Chapter Text
Cold air blew, silent yet undeniable against the crust of living beings. It moved quietly through space; not a violent gust or derecho, but subtle like snowflakes or a single drop of rain hitting stone.
No wind, but coldness remained abound. He was cold.
Dark Choco shuddered, dough swiftly overtaken with goosebumps from his neck down to his ankles. He shifted slightly, attempting to curl onto his side and angle his back to the unpleasant chill, but his body didn’t appear eager to respond to his groggy wishes. Dark Choco’s half-awake mind bemoaned that unhappily.
‘Why am I so cold?’
This was an unusual cold. More intense than what was typical.
His carmine eye blearily blinked open, debris at its corners breaking. The chill was prominent enough to insistently tug him from his deep slumber, a slumber he didn’t even recall falling into.
Dark Choco groaned in discomfort immediately as the stark brightness from above angrily beamed into his unprepared pupil. He wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t used to it. He must’ve slept in quite a bit if the gleam of sunlight was already peeking in through his closed blinds.
‘Ugh…damnit…’
He was supposed to have much more discipline than that. How had he let that happen?
Overtraining was likely the only activity that could excuse such exhaustion, and it would explain the chill too; he could imagine himself all too clearly collapsing into sleep before properly sealing his window or feeding timber to his hearth. Weary negligence permitting the cold chill of the tundra beyond to seep in freely.
He’d probably missed breakfast already. Father wouldn’t have waited for him. A rare moment of shared space between them, and he’d let it slip him by.
Dark Choco grumbled in annoyance. He wanted nothing more than to fall back into the warm embrace of a light doze, but it wouldn’t be feasible with the frost nipping at him; and he had responsibilities that he couldn’t put aside for the comfort of a mere nap. That would be even more shameful.
He had to get up.
He moved to push himself out of bed, but he didn’t go anywhere—limbs still limp and heavy and tingling; a waltz of numbness dancing through his muscles. Had he slept on them badly and cut off jamflow, or was he merely still weary from the prior night’s training?
"Hmm..."
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d trained to paresthesia, but it would be the first time he’d let the feeling persist overnight. Typically a dip in a hot cocoa bath would be more than enough to soothe his muscles; but he didn’t recall doing so last night. He couldn’t remember anything from last night.
Gracious, when had he fallen asleep? And why was it so damn bright?
His bedroom wasn’t this bright. Even in the peak of daytime, he kept his lanterns dimmed and his blinds half drawn for the sake of soothing his sensitive eyes.
If he wasn’t in his room, then where was he? Spirits of the North, had he passed out in the training yard or something? Was that why he was so cold? Was the syrupy chill in his bones a symptom of incoming hypothermia?
Why hadn’t anyone helped him back inside? What happened last night?
The prior day was a mess of flickering images—clear but momentary—like a swarm of lightning bugs at sunset; He saw them only to lose sight of them a second later.
He remembered the towering silhouette of the Citadel in the distance, he remembered romping through the deep snow alongside other cookies, he remembered fighting viciously with his sword—all signs pointing to overexertion in training…but that answer felt erroneous without the finer details. Dark Choco’s gut told him he was missing something vital.
What had they been doing? He remembered faces, but their features were imperceptible, with only the blur of colors before him, purple and crimson and indigo. He remembered the salted smell of licorice permeating the air like smoke, strong enough to make his nostrils twitch.
He remembered…
‘I will be the sword’s thrall no longer!’
Dark Choco snapped fully awake instantly. His one red eye widened to its limit, uncaring of how the light from above painfully pierced it.
He remembered. The attack. The Wall. The sword, he—
He left. He ran.
This was not his bed. This was not the Citadel. He didn’t know where this was.
‘Where…where am I?!’
With the faster drip of consciousness came a flood of clarity, and the broken fragments of memory slowly lined themselves back up into the proper shapes, a twisted jigsaw puzzle depicting his own carelessness.
Because it was carelessness.
He’d been running away, armored boots kicking up powder sugar snow into clouds of sweet mist in his wake. He’d ran away from the Black Citadel like a scared deer, ran away as fast as he could after he’d torn the clawed hold of that cursed blade from his very soul.
After he’d…turned on Dark Enchantress Cookie.
His red eye swept over the room he now found himself in quickly, too quickly for it to register as anything but a colorful blur. He could see green. Green walls, shimmering with the smoothness of metal, tangled wires peeking out from behind small structures and disappearing into the walls.
Not black. Not his bed. Not the Citadel.
The Laboratorium.
‘Oh…oh no.’
He remembered now. The red, the purple, the indigo. His comrades—his former comrades—he remembered the cold looks of disappointment and anger and confusion marring their features and darkening their eyes. They’d not been pleased.
No. No, witches no.
He thought he’d gotten away! He was certain he’d escaped!
How could they have caught up with him? They’d been beaten, Pomegranate had been wounded—it should have been impossible; he was faster, better equipped to travel through the snow, and had much higher endurance. How on Earthbread had they found him?
But deep down, the warrior knew exactly how they’d managed it. Dark Choco hadn’t properly concealed his tracks. Speed had been his primary focus, he’d forced his tired legs to carry him away in the best sprint he could muster while wounded himself; had fought to put as much distance between him and the Black Citadel as possible. He’d torn through the snowdrifts like a raging beast, head on a swivel, expecting an ambush that never came. His heart had pounded loudly in his too-empty head, guided by only his own thoughts—his own instincts—for the first time in what felt like centuries.
He’d left a trail pointing right to him.
His plan had been to find a remote village or sanatorium he could take refuge in, a temporary shelter that would shield him from the biting blizzards until he could acquire some proper tools for travel. He’d found a small inn at the base of the Ridge, and no sooner than he had bartered for a room had he let sleep swallow his weak body up.
He’d told himself a brief rest would be fine—was necessary if he wanted to endure the journey ahead. He told himself he would still be quick enough to escape the Dark Cacao Kingdom sooner than anyone could follow him, be it cookies from Dark Enchantress’ army, or the Black Citadel.
But clearly, considering that the place he now found himself was not a shoddy room in a run-down inn, it seemed that undercooked plan had spoiled him with the foodborne illness of trouble.
Too careless. Taken in his sleep, stolen away like the damsels of Hollyberrian fairytales. Father would be disappointed.
A part of Dark Choco lamented the fact that the cookies of the Dark Cacao Kingdom hadn’t tracked him down first. At least then his punishment would’ve likely been swift. At least then it likely would’ve been painless.
But of course they hadn’t. For all of Dark Cacao’s personal vendettas against him, Dark Choco recalled all too clearly (and guiltily) the sheer magnitude of the destruction that had befallen the Great Wall. Fixing that would no doubt be the kingdom’s main priority before lobbying any sort of cookie-hunt for him.
He wasn’t important enough.
He never was; Or rather, he was…to all the wrong people. He knew Dark Enchantress well enough to be certain that whatever punishment she had in store for him would no doubt be horrific; he’d seen it befall other unfortunate souls more than enough times. His heart skipped a beat within him at the thought.
‘What are they going to do to me?’ He wondered miserably.
More pressing, perhaps, was the question of what they’d already done.
Dark Choco hadn’t noticed it in his initial wave of tired confusion, but as sense returned to him and he moved to start struggling, he felt the burning scratch of fibrous ropes chafing his wrists and ankles. Tied up; of course.
He shuddered reflexively, both in response to the frightening state of his capture and the lingering cold. He was still cold; why was he–
He paused in his struggles at a strange sound. A quiet squeak, similar to the sound of handwashing dishes without a sponge; the rubbing of dough against porcelain dinnerware. The movement increased the cold sensation, and he could feel it concentrated mostly against his back.
As he shifted, his dough almost seemed to stick to the material, rubbing over it gently—
…wait. His dough?
He grew just as cold on the inside as he looked down at himself; at the source of the ever-present chill.
His limbs and chest were bare before him, not a plate of armor or threadbare piece of fabric concealing him. He was entirely nude.
‘W-what the fuck!?’
Instantly his cheeks warmed and reddened against the coolness and shame of exposure. His eye frantically scanned his exposed form in search for injury or any sign that he’d been manhandled, but he couldn’t spot anything abnormal beyond the fact that he was exposed in the first place; he felt no pain—no ache or sting or throb—only the cold, and the lingering mugginess of sedation.
Dark Choco grit his teeth in a mix of fury and embarrassment.
Why in the name of the Giant Icing Ridge had they taken his clothes? What on Earthbread were they planning that would warrant such disgusting indignity?
Dark Choco’s guts tightened, stomach filled to bursting with nervousness, as if he’d been force fed a feast of it. A feast fed to him by an overactive imagination.
He didn’t want to imagine it, but his thoughts couldn’t help but drift into…uncomfortable places. Being kidnapped and stripped naked inspired less than soothing pictures of his captors’ intentions.
‘Are they planning to…violate me?’
His breath hitched at the thought.
No. No, of course not. Surely they wouldn’t right? Even they weren’t so cruel as to do that…right?
Doubt whispered vile cruelties into his ear despite himself. He’d seen Dark Enchantress cross countless lines before, order incomprehensible horrors in the name of vile justice—her twisted definition of punishment—and he himself was no more immune to her cruelty when he’d gone against her orders in the past.
What was one more line crossed, after the brash display of treachery he’d shown?
‘No…no! I refuse! I will not let myself be taken! Not like that!’
His breaths increased their pace, falling from his lips heavily as fear and anger fueled his increased struggles. He would fight, he would fight the whole way through if they tried to touch him, he would not let himself be made a victim.
And if he fought hard enough, perhaps fate would smile on him for once, grant him a means of escape before anything defiling or debased could be inflicted on him. Besides, even if they didn’t plan to assault him, whatever vulgar punishment they intended to inflict still apparently warranted he be stripped bare. Dark Choco could think of nothing good that could come from that. An act of physical torture—sexual or not—was undeniably their intention.
He’d betrayed Dark Enchantress, impeded her for no doubt the final time she would tolerate. He’d seen her crumble and burn others to ash over smaller infractions. If he couldn’t stop whatever this was, it would no doubt lead to his—likely very painful—premature doom.
“No. I won’t let that happen.” He firmly hissed to himself.
Dark Choco had only just managed to free himself from the claws of the darkness. He would not—could not—let this be his end.
He had to escape.
The cold surface beneath him continued to squeak with the sound of dough against porcelain as he struggled to undo the ropes; as he swiftly assessed his surroundings in search of escape, the origin of the noise became clear.
This room of the Laboratorium wasn’t one he had been inside before, but based on what lay within it, it made sense that it was somewhere he’d never been. The room resembled a common kitchen, a small one with a simple steel door (witches, it was so close), a healthy amount of granite countertop space by the far wall, a steel two-door oven and stove, a sink covered in dust, a small white icebox, and plenty of wooden cupboards, their polished timber garish and ugly against the forest green walls.
That biting chill against his back came from the large porcelain platter he was laid atop, the sort that would be used to carry around butchered poultry or large cuts of roasted meat at formal feasts; large, smooth, with slightly raised edges to catch juice and jam. Dark Choco felt a spark of hot indignance (and dread) flare in his chest at the sight.
They were doing this to humiliate him, weren’t they? Comparing him to a wild beast, a mere piece of meat, less than a cookie in their eyes after what he’d done.
“Tch–”
He couldn’t get hung up on his anger or his terror, he had to escape, before he really was reduced to nothing but a dead piece of meat.
He fought to slip the bonds, wiggling his fingers in search of a knot he could undo, but the ropes around his wrists and ankles were not the only ones holding him. There was another set coiled tightly around his torso, and they prevented him from properly sitting up straight. With his hands tied beneath his back—pressed between his spine and the platter—he could not move them well enough to undo any of the ropes.
‘Damnit—’
Dark Choco growled lowly. He didn’t have time to struggle and flail like this! He had to hurry, spirits only knew how long he’d been unconscious already, how long this brief window of quiet would last. Every moment he was bound and exposed was a moment closer to when his captor would inevitably return—
Creaaak~
Dark Choco’s eye widened, form going stiff as an oak tree’s trunk.
‘Spoiled icing.’ He cursed to himself.
Out of time.
As if he’d jinxed it, the heavy steel door to the kitchen slowly swung open, hinges creaking with rust and age. Dark Choco tensed up in anticipation, teeth grit and sweat cooling on his cheeks. The bright lights shone on the figure as they stepped through the threshold.
They were large, bulky…and most certainly not a cookie like he had expected.
Dark Choco’s brow furrowed as he took in who it was that had just entered.
“E-Esterházy?”
Sure enough, a moment later the Cake Monster in question entered the kitchen, light shining across the glossy swirls of their white and brown fondant, the gleam of their sugar glass monocle, and the sharp teeth lining their calm smile. Their hazelnut batter was immaculately groomed and their suit-vest was pressed free of even the smallest wrinkles.
The Werehound looked prudent as always, entirely calm and professional despite all of Dark Choco’s intimate angles being laid bare before them. He blushed furiously and instinctively curled up as much as he could in an attempt to hide his bare dough, though it was a mostly fruitless effort. They blinked in subtle surprise upon seeing him.
“Oh dear.” Esterházy said coolly, though their smile didn’t fall. “I didn’t think you would wake up so soon. It would’ve been easier if you could have slept through it.”
Dark Choco tensed up at those words, wiggling himself away from the Cake Monster as much as he could manage.
“Slept through it? What in the Witches name does that mean?” He asked instinctively, though the Cake Monster didn’t answer.
What were they even doing here? Dark Choco hadn’t seen Esterházy in months, not since Dark Enchantress’ failed invasion of the Vanilla Castle, where they’d served him and the other cookies at that odd banquet. He only knew that the butler was one of the ones to return to Beast-Yeast after Dark Enchantress’ forces were expelled.
Nary a single thought of them had crossed Dark Choco’s mind since that banquet; he’d figured they would’ve gone on doing what they always did, preparing food and serving Dark Enchantress quietly. He wasn’t sure if he’d see them again, nor did he care.
Yet…here they were, the first to greet him after his capture. Not Pomegranate or even Dark Enchantress herself, but Esterházy. It was unexpected, strange, didn’t make sense.
Because Esterházy was a butler. They were no soldier, no punisher, no deliverer of violence, certainly not one that Dark Enchantress would task with torture of a defector, right?
But those words…’slept through it’, they made Dark Choco shudder. They held a dark edge to them, and only measured calm was present on their cake-slice face. They knew what was supposed to happen to him.
Dark Choco growled, throat rumbling in fear and anger.
“What have you done to me!?”
Esterházy raised a brow, the slightest hint of solemnity crossing their features, before it was once more buried beneath calm sophistication and the sweet scent of hazelnut. They shook their head the slightest bit, and stepped closer.
“It must be done, to fulfill my master’s wishes. I will do my utmost to keep the process comfortable, sir.”
“What ‘process’?!” Dark Choco hissed. “What are you going to do!?”
Esterházy ignored the warrior’s confused snarling, stepping closer still. Their cool attention was directed not to the naked cookie tied down on their counter, but rather the closed ice-box and ugly cupboards close by. They bent down and flipped the lid of the ice-box open, and Dark Choco flinched and shivered as the frigid air within brushed unwelcomingly across his dough.
‘Shit shit shit—!’
Dark Choco redoubled his struggles from before, determined to break free, to wrench himself from their captivity before they could begin whatever ‘process’ they intended to conduct. Esterházy’s chocolate-dollop ears twitched and flicked at the grating screech of porcelain on granite, and they sighed in disappointment; the sort of sigh a mother gave when exhausted by an unruly child.
They closed the ice-box and stepped back over to him, something small clutched in their large gloved paw. Dark Choco’s carmine eye was laser-focused on each one of the Werehound’s movements, and it shrunk to a pinprick as the light glinted on the tip of the needle, the needle attached to the syringe in Esterházy’s hand.
It was filled with some sort of clear liquid, and Dark Choco’s instincts screamed that it meant danger, meant pain.
“S-Stay back! Don’t you dare take another step or I’ll—”
“Hush now. I will make it quick.” Esterházy silenced.
He wiggled and squirmed and attempted to scoot his way off of the platter as Esterházy approached, the tiny ‘clinks’ blaring in Dark Choco’s ears as the Cake Monster deftly flicked the needle free of air bubbles. They held not a hint of emotion in their face; only pure professionalism, and Dark Choco didn’t know if that scared him more than outright malice would have.
Dark Choco pulled away, prepared to roll all the way off the counter if it was necessary, but Esterházy’s free paw came out to catch his shoulder before he could. Dark Choco wiggled and squirmed and twisted and attempted to sink his teeth into Esterházy’s arm, but he couldn’t reach far enough.
“I’m sorry that it’s come to this.” Esterházy said quietly. “But I’m afraid it’s out of both of our hands now. You’d best calm down, sir.”
Dark Choco grunted in adamant refusal and threw his head back with force, in the hopes that it would be strong enough for him to wrench Esterházy’s paw off his head.
–but it was to no avail. Esterházy—being a Cake Monster—was on the stronger and bulkier side, their calm demeanor and high-society mannerisms masking a hidden strength he didn’t know they possessed. They held him still with ease.
Panic shot through him. He couldn’t get away, they were going to—
“No! Keep that thing away from me! I swear I’ll—”
They ignored him, grip on their shoulder tightening as they brought the needle closer. With one swift motion, they slipped the sharp tip into his shoulder smoothly, round thumb pressing on the plunger. Dark Choco cried out—more from fear than pain—as he saw the liquid in the syringe slowly funnel its way into him.
Esterházy withdrew the syringe with a flourish, dabbing a small white cloth against the dollop of jam left behind, but putting no more effort into covering the wound. They stood back, set the empty syringe on the counter, and clasped their hands behind their back patiently; expectantly.
Puffs of air fell heavily from Dark Choco’s lips, as if he’d developed asthma in an instant. Almost immediately he could feel the effects of whatever drug he’d been given settling in, as his rapid heartbeats sent it flowing throughout his form; cold like liquid frostbite in his veins. His body erupted in a flurry of buzzing tingles, similar to the numbness he’d felt when first waking up—but almost to the point of pain. It was as if he was being pricked by more needles, on the inside instead of the outside.
Dark Choco mustered one final burst of resistance, and nearly pushed himself off the platter—
—before his body went entirely limp.
‘W-what? No. No!’
Only his eye would obey his commands to move; even the other muscles of his face had gone unresponsive and heavy, mouth falling open and tongue lolling out, dripping a small stream of drool down his chin; disgusting—and all too terrifying given what it meant.
He flopped back into the platter like a deer shot through the head, sweaty back sticking against the porcelain; his tied limbs sagged and his attempt to curl up and conceal himself was swiftly rendered pointless. His cheeks burned ever-warmer at the keen shame of exposure, and the corner of his eye grew wet with helplessness; but despite his attempts to keep fighting, he merely twitched and moaned wordlessly in fear, unable to speak.
Esterházy smiled quaintly in deft satisfaction.
“There we go.” They said, a tinge of pleasure in their tone that made Dark Choco’s guts clench.
‘No no no! Move damnit! Move!’ He yelled to himself, desperation filling his heart. He fought to move, to wriggle, gods—to at least twitch.
But his body remained inert, a heavy lump of dough laid across a plate, useless.
…He was doomed, wasn’t he?
He was going to crumble. He didn’t know how and he didn’t like that he didn’t know how but he knew it was coming; Death breathing cruelly down his neck.
His heart was not affected by the drug, pounding away rapidly like the beat of a war-drum, fast and too-loud in his ears. His mouth hung open, and weak noises slipped from his throat, but any attempt to shift his lips and tongue into the shapes for speech were futile.
He couldn’t protest in any way as Esterházy turned with a flourish of their tied fondant mane, and drew the wooden cupboards open. Their gloved paws rifled around through the shelves; Dark Choco could hear the sound of wooden boxes shifting against each other, and his heart skipped a beat at the thought of what sort of horrors they could be looking for.
Tools for torture? Instruments of pain? Maybe even instruments of sex? He wouldn’t be able to resist any of it in his paralyzed state, and helplessness burned like a scald wound in his chest at the thought.
It was that anxious anticipation that made the next sight before him so unexpected, and if he was able to move, his brows would’ve furrowed in tense confusion.
They set the objects on the counter one by one, wooden, glass and metal containers clinking against the granite countertop. A basket of fresh fruits, still wet and glistening from being carefully washed off, their skins brightly colored; perfectly ripe. A steaming pot of some sort of bright red liquid, carrying the sweet and sour scent of cranberries, like the special preserves his kingdom saved for festivals and birthdays, but thinner and sweeter in the nostrils. A large glass jar filled with soft white powder, resembling the snow of his home, though no cold seemed to affect the glass. A small sieve rested inside the jar.
No knives or blades, no lubricant or contraceptives, nothing he would consider threatening. Just…ingredients, like one would find within any pantry.
‘What?’
What was this? His gears turned but were unable to parse any answers. That mystique made it all the more frightening.
Dark Choco refused to drop his guard, fear clinging to his dough. Not knowing what to expect was unbearable.
Dark Choco could only express his confusion and underlying unease with another wordless hum, vocal cords vibrating with the song of his cold dread. Esterházy picked up each of the ingredients one by one, and set the containers down calmly on the island Dark Choco was laid upon. His eye kept trailing their every move as they hefted the pot of cranberry liquid closer.
His heart flipped in his chest with fear as the Werehound’s hands reached out for him. They grabbed ahold of his ankles; not roughly, but certainly not gently either. He twitched as they wrenched his legs apart without warning. They did it so swiftly, the ropes tying his ankles together snapped with a loud cracking sound, like a small firecracker. The Werehound rolled him onto his side momentarily to snap the ropes around his sore wrists and torso in much the same manner. The noise of the ripping ropes echoed through the open expanse of the kitchen, a clock counting down the seconds until his doom.
If Esterházy was confident enough to unbind him, then it was highly unlikely the paralytic would wear off before…
‘No! Let go of me!’
The Cake Monster rolled Dark Choco gently onto his back once more, the cold of the porcelain platter biting at him. They carefully adjusted his limbs, bending his legs so the knees pointed up, and settling his arms at his sides. Positioning him.
Dark Choco felt sweat drip down his brow. His muscles exploded with adrenaline, body in agreement with his mind’s desperate wish to escape, to move, to fight, to push his attacker away—but of course, his body was listless and unresponsive beyond involuntary spasms.
The Werehound shushed him, voice smooth as the skin of an apple; clean on the surface, but with a core that was rotten and filled with worms.
“Don’t worry, sir. This will only hurt a little bit.” They reassured.
‘No! Stop!’
Esterházy ignored him once more. Their attention was drawn to the ingredients they brought over. Their gloved paws drifted to the pot of red fluid first; they stirred it calmly with the brass ladle inside, lifting a spoonful and watching it drip back into the pot. It was smooth yet viscous, reminding Dark Choco of the thick caramel sauce that Caramel Arrow often drizzled into her boba teas. The thought made his heart ache with regret as much as it pounded with fear.
Esterházy dipped the ladle into the pot again, and Dark Choco’s body seized in terror as it was hovered over his chest this time; he could still see the steam rising from it. It was hot.
‘No! Don’t you dare! Don’t—’
The ladle tipped.
“AH-!”
Esterházy dripped the fluid onto his bare chest—a slow drip at first, but swiftly increasing in pace. The liquid burned against his bare dough, seeping lightly into his crust. It wasn’t thin enough to render him soggy but irritated the dough in much the same way. The heat turned the surrounding crust red and inflamed, before those red spots were buried beneath more of the fluid. The peak of the pain was intense, but only momentary as the initial sensation of being scalded smoothed out into a persistent but overall less painful burn.
He wanted to grit his teeth, but he could not. His mouth remained open and inert, saliva dripping down the corners of his lips.
When the ladle was empty, Esterházy moved it back to the pot, and scooped up another spoonful. He had only a moment to brace himself.
They dripped the glaze over him generously, waving the ladle back and forth to ensure no spots of his dough were missed. Dark Choco could only groan.
“Ah, ah, ah!” He moaned, his instinctive ‘ows’ malformed and indistinct.
“I’m almost done. Please be patient.” They responded in turn as they dipped the ladle into the pot of glaze a third time.
They moved methodically, dripping the steaming liquid over his limbs one by one to ensure they were coated in the sweet-smelling red. Once or twice he flinched involuntarily, but his instinct to move away from the burn was still not heeded. He could only sit in the heat and feel.
And it terrified him.
Because he could still feel. The paralytic didn’t take sensation away, he could still feel pain, and that meant he would be stuck feeling every minute sting of agony from whatever torment would come next. This was only the beginning.
Dark Choco’s eye watered in panic once they’d finished glazing his limbs. The only thing that was left uncovered was his head. He braced himself for the white-hot burn, for the glaze to sting his eyes and pour unwittingly in boiling streams down his throat—
But Esterházy made no move to do so, and simply pushed the pot off to the side, no longer their priority. A sigh of relief escaped Dark Choco’s paralyzed mouth.
‘Thank the Witches…’
A similar blessing graced him a moment later as the glaze’s heat swiftly faded, cooling across his form, bright red dulling into something less saturated. The cooling of the glaze didn’t take the lingering burn beneath away, but it didn’t add to it either. No additional torment.
At least…not torment of the painful variety.
As the cranberry glaze cooled, it slowly left an unpleasant sticky shell in its place, cooling faster in areas where the layer was thinner. It was the sort of shell that was fragile and easy to break, but he couldn’t move to break it. It was itchy, and heavy, and the tart scent of cranberries and sugar invaded his nostrils against his will.
‘Get it off me. Get it off!’ He hissed internally, irritated groans falling from his mouth; indignance at being glazed like some sort of sweet bread rose up quickly once the worst of the pain passed.
Why on Earthbread were they doing this to him? What was the point of this? Just to humiliate him?
Esterházy paid no mind to his discomfort or confusion as they brought the wooden basket of fruit close next, pinching one of the larger ones in their paws.
Dark Choco braced for pain once more—expecting the fruits to have prickly or stinging flesh—but as the first berry was nestled against his chest—held in place by the half-hardened glaze—no such pain came. If anything, the cold berries felt good, soothing against scalded crust, refreshing and cold. It would be nice…if the intention behind the act wasn’t so confusing—so undoubtedly insidious.
Esterházy moved succinctly, arranging fruits and limbs alike; as if Dark Choco were some sort of living culinary art piece. They folded his arms close to his sides, and extended his legs to be spread eagle (which sent a spike of horror through him). His feet just barely hung out over the edge of the platter, a near perfect fit for his body. The excess glaze that had dripped off of him pooled and cooled in the platter, though the raised edges kept it from spilling.
The butler adorned him with the small fruits, the fresh, still-warm glaze holding them neatly in position. They larger ones—apples, apricots and peaches, were generously piled up around his sides, between his legs, and some nestled into the crook of his neck. Some were kept whole, though most were sliced and arranged in a way that could only be considered artistic, reminding him of the Bae-Ggul-Jjim he used to share with the Second Watcher as a child. The smaller berries—cherries, blackberries and raspberries—were spread out more casually, nestled amongst the larger fruits, dotted across his abdomen, and even stuck into his hair; icing rendered soft enough with his sweat to hold them.
An elaborate decoration.
An elaborate humiliation.
Dark Choco’s cheeks burned alongside the rest of his scalded body.
‘What are you doing? What…is this?’
The Cake Monster provided him no answers as the basket of fruit was emptied, each fruit now one component of…whatever twisted display this was.
Esterházy reached for the final object they’d brought over—the jar of white powder—and swiftly popped the lid off with the quaint clink of glass on glass. They carefully grabbed the handle of the sieve and held it over Dark Choco’s chest. They tipped the glass and a small bit of powder fell into the sieve.
The moment the powder shifted, Dark Choco could instantly tell what it was. It left clouds in its wake at even the smallest movements, and as the jar was opened, a cloyingly sweet scent invaded his nostrils on top of the sweetness he was processing already.
The Werehound tapped the edge of the sieve—and sure enough—tiny flecks of powdered sugar began to rain down on him; like snow dusting the needles of a conifer. The clouds of it tickled his nose, but the paralysis kept him from sneezing; he could only smell it.
It smelled good. He smelled good.
Disturbingly good, and that made it more disturbing all the same.
‘What kind of punishment is this?’ Dark Choco wondered, thoroughly weirded out.
Beyond the minor burning of the glaze there had been no pain, and even that pain was nothing compared to the licking of the flames that Dark Enchantress often conjured up. The sticky shell, sticky berries and sticky sugar were all annoying—heavy and itchy against his crust—but nothing he would consider torturous.
Esterházy didn’t act in their own interest. Dark Choco hadn’t seen them do anything for themself in the few times he’d talked to them. Their focus was always on serving Dark Enchantress, so he highly doubted that this was something they had chosen to do independently. It was certainly demanded of them.
But why?
Why had Dark Enchantress ordered this?
What the hell did they think they were doing?
Why in the name of the Witches were they adorning his…nude form like this? Was it a sex thing after all? Some sort of strange fetish meant to satisfy the vulgar desires of whoever was slated to lie with him?
His heart dropped at the thought like a rock tossed into a ravine; and it subsequently fell even further in dread as Esterházy pulled the sieve away, satisfied with the thin coating of sugary powder across his body. They slipped the sieve back into the jar of powdered sugar and closed the lid. They dusted the leftover whiteness from their gloves and sighed in the calm satisfaction of a job well done.
“There. Finished.” They said.
Dark Choco only had a few moments to process the implications of them being ‘finished’ before his world was jostled. Without warning, Esterházy grabbed the edges of the platter and hefted it up off the island with a small grunt. The excess glaze—still semi-solid—threatened to spill, but the platter’s raised edge prevented it—or him—from falling out.
He could only whine in disapproval as Esterházy moved, steps calm as they carried him out of the kitchen. There was nothing he could do to fight back or resist. They pushed open the door of the kitchen with their shoulder, taking him away from the culinary sanctuary he’d woken up in.
He’d wanted to escape the kitchen earlier.
Now he desperately wanted to go back.
Beneath the now solid shell of glaze, sweat pooled in tiny beads against his burning dough, little transparent bubbles beneath the red coating.
‘Please, please don’t be what I think it is.’ He begged, praying to the spirits as best as he could without moving his arms. He hoped against hope that it wasn’t something of that nature. Dark Choco didn’t know if he’d be able to live with such a prominent shame atop all the other shames that ate at him daily.
So badly did he want to run. He implored his body to obey, his legs to move, to take him away from the nightmare he was envisioning before it could become a reality; but spread out on the platter he was nothing but a sweet-smelling object. His muscles tingled, frozen and unresponsive.
‘Someone help me!’ He wanted to call. Loud noises escaped his lips and echoed through the ugly green metallic halls of the Laboratorium, but no one else seemed to be present; certainly no one who would bother trying to rescue him. The bright lights and the warmth were his only friends in this place, and they watched on from above as he was carted off to his inexplicable doom. The few dregs of hope in his chest were slowly burned away, drowned in a deluge of cranberry glaze.
Dark Choco had never spent much time in the Laboratorium; he was always stationed to work in Crispia, the Tower of Sweet Chaos his home since joining Dark Enchantress. He didn’t know his way around the labyrinthine halls of this place. Even if he managed to regain feeling and escape the butler’s grasp, would he be able to escape the laboratory? Would he be able to escape Beast-Yeast?
He didn’t know.
The warrior didn’t know where Esterházy was taking him. The Cake Monster proceeded with confidence, navigating the mechanical hallways with ease. Dark Choco tried to memorize the turns they took, but every hall looked nearly identical, slight variations in the arrangement of nails or the wires and vents his only clues, and with the oppressive terror clenching his heart, he couldn’t remember any of them once they left his sight.
Esterházy took a couple more calm turns, before they came to a stop in front of a large door; it was fancier than the door to the kitchen was, circular and rimmed with red engraved patterns. Destination clearly reached.
Dark Choco’s heart skipped a beat, sweat thickening.
‘Stop! Let me go! Let me go!’
Esterházy pushed the door open with their shoulder. It creaked quietly as they entered, the bright unnatural lights of the lab replaced with a calm, eerie dimness.
Dark Choco braced himself for the sight of where his torture would take place. He expected a cold and dark dungeon, or perhaps even a candlelit bedroom…
…but it wasn’t either of them.
‘Huh?’
No…it was a banquet hall.
A fancy one. Similar to the one he’d seen within the Vanilla Castle. A long table filled most of the space, flanked by dozens of deep red cushioned chairs, soft and velvety. The table was not set, though there were healthily filled goblets of berry juice before each chair. The lighting was dim, carmine torches hung above the only source; enough to see whilst remaining gentle on the eyes.
It was an entirely different world from the mechanical Laboratorium. Gothic, beautiful and ordained, gently warmed by the heat of the torches and filled with the lingering pleasant smells of meals long consumed and white lily flowers that filled the centerpieces.
It would have been cosy—if a bit macabre—if it weren’t for the banquet hall’s occupants.
Only four of the seats were filled, the cookies within waiting quietly; four cookies Dark Choco absolutely did not wish to see.
Licorice Cookie appeared irritated—as he so often did. His arms were hotly crossed, and the rhythmic tapping against the tiled floor could only be his impatient leg bobbing. His sunshine eyes were narrowed and his lips pursed in annoyance. However, the moment his golden gaze fell atop the pair that had just entered—fell across Dark Choco’s exposed and decorated form—his face instantly lit up with a furious, cherry red blush. Immediately he averted his eyes with an embarrassed sputter, hand over his mouth.
“W-what the—ew! Dark Choco Cookie?!” He said, disgust in his tone.
Poison Mushroom Cookie’s mouth fell open in an ‘o’ of curious recognition upon seeing him, violet eyes glittering; being younger, it was likely that they weren’t fully aware of the implications of seeing someone nude the way he was. Their heather sleeves shifted slightly as they raised one hand in a happy wave. They responded not with embarrassment, but excitement, a smile stretched across their lips as they excitedly said his name.
“Hey Dark Choco!” They beamed.
A small part of Dark Choco that wasn’t consumed with horror and mortification at his nakedness, couldn’t help but both pity and envy their naivety. They still knew him as an ally. They didn’t understand the gravity of what he’d done, or the gravity of this, no doubt. At least not yet.
Pomegranate Cookie was also smiling—a small wicked grin—but it didn’t reach her crimson eyes. Her expression held a combination of what could only be pleasure at his humiliation and lingering fury at his betrayal. She seemed well enough in spite of the healing slash wound he’d left beneath her red robes. She concealed her mouth with a hand as she quietly chuckled, seeds of her jewelry rattling as she did so. The gleam of amusement and hate in her eyes sent a chill rushing up Dark Choco’s spine.
“Oho…you’re looking lovely today, young Prince.” She teased.
Dark Choco breathed heavily beneath their stares, lungs sucking in flecks of the cloying sugar he’d been covered in. He felt so very very exposed, his body laid bare before his old teammates in a way he never would’ve wished.
And the fact that is was them specifically couldn’t mean anything good either; was a worse omen. The last time the four of them had been together had been during their attack on the Dark Cacao Kingdom. They were the ones who witnessed his betrayal. That had to be why.
Were they going to be forced to watch whatever punishment he was given? Were they going to take part in it?
He didn’t know. He didn’t know what to expect, beyond pain; Witches, this was bound to be painful.
Because he could all too clearly see the one that would be causing that pain.
She sat calmly at the head of the table, legs crossed beneath her black and crimson gown and fingers interlocked. Her violet dough was lit a harsh crimson by the torches close to her. Her horned shadow was projected against the wall, a massive colossus, presence felt in every corner of the room; eyes seeing all of him.
He gulped, kicking himself all the way for each and every misstep that had led him here.
Dark Enchantress Cookie seemed the calmest of everyone present. She held none of the raw embarrassment, curiosity or smug fury of her subordinates; only a calm knowing, like a prophet awaiting the future they themselves predicted. She knew exactly what was going to happen.
Her calm gaze cemented it in Dark Choco’s mind. She had been the one to order that he be humiliated like this. It was working, and Dark Choco hated that it was.
Silence pervaded the hall, thick enough to cut with a carving knife, air tense with awkwardness and quiet shock. The only sound was of Esterházy’s soft footsteps on the tile as they brought the platter close. They set Dark Choco down atop the center of the dinner table with a quiet flourish and a polite bow, fondant mane falling over their shoulders.
“I thank you for your patience, good cookies. I hope you find the state of our guest…satisfactory.” The butler said calmly.
Dark Choco’s shrunken pupil shot around the room in a panic, searching desperately for a way out, something he could use, something. Gods, he didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want them to see him like this, someone help—
Licorice peeked out from behind his locks of hair, cheeks still dusted red. Poison Mushroom’s focus on him had abated, instead working to take a sip of their drink through their endless dizziness. Pomegranate appeared to have a million words dancing on her tongue, but her adoration for her master kept her silent; giving Dark Enchantress room to speak first.
Dark Enchantress hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head, white icing strands falling free of the headdress. She studied him carefully, red eyes dragging over his naked body. It made his heart pound harder.
It stopped for a second in his chest as the tyrant nodded to herself in approval.
“Yes…I believe I do. You have my regards, Esterházy.”
The Cake Monster in question bowed deeply before they stepped back to the wall, awaiting further commands with a placid expression. The others in the room remained similarly silent in their incredulity, as if waiting for something themselves; or perhaps they were simply stupified by the sight of Dark Choco’s state.
The glaze shifted; hairline cracks forming in conjecture with each of his rapid, heavy breaths. His eyes flicked from cookie to cookie, silently pleading; though for what exactly he was pleading for he wasn’t sure. Assistance? Freedom? Mercy? Privacy? All of them at once, perhaps.
‘Stop looking at me. For the love of everything, stop looking!’ He yelled internally.
Dark Enchantress rose from her chair slowly, gown shifting and light catching the edge of her horns. She commanded the attention of the entire room with naught but her presence. She cleared her throat, and the heads of every cookie in attendance jerked in obedient attention.
“Welcome, cookies, to tonight’s special banquet~!” The enchantress declared, voice boisterous and lively; embodying the charismatic role of a host as if it were a glove tailored specifically for her. “I thank each one of you deeply for…agreeing to attend.”
She had an eager smile on her face as she locked her crimson eyes with Dark Choco’s own. A teasing glint sparkled in her iris, and Dark Choco felt more pricks of sweat forming against his still hot dough.
He didn’t like this one bit. Didn’t like the hint of dark mischief in her voice. Didn’t like how her smile widened to show teeth when she looked at him. Didn’t like how…disgustingly lively she was acting in spite of what she’d done to him; because of what she’d done to him.
Pomegranate dipped her head in acquiescent respect, beads rattling softly and doughy cheeks warm; perhaps even redder than Dark Choco’s own. Poison Mushroom fidgeted in their chair, beaming happily at the ‘praise’. Licorice pulled back his hood the slightest bit, cheeks still red and expression still uncomfortable.
A small chorus of ‘you’re welcomes’ fell from their lips, some more eager than others. Licorice’s was quiet and unsure compared to the other two, nudged into speech by Pomegranate’s cold glare; like the hand of Death clutching his very soul.
Dark Enchantress noticed, and chuckled quietly, piteously.
“Licorice Cookie, calm down! You’ve no need to be nervous.” She insisted, coolly. Dark Choco didn’t miss the hint of threat in her tone.
Licorice looked doubtful, though it was clear he was trying to hide it.
“I-I’m sorry, Dark Enchantress Cookie!” He said. “I’m not trying to be rude or anything! I-I’m just…confused? About why Dark Choco is—um—here…like that? Wasn’t this supposed to be our punishment for messing up?” The mage asked, voice squeaking awkwardly and sweat visible on his ashen dough.
Dark Enchantress waved her hand, as if dispelling his fears like a cloud of gnats.
“Ohoho, don’t worry.” She dismissed. “I understand your confusion. I imagine you were under the impression that we weren’t going to be seeing our dear Dark Choco anymore.” She said, gesturing offhandedly towards the candy-coated body.
The other eyes fell back onto him in turn, gazes stroking over his form with discomfort and curiosity all at once, as if he were a disturbing piece of art or an unappetizing dish. His chest continued to rise and fall, small berries slipping from his belly to rest at his sides.
Dark Enchantress’ smile fell entirely, wrinkled cheeks contorting into a glower.
“Don’t be mistaken.” She said tersely. “You three are here to be punished for your blunder in that frozen wasteland of a kingdom….but I am willing to spare you the worst of it. You fought as well as you could given the circumstances; it was not your fault the plan failed.”
Dark Choco could not swallow, even as his throat grew tight and his mouth produced excess saliva in nervousness.
Her crimson eyes glared. “No. The blame for your failure falls onto this one. The one with the audacity to openly betray my cause and think he could get away with it.” She said darkly, accusation meant for him and him alone.
The lump in his throat grew heavier, but the paralytic kept it in place. No swallowing. No comfort. Only punishment, and he would be getting the worst of it. Witches, Dark Choco wished he’d been wrong.
She sat back down into her chair, arms and legs both crossed in lamentation; solemn disappointment in her eyes as she ate up the sight of his humiliation like fresh bear jelly meat.
“It’s a shame.” She said. “That you would choose to do something so utterly foolish! To side with the ignorance of your wretched homeland, instead of welcoming the grand design I seek to put in place for them.”
Her nose wrinkled in contempt.
“I offered you mercy. They burdened you with shame. Yet you would still choose them over us?” Dark Enchantress accused, voice cold.
Dark Choco’s heart grew hard, as if it were burdened with candy coating just like his body was.
She was out of her mind. Dark Choco had been kidding himself to think otherwise; to believe that the path she offered him could ever be the right one. She had brought him more shame through her wretched commands than any shame father had wrought him.
Her ‘grand design’ was anything but…and he was a fool to have only realized that yesterday. The darkness wasn’t welcoming. There wasn’t anything welcoming about it, or anyone who resided in it. This was just more proof of that.
Gods, and now she was going to kill him. Likely in front of the others in some horrifying manner, made an example of so that no one else would dare disobey. It would no doubt go beyond mere nakedness and adornment.
What was going to come next…?
Dark Enchantress sighed forbearingly, pauldrons sagging as she stared at and through him with cool resignment, and perhaps a small bit of anticipation.
“I made sure you knew what we were fighting for.” She said. “You know my great goal, our plan to liberate Cookiekind from their inherent doom. I’ve told you—all of you—the story of my birth, my inception.”
She leaned back in her chair, a hint of pride in her words.
“We will take whatever steps are necessary to prevent ourselves from the fickle fate of consumption. We will not be reduced to mere treats for a pantheon of foul gods. I taught you all that truth…and I thought I taught you that truth as well as any other, Dark Choco Cookie. It appears I was mistaken.” She ground out.
Dark Choco could not narrow his eye at her, but he would if he could. It had been nigh sacrilegious to even think about questioning that bizarre horror story she told them; to question was to be burned or lashed. He’d kept silent for the sake of preserving his dough, but from the moment she’d ‘enlightened him’, doubt at her ‘testimony’ mauled his heart.
There was no way her claims could be true. She was lying to instill obedience, certainly; he had never let himself believe her ridiculous tall tales.
The Witches—their creators whom so much of Cookiekind looked up to—Cookievorous creatures? Great devourers? It was obscene, outright blasphemous. She was insane, cruel enough to twist and mar the history of White Lily Cookie—one of Father’s best friends—into a tale of corruption and revenge. Cruel enough to use fear of a gruesome death as a way to make her piteous followers obey every equally gruesome order.
And yet…Dark Choco had been as piteous as any one of them.
‘Damn you…damn you all…and damn myself most of all.’
He should’ve never followed her. He should’ve said no when she offered him a place in her army. He should’ve fought against her back at the Blueberry Academy instead of joining her. He’d been so infuriatingly weak.
He should’ve never picked up that goddamn blade.
What good had it brought him? Every mistake he’d made had in his miserable excuse for a life had led to…this.
As if his absent thought had reminded her, Dark Enchantress stood from her chair once more, gaze flicking around the banquet hall, meeting the eyes of her remaining followers one by one. She nodded to Esterházy, who nodded back in return and stepped up to the table once more.
She looked down at him coldly from the head of the table.
“So. Since you have made your position on this matter clear, since you have gone out of your way to impede our mission to rescue Cookiekind from such cruel consumption, it is only right…”
She smiled wickedly, showing teeth.
“That you are eaten, in turn.”
Dark Choco’s eye widened.
‘W-What…?’
“And your punishment for failing your mission—” She said, as she addressed her other followers with her eyes. “—is to be the ones eating.”