Chapter Text
It’d been midnight for hours. Or maybe minutes, what’d time matter to someone like him? Shadow Milk couldn’t believe it. You’d think it’d be easy to shut your own head up, but nooo—he still couldn’t. At least he wasn’t thinking about him. That was a plus. Well—he was always thinking of him, but not like that! Either way it didn’t matter. He was still crying, still overwhelmed, still trying to figure out what the FUCK went wrong!—
He was sitting on the bed now, that perfectly made, baby blue bed with its wooden frame and plush duvet—the one he couldn’t rip apart no matter how much he tried—and ohh he really, really tried. When pacing around the room didn’t help his…desires fade back into the recesses of his ever expansive mind, he went to tearing everything he could grab into shreds. The curtains, the small bedside table, the chandelier, and of course that damn blanket!—But it all just fixed itself back together like nothing happened! Really, it just gave him more material to work with! He wasn’t upset in the slightest that he couldn’t admire his immaculate chaos that he worked so HARD on. So here he sat—perfectly fine on that fucking duvet, absolutely not crying his eyes out, absolutely not ripping strands of his hair out, and certainly NOT thinking of him.
Mmnope, absolutely not.
He wondered how he was doing…NOT—wow okay, he needed to tear some more things up—maybe go send some faeries into a spiral of nightmare fueled hell just to crack a laugh. How entertaining that sounds! Almost enough to slow his tears—but alas not that much. And he was still thinking of him which was less than ideal—if only he could just grab the little pest and—
…
His thoughts were cut off as something tugged at his sleeve.
Confusion took over the absolutely-not-mental-breakdown going on in his mind, leaving in its wake a moment of clarity. There had been a slight tug at his sleeve. A tug. As he looked down, there was nothing in the immediate area that might’ve caused such a thing to happen. Did he maybe imagine it? As a side effect of his positively horrible state? Or as an effect of his deteriorating sanity? Hah. HAH!—A possibility, perhaps. The other realm responded to his emotions, sure, but not in such a form. Maybe he did just truly imagine it.
Was he losing it that much? No, no! He couldn’t have been. He was in control, the other realm answered to him and HIM alone. It wasn’t about to conjure something so insignificant! And HE does not simply imagine things—absolutely ridiculous! It wasn’t even a significant tug! It was gentle! If it was a product of his imagination—the absolute GENIUS that his mind was!—it would’ve something much more grander. Not some tiny, itty bitty TUG! Not such a WEAK and PATHETIC—
Oh. Oh right. That doll he made for his—for Truthless Recluse. His perfect little spy—He’d completely forgotten about it during this whole miserable debacle. It was buried underneath the rumble of his beloved tower—Some brute probably grabbed ahold of its sleeve and that’s what caused that tug. Well—it was a gentle brute, but some animal nonetheless. Curiosity poked at him as he wondered what animal was brave enough to try and eat him, even in plushie form—Or perhaps there was no animal, and it was just shifting rubble that caused the tug.
Well now he had to know! Seeing the ruins of his spire would certainly not do him any good, but perhaps it would spark some motivation to do something productive—or spur him into another rage—he really didn’t mind either! He wanted to feel anything besides this worthlessness that clogged his head. He beckoned the other realm and watched as the starry darkness swirled around him in response. It never failed to bring him an ounce of joy knowing how completely he was in control of it. It swept a tear off his cheek, and he let a small smirk cross his face before he fell backwards into the glittering abyss.
⋆˙⟡
The Spire of All Knowledge was completely collapsed when they emerged from the forest. A small pang of despair rang in Pure Vanilla’s heart as he looked upon the ruins. There was likely to be no survivors, maybe even no one left at all. The Spire was real, yes, but its interior was anything but, and without its master…who knows. He faintly heard his companions talking amongst themselves behind him, but he didn’t turn away from the rubble until he felt a light hand on his shoulder.
“Are you alright?” Strawberry looked at him with worry clear in her expression and he made sure to smile as convincingly as he could. He took her hand from his shoulder and held it gently, sending a hint of warmth through to try and convince her that nothing was amiss.
“I’m alright. I just spaced out for a moment, no worries.” She smiled softly, but the worry still shone in her eyes. They drifted from his face to the ruins in front of them and for a moment, he could see a flash of relief cross her face, yet also a bit of fear.
The others’ reactions were similar, but more vocal. “Even if anyone were to survive the collapse, it is doubtful they’d survive without Shadow Milk’s influence,” Wizard stated, the apprehension clear in his voice. He came to stand at the front near him as he continued, “If the residents were real, we’d most certainly would be seeing a lot more bodies.”
The others cringed at that, Strawberry looking upset just at the thought and Gingerbrave’s expression was uncharacteristically hesitant. “But everything felt so real in the Spire..” Gingerbrave trailed off as he looked towards where the Spire stood, clearly uncomfortable with accepting everything they’d endured was a trick of the mind—That they’d been nothing if but puppets on a string to Shadow Milk. “Surely, we should at least look right? Maybe someone was real there! Even if we find nothing, I rather that then leave someone behind!”
He couldn’t resist the temptation of hope that flared within him at Gingerbraves’ words. The three most important beings of the Spire had fled through the other realm, but that did not mean it was left empty when it crumbled. “I agree with Gingerbrave,” He turned to the young ones and hoped they did not hear the quiver in his voice. “The least we can do is to look for survivors—even if they weren’t real…” His words fell off as that familiar darkness began to creep into his thoughts, making him pause before his distress was evident in his voice.
“Where do we begin?” Wizard’s voice cut through his thoughts briefly as he turned and looked at him. He looked around as the shadows grew a little darker in his mind. They all looked at him, awaiting an answer for what to do next, where to look for life—he rarely ever had answers, and yet he had to provide them. They need him more than ever right now, especially after what just happened to them all.
“Start where the west wing would be. That is where you said the rooms you entered were on, yes?” He put as much hopefulness into his voice as he could, and it paid off as their eyes lit up slightly and they collectively nodded in agreement.
Gingerbrave took the lead, with Wizard close behind occasionally chiding the other for a careless step and leading the bickering between them. Strawberry followed further behind, cautiously examining everything as if it might spring to life and attack her, but stayed close enough to the boys in case they needed her. He willed himself so strongly to follow after them, shake the shadows off, to take just a single step forward. Willed himself to not fall back into his doubt once more.
He was used to it—used to his…lacking self worth consuming his thoughts occasionally. But after everything that occurred within the Spire, he didn’t trust himself to just snap back out of it like he used to. He spoke the truth when he told the little ones that he and Truthless Recluse were the same person, yet Truthless Recluses’ very existence showed him that he couldn’t just ignore that doubt that plagued him constantly. Truthless Recluse had come so naturally to him, so easily, like welcoming an old friend—it terrified him. It shouldn’t have been comfortable to give up on everything and yet it was.
That oh-so-familiar chasm seemed to grow within his chest as his thoughts whirled around uncontrollably. No. Now was not the time to dwell on such notions. His legs felt full of sand and heartache as he willed himself forward, hoping, praying for just one step. It felt like hours, but in just a handful of seconds, he managed one step forward, causing wisps of shadows that had come to rest on the ends of his cloak to swirl around him. Their presence was not surprising, but the feel of them clinging to him, scouring for his light—it made his stomach sink. Another step forward dissipated more of them, spurring him forward on just enough for another step, then another.
The children were still further ahead of him, but he managed to follow their trail, albeit slowly. They peeked under rubble and shouted to one another when they found a scrap of fabric, or a book that survived untattered, gathering together frequently and disbanding to continue their independent searches. He even joined in some of their discussions on some objects, mostly just nodding along with Gingerbraves’ assessments and commending Wizards’ knowledge, giving a comforting presence for them to hold onto in the ruins around them.
He was trailing behind them once more when he spotted a bit of light blue sticking out from under some smashed tiles. Before he could call out for them to come take a look, he stopped as he looked a little closer. It actually looked pretty intact for a piece of fabric—dirty, yes, but not horribly so. Kneeling down, he lifted the piece of rubble pining it and gently tugged until it came loose. For a moment, he almost couldn’t believe what it was.
Gently wiping dirt off, he looked down at the doll. He opened his eyes to gaze at the little miniature Shadow Milk in his hands, seeing only the blurred shapes, but seeing it nonetheless. He was used to having his eyes closed, using a form of passive magic to “perceive” what was happening around him when his eyes were closed. His vision had become clearer as Truthless Recluse, when he first laid eyes on the plushie. He’d gotten a good look at it and felt himself wanting to do so again—but the haze he had known for decades returned after he accepted the Compassionate, casting his gaze back into the poor vision he had grown accustomed to. His Vanilla Orchid had helped so much over the decades, allowing him to see without his eyes or magic blurring together any important details. Yet in accepting the Compassionate, the staff was blinded just like him, no longer giving him that clearer view of the world.
And, while yes, his vision had returned a bit worse than before—much worse than it previously was. Before, blobs of colors formed half recognizable shapes, but now, it appeared as if he was gazing through a frosted window pane. He was glad the children were far away at this moment, because the frosted pane of glass became slightly blurry as he felt small tears pooling on his lower eyelid. Blinking rapidly, he took deep breaths to calm himself before returning his focus to the doll.
He didn’t remember it with any particular fondness, but his feelings weren’t quite negative either. Closing his eyes, he found himself able to picture the doll more clearly—as clear as he could get for now—and looked upwards towards where the others should be. They were still there where they last were, attentions’ away from him and looking down one final time, he gently slid the small Shadow Milk in his inner cloak and into a hidden pocket where the others wouldn’t notice.
Standing up, disrupting more of the wisps of shadows that he hadn’t noticed that’d clug to his cloak's hems—he continued on the path he previously was walking to join with the others once more. As he got closer, he noticed Strawberry lingering on the forest everytime she glanced back at it, tense and on edge. When she saw him, she visibly relaxed and got Gingerbrave and Wizards’ attention that he’d caught back up. They exchanged friendly greetings and he attempted to stay receptive to their conversation as he walked alongside them to the end of the path in front of them.
They’d emerged at the north side of the ruins, and he recounted to the children that, from what he recalled, the east and south wings were more detached from reality—life would be unlikely at best. After a moment of silence, Wizard broke the silence, “We examined the ruins and found nothing, but a couple of pieces of fabrics and the occasional book,” Gingerbrave and Strawberry looked expectantly at him for further explanation and he gave a small stutter before continuing, “W-Well. I do not believe there is anything left for us here, correct Pure Vanilla?”
He wasn’t too surprised the young mage shifted the conversation to him, but just gave a rehearsed sad smile and nodded to him. “I believe so, my friend. For now, it would be best for us to return to the Silver Kingdom,” He turned towards the forest pathway to the Faeries’ kingdom and continued, “We are in need of much deserved rest.”
Together, the group walked to the forest and started their journey back. It was slow, but he was thankful for the return of Gingerbrave’s energetic enthusiasm and the lofty sassiness of Wizard filled the silence as they playfully bickered back and forth. Strawberry would occasionally piped up during their recounting of tales from happier moments in the Spire, before she went back to happily watching her friends engaging in conversation. Once again, he did attempt his best to be engaged in their conversation, but exhaustion led him to simply nodding and smiling along whenever seemed correct.
It was noon when they’d set out, but by dusk they could see the Silver Kingdom’s barrier. Shortly after, they had a brief tense encounter with a faerie border patrol, which was resolved quickly, and they were led safely back through the barrier. Some of the patrol had gone ahead to let White Lily know they were back, so when they arrived at the kingdom’s gates, Sire Silverbell was there to greet them.
The sun had all but set completely, bathing the group in the streetlamps soft white light as they walked the main ground pathway to the castle. Silverbell had said something to the group to which Gingerbrave and Wizard excitedly responded to at the same time, but he didn’t seem to register the words as Silverbell responded happily. They took a pathway he’d walked before, so he allowed himself to slip further inward. His exhaustion was much more apparent now, and yet he knew he wasn’t imagining the small wisps of shadows that occasionally swirled away from his cloak’s edge.
Faeries that were out late in the evening looked on in awe at them—him. He didn’t hear the whispers of their wings and words as some of them tried to follow, but they were shooed off by one of the two Silver guards that followed behind them. Even if he heard, he wouldn’t deny the soft glow that radiated from him now. It rivaled the light of the fireflies fluttering around the pale, knee length grass at the edges of the path. The light was there before, but was much stronger now—a result from accepting the Compassionate. It didn’t bother him, as he was used to the light—used to feeling the warmth of it, the hopefulness and joy it brought. Even if it often seemed insignificant to the abyssal, all-consuming chasm in his chest that he could never rid himself of.
The world had fallen quiet to him, like he was listening from inside a bubble—he knew what it meant, the impending crisis his mind was heading to, but he couldn’t snap himself out of it. Everything felt just muted and far off. Even their footsteps on the tile felt muffled—the feel of his staff hitting the pebbled pathways lacking its usual echo. All he could feel clearly was the weight of the doll stashed in his cloak. His thoughts should be focused on what was around him, yet it was the doll that occupied them the most. At the very least, it seemed to ground him—keep him out of the chasm for just a while longer.
The group's conversation carried on, rejuvenated by the faerie knight who cheerfully joined in. They talked of their journey to the Spire mostly, how they’d been led to the Spire by a cookie who introduced herself as Apple Faerie, only to be tricked by her when she revealed herself as a disciple of Shadow Milk called Candy Apple. They went on about those they met in the Spire with Silverbell listening in rapt attention. If he’d been more engaged in the conversation, he might’ve seen the way Silverbell seemed to stutter mid-flight when Wizard spoke up about Black Sapphire. The knight’s expression fell into a soft anguish, emotion shimmering in his eyes before he blinked rapidly and snapped back into a mimicry of his lighthearted facade, pairing it with an easy smile.
They walked the path to where the castle stood, intertwined with the silvery trees around it. At the front entrance, Mercurial Knight hovered, keeping his statuesque guard posture as the group approached. He bowed to them, and the children bubbled their hellos as he gave a small bow back in respect, and Silverbell bowed deeply. Mercurial Knight looked over them—dirty from the clouds of dust the Spires’ collapse caused, torn bits of clothing where flying cards or paper snagged, small scrapes, cuts, and bruises from Witches knows where, and their generally quite fatigued states. He made no sign of perceived judgement as he turned his head towards Silverbell.
“Sir Silverbell,” The other knight straightened his posture and folded his hands behind his back in proper faerie knight edicate. “Please go get a medic to attend to them.” Silverbell dipped his head in acknowledgment before flying off towards the royal infirmary nearby.
Mercurial Knight turned toward them to address them in the same monotone voice as always. “I shall take you to the main residential wing where you previously stayed,” Mercurial Knight turned gracefully to face the entrance before speaking once more. “Her Majesty is waiting patiently there for your arrival.”
The children followed Mercurial Knight eagerly, and started telling him all about their adventures within the Spire—he trailed slowly behind, lost in his own mind as they walked through the pristine halls. His slowness wasn’t noticeable to the children, but Mercurial Knight paused to let the little ones pass, before hovering beside him at the same pace. He didn’t say anything. but he could tell he wanted to.
As the children chatted among themselves, he could feel Mercurial Knight purposely slowing down, indicating he wished to talk. He felt a slight twinge of annoyance, but came to a stop nonetheless to hear what the knight had to say. “Pure Vanilla, pardon my interruption,” He gave a slight bow to him, softly landing beside him before continuing. “But you have been quiet, distant. Is there an issue bothering you?”
An issue bothering him? His head that’d been full of swirling emotions blanked for a moment. As it did, he felt the shadows in the corner of the room grow stronger and found himself unable to process anything. It was only the slight movement of his cloak that shifted the doll’s weight, the familiarity of the feeling thankfully bringing him back to the moment at hand.
“Our time at the tower was…difficult, to put it mildly. I am…” He trailed off before taking a deep breath. “…I am still processing much of what occurred.” He gave Mercurial Knight that same practiced smile, small yet soft—it was the healer’s best weapon socially—and it seemingly worked perfectly as Mercurial Knight simply nodded.
“I see. I can only imagine the tribulations you have endured against that Beast.” He flapped his wings softly to resume his hovering position a foot or so off the ground. “The medics will evacuate your mental condition and prescribe medication that will help ease the turmoil if they see fit.” Bowing once more, he turned to follow the children who’d disappeared around the corner at the end of the corridor.
He stood there for a moment—or perhaps minutes, just trying to pull himself somewhat together. That simple conversation dragged him further into his mind than he’d liked. White Lily—the Silver Queen, as they now called her—would be much harder to talk to than Mercurial Knight. She was…much more perceptive to him than others, sometimes himself included. It would be difficult hiding from her the afflictions that poisoned his mind, making his mind race, swirling uncontrollably, and his heart beat noticeably faster than before. Sound was slowly becoming more muted, what sound there was, until he heard nothing but a slight hum that he knew came from within his very being. Opening his eyes gave little relief from the sensory fuzz that was settling over him. He hadn’t moved, he couldn’t. The chasm in his chest opened wider and wider, trying to swallow him whole. All he could do was stare at one spot—he was going to burn a hole in the specific tile his eyes found with how hard he was fixated on it—his mind in an uproar of trepidation that he couldn’t get a handle on.
In a haze, his hand moved on its own into his cloak, an unconscious habit—or perhaps…instinct? His fingers brushed against something soft and he froze, before remembering what he had within his pocket. He gently took hold of the doll and brought it out—with no witnessing faeries to see. When his eyes landed on the doll, despite the blurriness, everything in him, the hum, the haze, his gaze, snapped to attention in an instant.
He let out a small, involuntary gasp as his senses returned to him in full force, and he slammed his eyes shut to get his vision in on the moment’s unexpected clarity. Seeing now with his magic, he gazed down at the doll and rubbed a smudge of dirt off its cheek. Meeting its button stare with his own, he felt…better. He felt more grounded. He instantly hated himself for feeling that—Shadow Milk was his enemy, he’d manipulated not just him, but those around him. Yet he couldn’t deny the peace he felt when he became one with him for that distressingly short period of time, or when he faced Shadow Milk for the last time at the Spire’s top terrace.
No matter what he tried—using every bit of logic he could muster, every solution or strategy he knew—he never could find himself to hate Shadow Milk. Just holding the doll, he couldn’t even find himself to dislike the jester.
…He didn’t know how he felt.
Hearing wingbeats approaching from behind, he quickly stashed the plush back into his cloak and turned towards them. Leading was Silverbell, with two medic faeries trailing behind with cases of supplies within their hands. Silverbell halted at him and tilted his head, “Pure Vanilla sir? Where are the others? Are you alright?”
The worry in his voice made him feel guilty as he quickly shook his head and lifted his hands slightly. “I’m alright, Silverbell, no need to worry!” The faerie’s face brightened a little in relief as he continued, “The others are just ahead; I needed a small break to catch my bearings, that is all.” Silverbell nodded eagerly in response and asked him to follow along with them to the residential hall.
He nodded—sincerely this time at least. Following in their wake, noticing how the purposefully slowed for him, he realized the children would tell their version of events first. His wish for an easy and nonchalant conversation filled with as little questions as possible with White Lily dissipated wholly. It was an impossible wish to begin with, but he couldn’t help but hope.
…Sometimes it was all he could do.