Work Text:
She stopped naming them after the third loss.
The first one was – well, the first. The brightest spark of her hope was imbued in their very soul, her excitement as fresh and vulnerable as a newly hatched butterfly. She’d watched from the fields, lyre in hand, as the cookies in the village emerged from their huts with newborns swaddled in warm wafer cone. Only months ago – or perhaps years, or centuries; she could hardly be expected to keep track – there had been only a mere handful. Now there were thousands, layer upon crumbly layer of descendants, of families whose joy she’d felt from afar like the warm press of the sun to her dough.
At first she believed it would be enough to spectate. Come, the families beckoned, Bringer of Joy! They lowered their squalling babes into her arms for a blessing. A dozen, perhaps a hundred heads she had kissed, bestowing abundant passion in each child. Always her heart would sink when she eventually had to return them, and no amount of dance or song could lift her spirits afterwards, much to the dismay of her followers.
So she decided: she, too, would take part in this joy. She wrote giddy letters to all her friends and, caught up in her elation, began preparations. She busied herself with sewing blankets and drapery. She composed lullabies on her lyre. Unlike the Fount, who slept holed up in his study after a long evening of lectures, or Wheat Flour Cookie, who rarely left her pagoda – Eternal Sugar remained in her outdoor temple at all hours of the day. Her child would always be exposed to the elements, and surely that would be no good. She built an adjoining chamber, and painted it the colors of the sky.
When all this was finished, she considered a name. Some cookies she’d spoken to had told her that it would come to her eventually, a bee to pollen. Sometimes it would simply be obvious after the baby was baked. Names appeared in her mind and were just as quickly discarded, deemed unfit. A week of dedicated deliberation passed in this way; days sat at the rim of her garden’s fountain, aimlessly plucking at her lyre.
She consulted the closest of her companions, the Fount, for advice.
“Is it absolutely imperative that you decide now?” he inquired, a hesitant smile on his face as he regarded her boundless energy. She paced the room, pristine white feathers rustling with impatience.
“Of course!” she insisted, zipping to his side to clutch his hands in hers. “Oh, it’s so much pressure, you know. I want them to feel pride each time they’re called upon! Tell me it isn’t frivolous.”
“It is not,” he assured, “but there’s no need to be so panicked.”
Her lips pursed. “You aren’t the one having the baby.”
“True.” She gave an unimpressed huff at the tranquil smile upon his face. The Fount, dear as he was to her, could be rather irksome with his honesty. She almost wished he would reciprocate her anxiety, if only so she could feel less alone in this endeavor. “Sometimes an excess of focus is the problem.”
“Surely you aren’t suggesting I give up?”
“I’m suggesting you stop thinking so hard about it. The name will come to you when you least expect it.”
“My dear Fount, telling me to take a break?” She smiled. “How ironic.”
A light blush dusted his cheeks. “And on that note, you’ve just reminded me that I have a few papers to look over, so-”
“Ah, ah!” she cooed, planting her hands on his shoulders and lowering him into his seat. “There, there, darling. There’s no rush. I’m quite certain your papers will do fine without you for a few hours. Now, tell me all about that intrepid young scholar from last time.”
He’d been right, to no one’s shock. The name had come to her while the dough was baking. She’d cleared her temple of worshippers that night, kneeling in front of the oven’s hearth, flames illuminating the expanse of marble. A sack of life powder, the finest she could get her hands on, sat half-empty to her right. The firelight cast bronze shadows on her skin, where crumbs of sugar glittered like jewels.
Crystal Sugar Cookie. She whispered it out loud, to make it true. “Crystal Sugar Cookie.”
Only a little longer, she thought. Wait for me.
When the allotted time had passed, she doused the fire with water from a glass jug. The oven’s amber glow dimmed into grey. She inhaled deeply at the sweet, heady scent that filled the air, and tentatively brought her fingers to the oven door.
It whined on its hinges, and a wave of warm, sugary smoke escaped to embrace her. She had to be delicate here, as the baby’s dough was tender and not entirely crispy. Her hand dug into the buttered tray, slowly, carefully. She felt their small arms and her heart rattled like a beast in a cage. So tiny, so fragile. Her palm pressed against their neck, supporting them as she lifted their body out of the darkness and into the moonlight.
Her child carried the luster of silver in their veins, dough sparkling with sugar crystals. Their white eyelashes brushed long and low against their cheeks, which gleamed like an eggshell. A tiny, happy wail escaped her. Her knuckles flitted over their skin, feeling the fresh heat of their dough, the wisps of purplish hair at their scalp. Their mouth formed a gummy smile. She watched them with reverence, as though they were the goddess of this temple instead of her.
“Crystal Sugar Cookie,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to their scalp. She drew away, eyes glassy with unshed tears. The child did not stop smiling. It was very quiet, except for the sputtering of the subdued ashes and the barest whistle of wind. She frowned.
In that moment, she recalled a nugget of information. There should be crying. There was always crying, a piercing wailing sound when the baby emerged from the oven, trying to gulp in as much air as possible. Eternal Sugar would hear it from the village huts and know for certain what it meant; it was a marker of the process. But her child continue to smile blissfully, as though they were dreaming something wonderful in their sleep. She was almost afraid to disturb them.
Her knees bit the cold tile. She held them to her breast, neck lowered, ringlets of hair sprawled on the ground. Rest was important for children. They could sleep a little longer, she would not deprive them of this. Still, she yearned to see their eyes open, just once! Would theirs be like hers? Pink as rose quartz? She wanted so badly to know. She wanted to hear them yawn, feel the quake of their voice as they burbled.
Eternal Sugar lifted the child from her breast and, arms swaying gently, tried to gently rock them awake.
She was found in the morning by the Fount, who had come bearing a small gift for the young cookie – a little statuette carved from wood. She sat concealed in the shield of her snowy wings, not one part of her body visible. The materials from yesterday laid dormant on the floor, and devotees hung by the temple’s entrance, unsure of whether they could enter for worship. A few hadn’t even recognized that the feathery cocoon within the temple was their goddess at all.
The Fount parsed through the mumbling throng, his favorite student, Moon Drop Cookie, in tow. “My Lord,” the man whispered. “What has happened to her?”
“I...I am unsure.” A first.
He handed his scepter to Moon Drop Cookie for safekeeping and approached. With his fingers, he began to pry her wings apart. It took less effort than he’d thought, which surprised him. Bit by bit she was revealed to him – her dress, stained wet, her knees bitten raw and bleeding jam. With a surge of strength propelled by fear, he drew her largest wings aside and was at last able to see her in the full.
Eternal Sugar trembled as the sun fell upon her. When he peered down to look at the cone blanket, he saw that the baby’s body was in pieces. Brittle crumbs trailed on her dress and dusted the floor.
Her head rose slowly, shaking with effort. Her eyes resembled bleeding cherry pits, gouged into her dough.
A smile was plastered to her face – like mother, like daughter. “Would you like to hold them?” she croaked.
The second one she named Sterling Sugar Cookie, for her silver shine. The third, Quartz Sugar Cookie, for his glassy dough.
She hadn’t hoped to try again so soon after Crystal Sugar Cookie. For weeks she was dismal and distant, in a constant state of grief. Her temple closed and she wasted away in its halls, drifting between states of consciousness – awaking, frantically palming the space next to her for a warm, small body, then bursting into tears when she remembered she was alone. There was no word for her misery. Nothing like this had ever happened before, and when news of it spread throughout the villages, the cookies speculated. How was it that their goddess was incapable of something mortals could accomplish?
What had she done wrong? Was it the amount of life powder? Had she baked it too long? Day and night the questions ravaged her. She was now an example of the impossible – a mother whose child died before it could live. She wondered if they had been alive for a little bit, if she could have saved them had she only noticed they were dying.
Sterling Sugar Cookie was borne of desperation. Moon Drop Cookie frequently visited with Blueberry Milk, and from him, she heard the rumors that had passed as truth in the fields below. Some theorized that perhaps divine dough was unable to form a child through mortal methods. Others proposed that her great strength had accidentally crumbled the child. Many assumed it was a horrible bought of luck – but how odd, they mused, that the Bringer of Happiness could not partake in one of life’s greatest joys. It was her that they prayed to for fertility, her that breathed blessings into the dough of their newborns, and yet she would never know taste such euphoria for herself.
They began to doubt. So she hauled herself out of her temple and began anew. This time, it would work. There was no felicity that she could be barred from. And yet when she pulled Sterling Sugar Cookie from the oven, they had cracks in their smiling dough. They were broken before she could even hold them.
Quartz Sugar Cookie was the same. After him, her misery reached unheard depths. She kept the children wrapped in their cones, and laid them side by side in the cradle she had built for them, as if by setting them there she could imagine they were only sleeping. She kept her temple closed and refused visitors. She would startle awake, delighted to hear crying, only to realize it was her own.
With no other choice, she went to the witches.
An audience with them could only be granted upon the highest mountain, and only their five envoys were able to summon them, if they chose to respond at all. She had only spoken to them a handful of times beforehand, and her hope was depleted by the time she reached the snow-capped peak and lowered herself in prayer. Three days and three nights she prayed, until the glowing visage of her patron witch appeared.
“Speak,” she commanded. A harsh wind yanked through the trees’ boughs, searing Eternal Sugar’s skin – a meager exhale would be enough to blow her off the mountain. She kept her eyes closed: to look at the gleaming image of the witches was to go blind.
“Your Eminence,” Eternal Sugar greeted. “I come seeking answers.”
Silence, except for the wind’s tugging shrieks. “Ask, then.”
“I-” She tried, her voice cracking. The gale was loud and relentless, her tongue dry from the blistering cold. “I have attempted thrice to have children, and each time I’ve...” Failed laid like a paperweight in her mouth. “I’ve been unable to.”
“Yes,” said the witch.
“Yes?”
“You are unable to,” she said, “and you never will be able to.”
Eternal Sugar nearly opened her eyes. She had to fight to keep them squeezed shut, her shock curling up at the base of her skull, pounding away like an sculptor's persistent chisel. “Whatever do you mean?” she whispered.
The witch made a noise of annoyance. “Your dough. Too much sugar. Your children will go brittle and break before they’ve taken a single breath.”
“But, if that were the case, would my dough not be fragmented as well?” she tried.
“It is our magic that keeps you in one piece. Life powder will not suffice.”
Eternal Sugar’s chest fell and rose, panic filling her lungs. “No.”
The wind died down; the temperature dropped. The glow pressing into her eyelids intensified, burning her. “No?” came a chilling voice.
“Forgive me, your Eminence!” She prostrated herself onto the snow, the ice bitterly cold upon her torso. “Forgive me. I am only confused. Please, is there no way to fix this blight?”
She realized her error too late. “Blight?” The witch echoed. “You call my creation a blight?”
“No!” she cried, fear ripping into her. “I only meant-”
“Fool!” the witch hissed. “Insipid, ungrateful creature. You go too far. Your purpose is to fulfill the happiness of cookies, to bring peace to these lands. Remember that you are a vessel for my will. If my will is that you shall never have children, then it is so. I did not bake you to serve your own desires. Shall I remind you?”
Eternal Sugar couldn’t breath. She laid shivering in the snow, the heat scorching her back. “No. I understand, your Eminence.”
There was no response. The heat faded, signaling the witch’s disappearance. Yet she remained where she laid, bowing on her knees, as if this might inspire mercy from her makers. Future generations of cookies would tell legends about her – not about her temples or her music, but about her grief: her tears which formed the four rivers that protruded from that mountaintop, all clear and sweet, flowing out into the salt-ridden sea. And, of course, her rage.
The strum of the lyre kept Hollyberry Cookie awake, even as she began to feel drowsy.
“Sleepy?” came Eternal Sugar’s amused hum. She brushed a cold hand over her ruffled bangs. “Why don’t you close your eyes for a moment, then?”
The notion was tempting, and Hollyberry didn’t understand why her subconscious seemed to disagree. It clung to the notes Eternal Sugar coaxed from her instrument, using each crystalline plink to hang stubbornly alert. She sighed, her mind drifting. Her daughter-in-law wouldn’t have been able to stand sitting still for a moment. That was Jungleberry Cookie, always on her feet.
A thought occurred to Hollyberry. “Say,” she mumbled. Her booming voice had lost all its volume after Eternal Sugar had drawn her into her lap, and her words came out slightly muted. “Do you have any children?”
Plink. Plink. “Mmm...ever the curious one, aren’t you? Yes, I do.” Her eyes glittered. “Many, in fact.”
Hollyberry blinked. A single, bleary, “Where?” was all she could manage.
Eternal Sugar giggled. She clapped her hands, and from all corners of the garden, cherubim poured into the temple. She’d seen them everywhere in the garden, lounging in the clouds or among the flowers: circular beings in soft shades of pink, yellow, and blue, little wings sprouting from their backs like dollops of cream. Altogether, she counted fifteen.
“Why, hello, my darlings!” Eternal Sugar cooed. The cherubim flocked to her, affectionately nuzzling her face. “Hollyberry, say hello.”
“Hello,” she greeted, a hesitant smile on her face. They tittered in their language, a child-like giggle. “They’re lovely.”
“Aren’t they?” Eternal Sugar gushed. “If only you’d brought your own, they could have played together.”
“Oh, they couldn’t have...” Couldn’t have what? Why couldn’t she bring them, again? The answer slipped away, slippery as fish. Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember telling Eternal Sugar Cookie about having any children herself. “I’m sorry,” she confessed. “I’m just so tired. I don’t know what’s come over me. Your children...they seem very happy.”
“Of course they are. I provide for their every need. In my Garden of Delights, no one goes unhappy for a moment.” She smiled that slow, dazzling smile. “My children will live forever, by my will alone, because I will always watch over them.”
“They’re lucky to have such a caring mother.”
“Yes,” she said, eyes narrowing. Anger flashed briefly on her face, red-hot. “They are. Unlike you, I will never let them go.”
It took her several slow moments to realize what she’d said. “What?”
"Yes?” Her lidded eyes blinked once, twice. They shone like jewels, the prettiest that Hollyberry had ever seen. A wave of exhaustion washed over her.
“So stubborn,” Eternal Sugar chided. “Sleep, now.”
She felt herself slip into slumber, and without the lyre, there was nothing to focus on but the lilting murmur of Eternal Sugar’s velvety voice sliding over her head like a noose.