching gently, worth holding like glass. As if he was something precious. "Although I imagine that's a rather intimate thing, no?"

Pristine Milk just nods. He'd let Pure Vanilla do it regardless, though… Pristine Milk's never trusted anyone else - not after…

(He hadn't wanted to be a beast - he'd rip and claw at himself until he was free of it. Until they loved him. Until his fur was ripped out and his claws and fangs were gone.

He only realized how much damage he had done when he woke up in a pool of his own blood, blue spilling across floor tiles like spilled ink, dripping from deep gouges in his skin. He just hoped they never noticed the scent of cleaning product that lingered.)

Pristine Milk winces, wiggling his leg so Pure Vanilla will move his hand. He still aches - he can still feel the phantom pain sometimes. It's only made worse with his broken leg - constant, tangible pain mixed with that from years ago.

"Sorry," Pure Vanilla murmurs as he simply moves his hand to wrap around Pristine Milk's waist, "sleep, Bluebird."

Pristine Milk sighs, but gives in. It's warm and smells like vanilla here - Pure Vanilla is holding him close. Nothing bad will happen.

It can't. Pristine Milk doesn't think he'd be able to handle it.

"He's sleeping." Pristine Milk drifts back into consciousness at the sound of Pure Vanilla's voice, "Do you need him?"

"…No." Sugar Apple's voice, now, "I just wanted to make sure…"

"He's alright. Just asleep. The fever's broken and he doesn't seem ill anymore." Pure Vanilla sounds happy talking about him… "I think… Hm, I don't know what to think, really, but he's seemed off."

Pristine Milk flicks an ear - he both wants to hear this and doesn't want to.

"How so?" Sugar Apple sounds nervous, strangely.

"Ah, just… He's seemed strange. Clingy but also not. I know something happened in his past, but I can't figure out what…" Pure Vanilla sighs, and Pristine Milk chances opening one of the eyes in his hair to spy on them.

"I… can't tell you." Sugar Apple rocks on her heels in the doorway, fidgeting with her hands. "You should hear it from him. Or Auntie Flour, but I doubt you can talk to her…"

Pure Vanilla laughs, although it lacks the normal warmth. "I cannot talk to Mystic Flour, no."

"I figured." Sugar Apple giggles, but it carries a distinctly sad undertone. "She'd know best, though. She never let me see…"

He knows she knows - he knows she saw the way Flour always hovered at his bedside, the way Salt stood guard by the window, the way Spice often stood guard by the door, Sugar trying to cheer him up.

She had seen it, when he was saved. He doesn't think she ever got over it, entirely. He had disappeared for a long time…

Pristine Milk hadn't even known how long it had been - he had no way of tracking time. His internal clock was bad at the best of times, and they didn't give him any real way to track time beyond sunrises and sunsets… Their appearances and disappearances…

"I know you're awake." Pure Vanilla leans over him, and Pristine Milk blinks up at the healer - he got lost in his head again, didn't he? "Do you want breakfast, Bluebird?"

Pristine Milk just shrugs - he doesn't really feel like moving, in all honesty. It's warm here - and he can pretend he doesn't have the overwhelming duty of needing to figure out how to take down his siblings. He doesn't want to. What if he just… spoke to them? Maybe they'd agree to chill out? To not do the whole world-destroying thing?

No. That's a stupid plan.

"I'll bring you up some strawberries, hm?" Pure Vanilla offers, tilting his head to try and catch Pristine Milk's gaze. "Sugar Apple was asking after you, too. You may want to speak with her."

Pristine Milk nods, and Pure Vanilla sighs - how quickly can I make him sick of me?

"I'll be back shortly." Pure Vanilla leans over to press a kiss to his forehead, and Pristine Milk squeaks, staring up at him with wide eyes. "That woke you up, hm?" Pure Vanilla teases, smiling at Pristine Milk.

Why is he so pretty?! Pristine Milk just blinks up at him, and Pure Vanilla laughs, grabbing his staff and walking towards the door.

Pristine Milk immediately feels strangely lonely once the door is shut. The bed is still warm, but it feels so much colder without Pure Vanilla here…

Well, it's fine. Not like Pristine Milk isn't used to the cold.

He'll stay under the blankets, though. He doesn't want to move… But he needs to think this out - how long does he have before everything goes sour? Before he's locked away again?

Pure Vanilla is kind, but how can Pristine Milk trust that? Everyone before - they were kind too, until they weren't. Pure Vanilla asks for his Knowledge but doesn't demand it - doesn't get mad when he doesn't say the "right" thing… But is that also a trick?

He feeds him. Does things for him. Takes care of him.

But they did that too, and they broke him so irreparably. He's been tainted ever since - how long does it take until Pure Vanilla recognizes that, too? He can only keep making Pure Vanilla happy for so long…

He's not perfect, he's not even mediocre. He's just… Pristine Milk. Tainted. Broken. Useless. Pure Vanilla deserves better than that.

Pristine Milk reaches for his Soul Jam - the cracks in it seem so prominent. He wants to shatter the thing, wants to rip it apart, wants to watch the light drain from it - and for his body to follow.

It's stupid. He can't die - not right now. Not when he has things to be doing. Those cracks… More proof of his inadequacy.

(A Soul Jam only heals — faith, in ones — never more than a day — power weakens, magic leaks, dangerous!!!

The faded text from that book he had written, hidden away in the Vaults. He knows that's the study Fragrant Spice had found - how he knew just how far to break his Soul Jam.)

Pristine Milk stares at the slit in the center of his Soul Jam. Does Knowledge hate him, too? Is that why They rarely speak to him?

Or is he just losing faith in his own Virtue?

Maybe it's both. It doesn't matter, not really.

Maybe he'll just hand his Soul Jam to Pure Vanilla - he's sure he'd find a way to use it. Then Pristine Milk can hide down in the Spire's Vaults, and never be seen again. Pure Vanilla would be a better wielder of Knowledge, anyway…

"I hate you." Pristine Milk sighs as he stares at his Soul Jam. The mark of their Creators that abandoned them. The symbol of his power, his authority - but what does he have left aside from a burnt kingdom and archaic magic?

Sometimes he wishes he was never created at all. The Witches are cruel, and life is crueler still.

"Bluebird~" Pure Vanilla hums as the door opens, and Pristine Milk chirps in response - a small, catlike noise. Instinctive - a way to tell Pure Vanilla he's there. Another habit he had tried to break, and failed miserably at. "Oh, that was cute."

Pristine Milk sits up, tilting his head as Pure Vanilla settles on the edge of the bed. Pristine Milk glances between the bowl the other holds and Pure Vanilla's face - those soft eyes focused on him. He knows the other can't see well (Pristine Milk's own vision is iffy, especially on his right side.) but he knows the other can still see him at this distance.

"Come on," Pure Vanilla holds out a strawberry to him, and Pristine Milk sighs as he leaves the blankets to settle next to Pure Vanilla, accepting the berry as he leans against the other's side. He's cold now. How cruel. At least the healer is warm…

Food tastes… bad. Even strawberries. It all tastes like ash and blood on his tongue. Pristine Milk doesn't get it - why does everything fall apart so quickly?

Peace was never made for you, he reminds himself, glancing at Pure Vanilla, peace was made for people like him.

Pristine Milk reaches for Knowledge - clipped to his collar, right where that lock usually sits on his robes. He wants to do… something. He doesn't know what. Throw it across the room? Shove it against Truth? Force Pure Vanilla to take it so he can finally be relieved of having to be Knowledge?

Pristine Milk just rests his fingers on the cool surface, feeling the cracks underneath his fingertips. He could claw into them again - attempt to rip his Soul Jam apart. But all that did is hurt - it's pointless. The liquid within a Soul Jam does taste good, though…

"Pristine Milk?!" Pure Vanilla sounds alarmed, grabbing his wrist and - oh. He had dug in. Blue liquid clings to his claws, and Pristine Milk glances up at Pure Vanilla before leaning forward to lick the liquid off. It's vaguely sour, yet strangely refreshing at the same time.

"What? It tastes good." Pristine Milk shrugs at Pure Vanilla's vaguely horrified look. "Have you not tasted it? It's sour. But sweet. Tastes like pure magic." It was pure magic, but that's beyond the point.

"I… don't believe you should be consuming your own soul, Bluebird." Pure Vanilla chuckles nervously, but Pristine Milk simply shrugs again. He wants to destroy it, anyway. If consuming it is the method he takes, well… Who can judge him? (The Witches, probably, but he doesn't have any love for his Creators. He Knows the Truth of Cookies' existence, anyway.)

…Maybe he's getting a little too unstable lately, Pristine Milk remarks to himself, blinking up at Pure Vanilla.

The healer just sighs, shaking his head. "Come on, let's go out and do something. You're probably just restless."

Pristine Milk lets Pure Vanilla maneuver him upright, hiding the wince as he puts weight on his leg. He needs to get stronger - he can't keep relying on his magic forever. Spice had proven that way back before they were sealed - he's weak. He's pathetic.

"What do you want to do, Bluebird?" Pure Vanilla flits around him, gently placing one of his cloaks over Pristine Milk's shoulders. (Pristine Milk hates how it immediately makes him relax - vanilla and safety… Stupid animal instincts - they should go back where they belong. Buried deep inside.)

Pristine Milk tilts his head, "We… can just go for a walk?" He offers - he doesn't really have anything he specifically wants to do, but… He doesn't mind being by Pure Vanilla's side.

"If that's what you'd like. I can show you the sunroom Sugar Apple has monopolized. She's growing some herbs only found in Beast-Yeast. Their cultivation is really quite fascinating!" Pure Vanilla rambles on as he gently adjusts the cloak over Pristine Milk's shoulders, clipping Knowledge right where he puts his own Truth - they match.

In many ways, they're similar. In many more, they're opposites. Light and dark, warm and cool, Truth and Lies Knowledge, sunshine and moonlight…

The stone under his paw pads feels grounding. The feeling of his tail's fur dragging along the tiles, the cool air staved off by the cloak that's far too large for him - that sheep plush tucked into an inner pocket, as always.

(He's ours. Our mate. Our Pure Vanilla!)

(He's not ours. He'll never be ours. He may care for me now, but how long will that last? How long before I ruin everything? Before there's nothing left? Before it's just like last time?!)

Pristine Milk watches Pure Vanilla's back - they're just a few inches different in height, yet somehow it feels like miles. The radiant king and his shadow. The sun and the moon. Purity and corruption.

Pristine Milk sighs, hesitating. He shouldn't run off, but he doesn't want to face his kids - doesn't want to face his failures. Lilac Faerie probably still hates him, and he doesn't know how he's going to fix that… Sugar Apple may adore him, but he'll find a way to make her hate him, too. He always does - even without meaning to.

Pristine Milk feels nothing but guilt, as he turns away. Pure Vanilla didn't need him clinging to him like a shadow - didn't need to constantly be fretting over him. He'd just disappoint the healer, too. He wants to pretend he can be loved, just for a little longer.

Always a disappointment, Pristine Milk sighs as he slips down one of the countless hallways, wandering aimlessly. He'll slip into the shadows if anyone gets close, he supposes, but he wants to walk for once.

How many times will you fail them? How many times will you keep running, keep hiding, keep pretending?

As many as it takes. Pristine Milk takes a deep breath, steeling himself. He can't falter, not now. Not yet.

But Witches, does he want to. He wants to give up. He wants to hide, to run, to disappear into the shadows and never return. But he can't.

What if we just left? That little traitorous part of him hums, Fled home? We could make it as if nothing happened.

Pristine Milk shakes his head - he can't abandon everything. Not yet…

And why not? You're already playing with fire. Pure Vanilla will either be just like them, or he'll get tired of you! You know how these things end.

He does, but is it so bad to hope?

It always is, you know this. Pristine Milk bites back a whine as he wanders empty halls. Hope leads to pain, and we are all so tired of pain.

What if we went home? Pristine Milk wonders - it wouldn't be hard…

"Oh. You." A voice startles him, and Pristine Milk blinks to see Lilac Faerie standing in front of him. "You aren't with Pure Vanilla."

"N-No." Pristine Milk didn't really remember how tall the Faerie had gotten - he's taller than he is! Taller than Pure Vanilla! Rude!

"…Why?" Lilac Faerie crosses his arms, leaning against a column - he doesn't even know where in the castle they are. "You're always glued to his side, lately."

"I like him." Pristine Milk is startled at his own honesty - it's true, but he's not a candid person! Not when it comes to emotions!

"I know." Lilac Faerie studies Pristine Milk, "He likes you, too."

"Oh." Pristine Milk feels oddly flustered, hearing that said. Despite knowing it to be true (or is it? Is he capable of being loved, or is he just seeing what he wants to see?!)

"Hm." Lilac Faerie squints at him, then sighs. "You haven't gotten any better, have you?"

"What?" Pristine Milk blinks, and Lilac Faerie just shakes his head.

"You just… You're always the same."

"Is… that a bad thing?"

"When it's you? Yes." Lilac Faerie's eyes widen, as if it came out far more venomous than intended. "It's a bad thing!"

"H-How? Why? What-"

"Because of this, Pristine Milk. You run around claiming everything is fine - you shove everyone away and then convince yourself we hate you. You're doing this to yourself, and you don't even see it!" Lilac Faerie throws his arms out wide in exasperation, "We care for you, and you just… shove us away as if it doesn't matter!"

"But- you, you do matter! You've always mattered!" Pristine Milk stares up at the Faerie, "I've- I've done everything I could for you! I still- I brought you here so you could be happy!"

"I'm not happy running away. I'm not happy being on a totally different continent to the one I lived on for my entire life." Lilac Faerie sighs, dropping his arms back to his side. "Why do you always assume you know better?"

Pristine Milk just glances around - he doesn't… "I-I just… I just want you to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted."

"And yet, you make our decisions for us." Lilac Faerie just sounds disappointed. "How can we be happy, when you keep us on a leash? Me and Apps are adults, Pristine Milk."

"You're still my kids!" Pristine Milk finally looks back at the Faerie, tears in his eyes. "I just- I missed so much of it. To me, you're still- you're still just the kids I took in, with no idea what I was doing. Your entire lives have gone by without me even…"

Lilac Faerie sighs, "You still can't treat us like children, Pristine Milk. We've grown. You need to accept that."

"I-I don't… Things have changed, yes, but I… They haven't changed that much!" Pristine Milk insists, arms wrapping around himself - he feels so cold for some reason. "Things are still… Like they used to be. Right?"

"No." Lilac Faerie states, blunt - tired, almost. "You can't keep deluding yourself, Pristine Milk."

"I'm not deluding myself!"

"So what are you doing, then? Because from here, it looks like you're lying to yourself."

Pristine Milk shakes his head - he… doesn't have a good answer. "No, I just… I don't know, Lilac Faerie."

The Faerie squints at him, then shakes his head, crossing his arms. "So… You don't know? When has you not Knowing ever stopped you before? Aren't you the one who marches forward no matter what, in pursuit of Knowledge?"

Pristine Milk just shakes his head - that's not the point. He doesn't want to not Know, he doesn't want to march blindly into a fate he has no way of predicting. His dreams are useless - memories he buried on purpose resurfacing, reminding him why he keeps a distance. He's a coward, he hides, he lies, he runs away.

Even his Knowledge is behind by eons, archaic and worthless (just like he is).

Yet he has the board laid out - but why can't he give that final order?

Protect the King, and march to your fate like a good little Pawn. It was so simple, so easy. Simply keep Pure Vanilla safe, face his fallen friends (siblings) and maybe deal with the Corrupted Flower along the way.

Yet he couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to return to the continent he spent basically his entire life on.

"I just- I want everything to be normal again!" Pristine Milk finally admits, tail lashing under the stolen cloak. "I can't- I can't stand how much everything has changed. How much you've changed! I was replaced, for Witches sake! What use is the whole of Knowledge against a kinder, brighter Virtue?! I'm not needed!"

"Nothing is the same. You can't expect it to be." Lilac Faerie huffs, "It's utterly delusional to believe that everything froze just as you did."

"I don't believe that!" Pristine Milk knows it isn't true - knows the world moved on. The Vanilla Kingdom itself is proof of that.

"Yet you insist nothing has changed." Lilac Faerie tilts his head, raising an eyebrow. "How does that work, exactly, then? How can things both change and not change?"

Pristine Milk shrugs, half-hearted, "The same way we do - we're the same. Even as things move around us."

"That's… No." Lilac Faerie sounds bewildered, "That's… not how that works at all."

"It is!" Pristine Milk nods. It has to be how it works - it has to be!

Lilac Faerie sighs, disappointment in his gaze. "You need to accept things are different now, Pristine Milk. Nothing was static while you were sealed."

"But- you… You are! And Sugar Apple is!" Pristine Milk insists, but Lilac Faerie just shakes his head.

"We didn't, Pristine Milk. We grew up. We changed. That's just life. You can't stop it, just because you were asleep." Lilac Faerie's tone is softer now, almost pitying, "You have to accept that the people you knew are gone, Pristine Milk. Apps and I are different now."

"But- I… I can't lose you. I can't-" Pristine Milk doesn't know what to do here - what do you say, to convince people to stay? How do you keep people close without hurting them? Without hurting yourself? (Everything Pristine Milk has let go of is marred by bites and claw marks from him holding on too tight.)

"I'm not going anywhere, don't misunderstand. You just need to accept that things are different now."

"I-But… No, y-you're… You're the same." Pristine Milk takes a step back, shaking his head. "I-I know you are! I raised you! I…"

"Pristine Milk?" Lilac Faerie questions, but Pristine Milk turns, and bolts. He doesn't want to hear more - he knows Lilac Faerie is the same! He raised him! Sugar Apple didn't change that much, so why is Lilac Faerie insisting he did?!

He can't have! That- it's been a long time, sure, but he's just as stuck out of time as Pristine Milk is!

His leg aches by the time he's slammed the door to Pure Vanilla's room shut, leaning against it as if that would stop anyone from following him. It hurts to stand, so he slides to the floor, robes pooling out around him like spilled ink, some of the fluff of his tail peeking out and casting a faint blue-green light across cream-colored tile.

He doesn't understand - but that's always been his issue, hasn't it? Knowledge without Understanding is useless, just a collection of words and facts inapplicable to reality. He can Know everything yet not Understand a single thing, and thus it's worthless. (It's why he can't heal - the fundamentals don't make sense. Magic is his, yet he can't control an entire domain of it. He Knows it - he Knows how it should work, but he can never get it to. He's a Beast, built for destruction, not healing. Pure Vanilla is the counter to his raw destruction - the rejuvenation after the fire, the rain after the drought.)

Everything related to Pristine Milk is worthless to begin with, though. His magic - better held in the hands of others. His Knowledge? Able to be written down and shared without him, he doesn't even need to be part of the process at all, after a certain point. His dreams? His love for teaching and spreading his Knowledge? His life? All useless, worthless, unnecessary.

Too much of a person to be a tool. Too much of a beast to be a person. What is he, beyond a broken tool? Barely-a-person? A beast masquerading as human? (He's the true Half-a-Cookie, not White Lily. He's whole, but his soul's nothing but rot. He is flesh without a soul, a body without a heartbeat. He's rotting from the inside out, and he knows that he can't hide it forever.)

Pristine Milk sighs as he stands, leg aching, tears in his eyes. He ends up standing on the balcony, claws digging into the stone railing. The vines that curl around the stone are dotted with beholders - both blueberry and vanilla, remnants from his Academy, perhaps?

It makes him feel sick. His Academy - teleported to Crispia in a last-ditch fail safe to try and preserve what little of his kingdom he could. And now the Blueberry Beholders are here, curling up with their Vanilla counterpart, coiled together as if they always belonged together.

(Perhaps they did - Blueberry Beholders are easily out-competed for resources. They're weak, fragile flowers. Just like Pristine Milk.)

He wishes he could've erased every trace of himself. Vanished from existence entirely.

Yet he still would've woken up eventually, wouldn't he? He'd still be in this position, Knowledge hanging around his neck like a noose, the fate of the entire world resting in his trembling hands, as if he deserves that privilege at all.

He'd ruin it. Just like he ruins everything! Just like he ruins his relationships, his status, his kingdom.

(He led so many people to their deaths. He was a coward, a useless strategist, worthless-)

He wants to go home. Back to his Spire. Back to the shining Kingdom he remembers.

…It would be easy to, wouldn't it? To just… go home?

He could. Knowledge thrums at his collar, yet the magic feels off. But the power is there… It would be so easy. So quick. Painless.

And then he wouldn't need to hurt anymore… Then no one else would get hurt, if they simply played along as they should, too! Oh, it would be delightful.

He could finally make his kids happy! He could have Pure Vanilla by his side! He could erase all his failures, all his shortcomings, all the things he's ruined!

Oh, it will be beautiful. It will be peace. True freedom, like that which that little Flower is chasing - but oh, Pristine Milk knows the secret, has the key she doesn't.

And that makes him better than her, doesn't it? Pristine Milk grins - and it's all fangs. Sharp. Broken. Manic.

(All he sees as he steps through that portal, is shimmering gold and blue.)

It was startling, to turn around and see the Fount gone - but not surprising, either. Pure Vanilla knew the other liked to run, liked to hide - so he figures he'll let Pristine Milk do what he needs. Lilac Faerie and Sugar Apple had said he likely wouldn't go far, not with the fact that they're courting one another.

The sheep are happy to see him, at least. Even as he settles down amongst them, laughing as they all flock around him.

"Hello, dears." He reaches out to pet through the wool of the nearest sheep - one he'd named Buttercream, the newest lamb of the herd, as she crawls into his lap. "Ah, have you met Pristine Milk yet?"

The sheep just baa, and Pure Vanilla hums. "I suppose not, he doesn't come out here often, does he? Well, I'm sure you'd like him. He has a fondness for sheep, after all!" Or maybe just a fondness for the plush Pure Vanilla gave him. He's not entirely sure… (Yet he distinctly gets the feeling that Pristine Milk would love anything he cares for.)

It was a pleasant day - chilly, yet the sunlight kept him warm. It was comforting, sitting amongst his sheep, petting their wool and chattering on about his day, about Pristine Milk.

Yet despite the calm, he feels like something is wrong. The sharp bolt of emotion over their connection, too brief for Pure Vanilla to parse, before it's gone is his first concern. Pure Vanilla angles his staff to look over the castle - but he can't see anything from here… At least there's no obvious problem?

Although when it comes to Pristine Milk, you should be looking for anything but the obvious…

The Fount is made of contradictions. Oblivious yet too smart, a pacifist with claws and fangs, clingy yet distant, a genius and a fool all at once. Pure Vanilla adores him for it all - all the weird little contradictions, all the things he hates and all the pieces he think make him wrong.

Yet he can't help but wish Pristine Milk would open up, just a little more. Pure Vanilla shuts the eye of his staff, reaching out for that connection - yet all he feels is cold. Not the familiar cold of starlight and dim sunshine, but just cold. Empty, an abyss on the other end.

Something had happened.

"…Did you feel that, little one?" He asks the sheep in his lap, but all he gets in response is a placid baa.

Well. He supposes his sheep are just normal sheep. They can't feel the fluctuations in magic - the pressure of it being sucked in, only to be released all at once, like someone popping a balloon.

The hallmark of a large spell. One that he knows only Pristine Milk could cast using his magic. Lilac Faerie has his own reserves, bubbling and viscous, sharp and dangerous - all the signs of someone adept in poison magic. No, no. This is Pure Vanilla's magic, mixed with that familiar starlight and dim sunlight. A star gone supernova, so bright it's blinding - until it's gone, nothing left behind.

…Just what had Pristine Milk been doing? He was severely weakened, whatever could be need to be doing that would use that much magic?

His levitation magic has been tweaked, retooled to take as little mana as possible - and all the spells he casts have all their flare and glamor removed, just simple, raw magic. A hallmark of a proficient mage, that's for sure - as much as mages enjoyed flashy spells and massive lights, Pristine Milk (And Pure Vanilla himself) had learned to cut back all the pomp and circumstance when need be.

Pristine Milk fought in war. As did Pure Vanilla. Both of them needed to be able to extend their magic as far as possible - less of a concern for the Fount, who was basically made of magic, but still a useful skill.

So why would he now be using massive amounts of magic? The only thing Pure Vanilla remembers drawing that much magic was…

Oh, no. Pure Vanilla nearly bolts upright, gently herding Buttercream off his lap, grabbing his staff, and racing back towards the castle. He had felt off - like he had made a mistake, simply letting Pristine Milk go.

He knew the Fount needed space, needed a gentle hand, soft coaxing and encouragement - and Pure Vanilla thought that's what he was doing! Letting him learn that he can come and go, and Pure Vanilla will always be waiting for him.

Yet he was wrong.

The last time he felt that much magic? Was the portal in the Faerie Kingdom.