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Dark Cacao sits quietly at his desk in his chambers. Papers are piled high on the ink-stained wood, the thin surface slightly bowed from the constant weight. Long ago, when he was young and spry, he was eager to rest and relax with his paperwork. Taking a break from training and leading and being a father gave him so much release... but paperwork is still work. Now, it fills him with dread. always so much to do, so much to protect, and yet so little time for himself.
Reluctantly, he picks up his quill and dips it into the bitter ink. The nib presses down into the small ramekin, the metal coating itself in a rich, dark plum colour. The sound of the gentle scraping of parchment fills his quiet room, leaving space for him to think. Calloused fingers wrap around the slim wooden body of the fountain pen, gripping it like a vice. Although he was running on fumes, his body still found the energy to be infinitely tense.
As Dark Cacao continues writing thanks to some foreign merchant in the Hollyberry Kingdom, he feels his mind wander. The feeling isnt entirely unwelcome, but his thoughts quickly turn sour. He swears he can hear the giggles and quiet patterings of a younger Dark Choco cookie roaming the halls, and the whispers of distrusting subjects. The feelings of betrayal ease into his head once more. Foul, repressed memories resurface.
Dark Cacao visibly stiffens as the air grows eerily still around him. His royal purple irises become strikingly prominent as his pupils contract. Walls of sturdy wood and thick, viscous paint subtly squeeze in around him. He gags on words unspoken, the palm of his hand finding its way to his mouth.
Suddenly, the world around him shrinks down to the ice rushing through his blood. The frigid cut of metal against his neck is all too familliar, although it's just a memory. Dark Cacao's throat clenches around a restrained cry. During nights that he lay awake in bed, a reoccurring thought wedges its way between him and sleep.
What if his son's possesion fuelled bloodlust had taken full grasp? What if his kingdom lost its ruler that night? Would his kingdom go on carrying his legacy, or would it all come crumbling down? What if he had just accepted his fate right there? Embraced the light of apathy and bared his neck to his son's sword? How easy would it have been to simply let go of his resolution?
He snaps back from his haze to realise that his hands are covered in dark ink, staining his fingers completely black. Hot tears fill his eyes, and he lets himself fall to the wooden floor. His knees take the brunt of the impact, sending a jolt of searing pain up his legs and into his spine. A half-sob escapes him, much to his dismay. The castle he resides in was built to reflect noise, should intruders enter. Thin black and white hair splays beneath Dark Cacao like a pool of tar that he seems to always remain stuck in.
"Pathetic." he spits, aimed towards no one in particular. Bitterly, a chuckle rumbles in his chest. After all this time leading, protecting, and caring for his kingdom, he has never seen himself as a king. Of course his pride lingers and seeps its way into every far and wide crevice within his territory, but that pride stems from his people, not himself. Reflected in every mirror he looks in is a placeholder. An empty shell of himself. If Mystic Flour had stolen his subjects from him, his power, his sense of self, how much strength did he really have-?
Soft footsteps sound near his door.
Speak of the devil.
Dark Cacao musters up just enough courage to speak. "Enter." Comes out as more of a stammer than a full word. A pale hand slides the ornately carved door in front of him, revealing what seems to him, a heavenly presence sent by the witches themselves. The one presence that he would welcome in this moment, and the one cookie he knows would understand. Mystic Flour. Her eyes are wide and worried, chest heaving as if she ran through the castle to him. Ever since their battle, and his subsequent awakening in Beast-Yeast, the strangling grip of apathy within her has dimmed significantly.
Only on bad days does her indifference truly return. But most mornings he finds her on the balcony, overlooking his bountiful kingdom. Mystic Flour's presence has become something Dark Cacao looks forward to each time he wakes up. The way she silently sneaks up on him, hot oolong tea in hand, or the way he watches her tie up her immaculate buns in the bathroom mirror, or just the way her lips curl up into a smile catches him off guard. They have softened eachother with time, and he wouldn't trade the world for it.
Returning to the unpleasant situation at hand, he came to a sobering realisation. Although Mystic Flour's powers had waned since her departure from the Ivory Pagoda, their soul jams were still very much attached. She must have woken up because of his distress, leading her to his chambers.
Dark Cacao forces himself up, spluttering out a tearful apology. "I-... oh, witches, I must have woken you up. I'm so sorry." Without a heartbeat passing between them, he brings himself to his feet. Both of his battle-worn hands find one of hers, pressing his lips to the supple skin of her palm as a silent show of gratitude. Purple smudges leave marks on her ashen skin, the stong cacaoan ink still wet on his.
Mystic Flour pays no mind, grey eyes travelling over the state of dissaray his room is in. "Cacao, what has you so... distraught?" Her tone betrays her worry, as it often does in recent days. Dark Cacao's chest heaves with each intake of air, and his silhouetted frame trembles in the dim purple light. He struggles to find his voice for a moment, opting to lie through his teeth. "Just... just a nightmare, love.Kit's nothing for you to worry over."
"What kind of nightmare leaves ink stains?" Mystic raises an unamused brow. In the heat of the moment, Dark Cacao forgot about the utter mess he had made in his panic. Unintentionally, he takes a quivering step back. He had never meant to be so weak, let alone let the one person he was hiding from see him this disheveled. Everything goes hazy once more, and he's brought back to reality by her terrified shouts.
"Dark Cacao! DARK CACAO!!"
Dark Cacao's hands release their bruising grip on himself, eyes simultaneously regaining their clarity. "Ehat has gotten into you...?" Her voice his hoarse with terror. In return, he bursts into sobs. Truth is, he doesn't know. The only thing that lingers is the choking hands of weakness.
"Oh, dear..." Both pairs of eyes sting with tears. Mystic Flour crawls on her hands and knees towards him, eventually making her way over to his subtly illuminated form. Thin, robed arms wrap around Dark Cacao, much to his relief. "Don't-... don't leave me." His gravelly voice buckles under the weight of guilt. Uncomfortable silence stretches between the two. Of course he knows that she can never part form him due to their soul jams, but he can see how scared she is.
Hesitantly, Dark Cacao reciprocates the hug, making sure not to squeeze her too hard. "I'm sorry. Truly, my dearest." He presses his lips to her forehead, lingering there for a moment too long. Her voice is soft in return. Too soft, seemingly lost in thought. "Why have you become so... unresponsive? Have I done something?" Awkward silence weaves its way between them both. "It's never been your fault, Mystic. I simply believe something is... incredibly flawed within me. All that consumes me most nights are thoughts of what my fate could have been. If... if my son's betrayal fully followed through."
Without another word, she offeres a single hand. An olive branch. "Nothing is wrong with you." She gently murmurs as if to a scared child. "You have survived countless battles, and you remain strong. The only thing you need to change is your awful sleep schedule." That comment draws a weak chuckle from Dark Cacao, his hand taking hers. Her ethereal presence leads him into the bathroom, where her deft hands turn the bath faucet. Scalding water pours from the thick, almost primitive metal spigot, fogging up the mirror.
Reluctantly, Dark Cacao undresses and steps into the bath, sighing as the water nearly boils his dough. Jasmine buds float in the suds, lazily swirling around eachother. Long, split hair cascades over his shoulders and down his back. It runs over scars, both from battle and self inflicted. Finally, he relaxes.
Once the water becomes tepid, his hands find the drain in the cloudy water and tugs on it, a whirlpool forming. One of the flower buds sticks to the tiling of the basin. Chocolate hands cup the small plant, Dark Cacao reminding himself to press it later. Awkwardly, he fastens his night robe around himself, stepping out of the humid bathroom.
Mystic Flour waits for him on his bed, the hardened mattress doing wonders for her back. Sometimes he forgets they're both thousands of years old. Shuffling quietly, he makes his way to lay next her. Placid, calm hands reach his hair, massaging his scalp. "I love you so much, my dearest. Please, never change." Dark Cacao mutters sleepily. She chuckles softly in return, leaning down to kiss him goodnight. Their lips slot together for just a moment, but it's enough to remind him why he didn't let go that fateful night. Softly, mystic hums to both herself and her husband. Sleep overtakes the king just as dawn rises over the kingdom.