Chapter Text
Pure Vanilla had expected something to go wrong.
Really, it’s his fault for using forbidden magic to seal Dark Enchantress away. And truth be told, it was the only spell he believed could work. But as he looks upon her one last time, that wicked grin on her face, he wonders if it’s all worth it.
He hopes his friends will be safe. He hopes that cookiekind will flourish. He isn’t sure what will happen now that he’s gone. Perhaps everything will go wrong and this will all be for nothing. Perhaps the spell isn’t strong enough and Dark Enchantress will break free.
At this moment though, it doesn’t seem to matter. Pure Vanilla drifts through the emptiness, hoping that this spell will inevitably keep his friends safe. Hopefully time will treat them well. Hopefully they can learn to forgive him. Hopefully everyone can learn to forgive him.
The brightness all around him seems to fade, wrapping him in a mocking embrace. Ah. Is this how he’ll spend his remaining days? Trapped in a void with nothing but the emptiness of sound and lack of perception? Is this his punishment for using such magic? How fitting–he thinks. Forced to sit and stew in his own thoughts for centuries.
The realization makes him let out a choked out laugh. If this is how he’ll spend his days, so be it. He’ll relieve this cursed day over and over again if it means the world will live on. The question being will it be for better or for worse.
He can’t tell from here. A part of him wants to remain ignorant for his own sanity. Still, he floats in the darkness, feeling its presence become more and more aware. He shifts at the feeling, grimacing at the ick and discomfort that starts to surround him. It’s suffocating; it makes him sit up and grip his staff, preparing for any dangers the darkness might present him.
However, it presents nothing but the emptiness and the squeezing. He feels his heartbeat in his neck as he swallows down the watery sugar in his throat. Everything feels wrong. Everything feels off. His body feels like it isn’t his own. It feels like he’s moving but he doesn’t know where.
And then the pressure leaves. Pure Vanilla exhales, but quickly wishes that he could take it back. He feels lighter now. He feels floaty. Even more so than before. His head cocks to the side, staring off at the light off in the distance. Is this some kind of angel coming to take him away? Its presence makes his body relax. This can still be a danger, he thinks. Mainly because his limbs don’t feel like his own anymore.
His grip loosens on his staff until it slips out from his grasp. Pure Vanilla reaches out for it, attempting to grab it, only to pause to himself and think. Why does he need the staff? Why is he reaching for it? Whose staff is it? Such thoughts cause him to hum. Such a peculiar spell–
…
What spell?
Why was he thinking of a spell just then?
Where is he for that matter?
Everything is dark.
Why is that light getting closer?
Why do his clothes feel so heavy?
As a matter of fact…
Who is he?
The last question leaves his thoughts as his body hits solid ground. He gasps, feeling the cluttering of him and everything around him collapse. His hands scramble for the floor beneath him. Grass–it’s just grass.
He sits up, opening his eyes only to not see much of anything. Right. Of course. Why did that slip his mind? He pushes the thought away and he reaches out, touching around for anything that could have fallen with him. His hands grasp a staff, a sigh escaping his throat.
He squeezes the staff tightly and angles it upward, using it to push himself onto his feet. As soon as he’s up, the staff opens its eye, causing him to gasp at the clear world around him. Of course. Of course!
He waves it around, grinning ear to ear at the calm spring all around him. The sky is clear and blue, with a few clouds off in the distance. The field he’s in is open and green with patches of flowers sprinkled throughout. It’s truly beautiful.
From his spinning, he spots a nearby road. Ah! Roads must lead to civilization. So he makes his way to the road, still loving the soft grass beneath his feet.
As he gets closer, he notices a cart with two cookies rolling down the road. They must have spotted him, as he notices them wave him closer. When he gets close enough to the cart, they pull to a stop.
The taller cookie of the two crosses their arms and huffs. “Well well, didn’t expect to see a cookie frolicking in the fields today. Did you not see the bright flash just now?”
He grips the staff tighter. Flash. There was a flash?
“Wait,” says the shorter cookie. “Are you the cause of the flash?”
He parts his lips to respond, but nothing comes out. He isn’t quite sure what to say.
“Wait, Penne Cookie, I think you’re right!” says their companion. “That makes so much more sense.” They pause and stare at him for a bit. “Come to think of it, doesn’t that thing he’s wearing remind you of the Fount’s Soul Jam?”
Penne leans in closer, squinting at his chest. “Yeah…you’re right. Oh! You must be one of his students. A little spell gone wrong, huh?”
He pauses at his words. That could be a possibility. He does feel very out of it. Plus, he doesn’t seem to be remembering things quite well. So he nods, watching as grins break out between the two cookies in front of him.
“Ah! Why didn’t you say so,” says the taller cookie. “Come on up here, we’ll give you a ride back to town.”
“...Thank you,” he says with a grin of his own. He climbs onto the cart, settling himself on the mystery grain it’s carrying. This is good, he thinks. Town–any town–can provide him with some answers. And even though he isn’t entirely sure of what’s going on right now, he’s sure that once the effects of whatever spell he used wears off, he’ll be just fine. He already knows it.
So as the chart starts its way down the bumpy road, Penne turns to him with a wide grin.
“Man, that was a crazy flash. What kind of spell were you doing?”
…
Ah.
Right.
How is he going to explain this?