Chapter Text
Night has fallen over the Dark Cacao Kingdom, not a singular star twinkling in the sky.
The moon had gone dark too, leaving everything in complete darkness.
The Citadel halls were as quiet as can be for the first couple hours of the night. First, the cooks retired for the night, all the food they had prepared being served earlier. Next, it was the maids after tidying up all that was left out of place. Then, the shamans, finishing up their blessings and blowing out the candles. Lastly, The King had finally set down his pen and headed back to his quarters to restore his energy for the next day.
The watchers were doing their rounds out on the Chocolate Wall, nothing escaping their eyes as they gazed down at the snowy wilderness below. The thumping of their boots quiet as to not disturb those resting.
Only two lied awake by this hour; the cat and the mouse. Only one of them would be able to sleep tonight, while the other is to lie awake for the rest of eternity.
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Soft hiccups echo throughout the corridor.
Prince Dark Choco Cookie was still awake. It was far past his bedtime—Father will be angry—the sun was starting to peak out of its hiding place behind the mountains.
The Prince was clawing at his floors trying to get the dark color out of his stone floor.
Father will be angry.
He frantically wiped his tears away with the cuff of his sleeve and returned to scrubbing with his hands.
It would’ve been quicker with cleaning supplies, the ones that the maids use, but Dark Choco didn’t know where they were located; he wasn’t allowed near them, anyway. He’d just be breaking another rule—he didn’t have time to search for them, either. Father will never forgive him at this rate.
(Father. He hated that title. He preferred saying ‘appa’, but father said he was too old to call him that anymore. So father it was.)
Dark Choco Cookie could barely see with how hard he was crying now. How pathetic and unbecoming of a Prince. He was almost 7 years old, and he was crying over a broken rule? Father will be disappointed.
No matter how hard he tried, the puddle of color refused to leave. He tried using his sleeves, but that didn’t work. Now, he was just using his nails.
It hurt. It really really hurt—the feeling of polished stones bending his fingernails back—but he doesn’t want to make father more upset with him than he already has with his childish complaints.
He was scared. He wanted to run to his father and tell him what Affogato did to him (Would he even believe his story?) but he first had to fix the mess he had made.
Father said he needs to learn how to take responsibility, that fear will only drag you down and he had to put his resolution before all. Including petty emotions.
Once he cleans the puddle of jam, he can go and tell father what happened. He doesn’t know why he’s still here, he could still see his bleeding form a foot across from him (a fact he is desperately trying to avoid thinking about).
He knew what Affogato had done to him. He could still feel the blade against his throat as it cut through the soft dough like butter.
What had he done to deserve this? How did he get in Affogato’s way? He thought Affogato liked him, so why did he do this to him?
Dark Choco cookie would claw at his floor and carpet for another hour and a half. His fingers doing nothing to the now half-dry jam.
His body would get colder and colder as the seconds ticked by. His little eyes would sink into their sockets as his joints stiffened. His body stopped producing jam a while ago. The chocolatey smell of his dough was starting to heighten, as well. He didn’t want to know how long it’d take for his body to start smelling like mold.
The tears kept falling.
•———• •———• •———• •———• •———•
It was her turn to wake the Prince up this morning. She was well-aware of his Highness’s recent sleeping problems—she has been one of the sole witnesses of it for a while now—so she half-expected him to be up, already.
She felt bad for the boy. Her daughter had sleeping problems, too (Still does, on the occasion). She had plenty of experience with night terrors and monster-checking, but the Prince’s case seemed different.
It was understandable for a child to be scared at night, every child goes through a phase like that. But this one seemed different…
The Prince would cry throughout the day, jumping at any sound. That wasn’t normal to Caramel Truffle. A child should never be that scared in his own home.
And those eye bags… he looked half-dead. Did his Majesty not see those? Even if the Prince was doing it for attention (she doubted it), that was clearly a problem on its own.
At this rate, his Highness will be gray-headed by his 7th birthday.
Well, she can’t really do anything, can she? Just help his Highness when she can and do her job. She patted the pocket that held the pictures of her husband and daughter back at home and smiled fondly.
Now, time to get the Prince ready for breakfast.
•———• •———• •———• •———• •———•
Caramel Truffle’s shriek of terror echoes along the entire floor, sending staff running to her direction half-dressed and tripping over their own feet.
The maid almost falls as she stumbles away from the open-door of the Prince’s chambers. Her back hits the wall, allowing her to drag herself down to the floor.
She was covering her mouth with one hand, tears making her eyes bloodshot red as her other one fumbled for her pocket.
A few servants dropped next to her, asking what was wrong and trying to calm her down. She grips a locket in her hand now, the one with a heart carved into it. With that shaking hand, she points to the Prince’s room.
The door was still wide open. The smell of chocolate and something else wafting out.
•———• •———• •———• •———• •———•
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