Chapter Text
It was a day of celebration. Many years had passed since Dark Enchantress had fallen, returning peace and prosperity to the land. Young cookies ran through the streets, vendors had their delectables out on full display, families smiling all around.
It was a day of celebration, and yet all Pure Vanilla could think of was the one he could not save from that fateful battle. It permeated his mind all throughout the day, and he could not focus on any of the joyful occasions the festival had brought to the kingdom. Reluctantly, and regrettably, he had chosen to leave early, his friends worried and concerned for the lost expression he wore throughout the day with them.
White Lily had only looked at him with eyes knowingly, of what he was feeling. After all, she was the only one who he confided in after the final confrontation with Dark Enchantress.
And now, here he was, moping around his room while everyone down below continued to carry on without a shred of fear of what the future holds for them. Here he was, constantly looking backwards and replaying sour memories over and over again, while everyone else moved forward without him. He carried no resentment or anger towards how others were able to move on so quickly, after all, he was the only one who had connected with their other half.
The evening breeze drifted past his curtains, blowing softly on his face as his hair flowed freely. It was almost night and he nearly spent half the day locked in his thoughts. Pure Vanilla sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to pull himself away from such things, if only for a little bit.
It truly was a day of glory, of celebration to be held. Maybe next year…he could…no…he didn’t feel ready. He could never feel ready to let go.
Scanning his room briefly, Pure Vanilla paused, his eyes stopping upon the only thing he salvaged from the day the two parted. Walking over to his desk, he reached over to the small blue plush that resembled Shadow Milk closely. How many times has he had to repair this already now? A frown lightly tugged at the corner of his lips, as he slowly picked up the plush and brought it towards his chest.
Looking down at the small plush he held delicately in his hands, Pure Vanilla let his thoughts roam. What if he had done more to befriend Shadow Milk. What if he had never deceived in the first place, betraying the momentary glee Shadow Milk had felt as he finally had someone who understood him by his side at last.
What if he had been quicker to reach out his hand before the spire collapsed and Shadow Milk disappeared from everyone’s lives until that final confrontation.
Pure Vanilla closes his eyes, tired from straining them throughout the day.
White Lily had approached him earlier before he had left the group while he was alone, staring at the festivities before him. She knew what he struggled with the most, after all these decades had passed, despite the grief he caused to her.
“We cannot save those who do not want to be helped.”
He mulls over all that had happened, from meeting Shadow Milk, to deceiving him back at the spire, to his death at the hands of Dark Enchantress. He replayed it over in his memory, again and again. Repeating in his head, the what ifs, the could haves, the what should have been; it was like watching the bad ending of a movie, leaving the audience devastated.
You never really remembered the ones with happy endings, it’s the ones that leave you feeling empty deep within that you end up remembering the most. Leaves you thinking of all the possibilities that could have happened, only to end up with the way things turned out.
Thinking…thinking of all that once was. What had been.
He laughs softly to himself, remembering a harmless prank Shadow Milk had played on him in the spire back then involving blue sheeps he had conjured up. When Pure Vanilla was feeling conflicted with himself, Shadow Milk out of the blue had decided to show up with five blue sheeps, demanding to pick the real one. Faced with indecisiveness, he had asked Shadow Milk if he could keep them all– and surprisingly, Shadow Milk had let him (albeit grudgingly).
Moments like those sprinkled in had confused Pure Vanilla for what Shadow Milk truly wanted of him. He could no longer figure the true facet the jester donned, as every mask he wore around Pure Vanilla had been a disguise. Yet each one would be unraveled by him with time, revealing the hidden truths and kindness Shadow Milk sought to erase.
It wasn’t until he had pulled the greatest lie of all on the master of deceit himself that he understood Shadow Milk for who he was.
He traces the frayed stitching holding the seams together, gently, tenderly, as if… he would fall apart in his arms all over again. Crumbling apart through his hands, returning to the earthbread once more.
Crumbling…is his arms…the final look of desperation, a spoken plea for help, an unsaid apology hanging between them as he desperately tried to grasp at the cookie falling apart before him. He was so close, in his arms at last, but he was fading, crumbling, leaving him alone. Desperation, resentment, regret. Shadow Milk was wounded and it wasn’t healing. Shaking, tugging, anger, broken, he could save him, he could still save him…! He could-!
Pure Vanilla exhales, breath stuttering.
He slowly opens his eyes, wavering, and looks down at the worn plush, looking worse for wear as time had passed by. It had seen better days, days long past, lost to the memories only few carried. His eyes blurred, as he blinked away the tears that had gathered.
His was a burning heart, that flared so brightly in the darkness, yet by its own will, would extinguish itself for the moths it attracted.
“Can you really call one whole when the other half remains missing forever…,” he mumbles bitterly. Outside of his room, the kingdom’s festivities continued under the moonlight, its warmth permeating even the coldness of Pure Vanilla’s room.
Sighing once more, Pure Vanilla walks to his desk in the corner of his room, placing the plush down lightly. He needed to get ready for the new day, as diplomats would be arriving soon to discuss trade routes that would further the development of the kingdom. As he undid his robes and exchanged them for the frills of a nightgown, his gaze continued to linger on the beaten down plush.
Of course all that’s left of him would be the one thing he abandoned in the ruins of the spire that day, the only thing Pure Vanilla could salvage. He would never return to the spire after the day Pure Vanilla had tricked Shadow Milk, despite the longing he felt, as all the missed talks with Shadow Milk became absent and stale.
His mind oft wandered most days, but so close to the anniversary of Dark Enchantress’s defeat was when it was heightened. He couldn’t control it, and he refused to do so– in a way, to him, this was his punishment. For failing to save the one that held the other half of his soul gem for so long and only sought companionship in the only way it knew how.
Pure Vanilla loosely tied his into a fishtail ponytail, careful to not tug too tightly, walking over to his bed. Climbing into it, he settled in as he pulled the covers up to keep him snug. Below his window, music and laughter could be still heard as the night carried on.
Pure Vanilla turns one last time towards the plush, a palpable sense of grief pushing up from his chest. He forces himself to turn away, as another day would greet him in the end, just like the rest, and buried his feelings deep down once more.
Anything to keep going, to keep pushing through. There were still others who needed him, he couldn’t falter. He can’t show weakness, can’t show how his shoulders sag faced with so many responsibilities. He had to remain a strong, diligent, wise leader, like everyone believed.
He had to lie to himself to get through the day.
Pure Vanilla’s face scrunches up, then shakes his head, trying to drive away all that felt awful deep within. He inhales, then exhales, and lets another restless night take over him.
Do you desire to change your past….
“More than ever…”
He’s not sure if he’s saying this to himself or to the ghosts of his past.