Chapter Text
Pure Vanilla woke up and-
He couldn’t breathe-!
He clawed at his chest, the sudden and overwhelming weight settling itself onto his lungs and clogging his throat making his eyes water as he writhed, tumbling down from Shadow Milk’s lap- he hoped that he didn’t wake him-
He trembled as years of ingrained medical training kicked in and he hurriedly rolled onto his side, spatting and hacking up a foul tasting liquid that he hardly registered through the loud and painful beating of his heart- his hands spasmed as he righted himself up, the rough pebbles digging into his palms- he felt disoriented, and he hazily remembered that- yes, he was in fact blind. The uniform gray of the ground twisted and made his head spin unpleasantly so he squeezed his eye shut, praying in vain that he would stop feeling so miserable already.
Something squelched as he shifted his hands, his skin entering in contact with something slippery and wet- its texture was too viscous to be water, and too smooth to be bile or vomit. He mentally cataloged these facts as his fingers (his hand was stubbornly shaking) clinically felt the unknown liquid and- oh. It was blood. The realization made his heart ache and a throbbing pressure build behind his eyes and- and-
What were the plausible causes? Pure Vanilla tried to sit up, disappointed when his attempts were… less than successful. He filed away his symptoms in his mind. Headache… nausea… a fever? His cheeks felt uncomfortably hot, and he couldn’t blame the weather for that since… well. It was winter. Infections didn’t- well, they weren’t supposed to make you hack up blood, so it had to be something else. Not for the first time, Pure Vanilla wished that he still had his sight- no, he couldn’t start thinking like that. Wistful thinking wouldn’t get him anywhere. Focus.
He blindly reached out, his bloodied hand finding purpose over Shadow Milk’s knee (oh, he hoped that he wasn’t wearing white…). Had the other slept on the hard ground? Pure Vanilla should have went to fetch blankets. Huh, also, now that he was thinking about it- what time was it? He squinted his eye and looked up to the sky, as if that would help clear his vision. Was the sun high up…? He saw a vast expense of muddled gray and- a large… white blob? It made his eye water and he easily identified it as the sun. Had Shadow Milk forgotten to wake him up? The other must have been exhausted then. He did get stabbed in the thigh which- Pure Vanilla almost had a heart attack, because he had been so scared from not being able to know at first-
He gagged, turning his head away as he coughed once more, the sounds ugly and raspy. He panted, wiping his mouth and- oh! He perked up, shakily sitting up as he recovered from his abrupt coughing fit. The air! How did they even possibly forget about the toxic air? He should have thought about it earlier, before going to sleep. He mentally berated himself for his inattention as he crawled closer to Shadow Milk, resting his hands over the other’s shoulders. His lungs felt as if they were burning as he rested his ear over Shadow Milk’s chest, his eye wide and-
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Pure Vanilla let out a relieved exhale, one that immediately morphed into a cough that was surely painful to hear. He felt lightheaded, and it was rather counterproductive how being aware of the fact that he had been inhaling toxic air had suddenly made the air appear even more radioactive. Wait. Was it even due to radiation? Physics had never been his favorite subject; he had always favored biology and chemistry over-
He was dizzy as he gently shook Shadow Milk’s shoulders, ignoring the loud rumble of his stomach. He was out of breath, bile (or blood- something liquid and generally unpleasant to have in one’s throat) threatening to come out and spill past his lips. “Shadow Milk.”
No answer. His fiancé’s brows frowned minutely.
“Shadow- ugh-!” He retched, something unidentifiable dribbling down his chin and surely onto Shadow Milk’s chest, staining whatever clothing he was wearing. Or not, if he was wearing black- which seemed unlikely. Shadow Milk usually strayed away from black, the only exception being when he needed to be discreet. When traveling through an exposed region, like- oh, like what they had been doing up until now, actually. His feet hurt a bit from the extensive walking, though he wouldn’t dare voice his complaints out loud. If they wanted to reach their destination in time, they needed to hurry, and Pure Vanilla didn’t want to slow them down for a reason as stupid as being tired. But- they couldn’t anymore now, could they? With Shadow Milk’s injury. They would have to take it slow for him. He knew how dangerous it was to let the wound reopen; Pure Vanilla had had some great difficulty sewing the wound shut while the other had been passed out, and he could shamefully admit that localizing the thread and the needle had been even harder. He felt even more guilty at having to wake Shadow Milk up- but he didn’t know where their masks were, so trying to find them on his own was useless and a waste of time. Plus, he kind of wanted to assess his health. Ask him how he was feeling-
He wheezed, a bit faint as he collapsed atop of Shadow Milk, his shoulders shaking as he swallowed down a nasty cough, his eye watering. He pushed his head onto Shadow Milk’s chest, closing his trembling fists around the fabric of his shirt. His head pounded and he felt even more pathetic than usual because everything ached and-
He must have passed out for a moment because the next thing he knew, he was abruptly pushed down and he tumbled on the hard ground, throwing up with a wet and horrible sound. It scraped his throat and the lingering taste of copper and whatever meager meal he had managed to swallow was very uncomfortable, and he sort of wanted to either cry or sleep for a long, long time.
His buzzing ears made it hard to properly hear anything (would he lose his hearing too? That would be funny- or not), but he did distantly process a loud, ear grating hacking noise that had him scrambling to sit up. Shadow Milk’s hands were clawing at his chest (much like Pure Vanilla had done before, though much more intensely), Pure Vanilla’s eye wide as he heaved and struggled to breathe properly. Oh no, he would hurt himself if that continued! Pure Vanilla sat up, wincing as he wiped off the repulsing mix of vomit and blood from his mouth- and, though a bit unsanitary, fumbled a bit before managing to cup his face carefully.
“Shadow- cough- Milk! Calm down!” He coughed, leaning down until their foreheads bumped. He could feel the erratic thumping of Shadow Milk’s heart, a strangled and panicked sound leaving his throat as his hands reached up to tightly grip Pure Vanilla’s; he winced, feeling his nails dig into his skin. Still, he didn’t remove his hands from his face.
“I-It’s okay, I’m- I’m still here, okay?” He awkwardly climbed atop of Shadow Milk, his thighs straddling his lap as he tried to ground the other with his weight. It seemed to work, his breath still rough and uneven but- at least he had stopped hyperventilating. It pained Pure Vanilla to see him like this.
“What…?” He heard a nasty sounding cough. Pure Vanilla made a little wounded noise, gently caressing his cheek.
“Nothing.” He reassured. “How are you feeling?” He brushed his fingers over Shadow Milk’s face when he didn’t get a response, relieved when he felt no physical evidence of distress over his features. “Can you tell me where-”
Pure Vanilla was abruptly cut off by trembling hands roughly holding his face, nails digging into his cheeks. He squirmed, tugging on his fiancé’s arms. “Shadow-” Why was he suddenly so distressed? Ah, was his thigh hurting? Of course it would hurt, he was silly. Pure Vanilla wished that Shadow Milk would finally accept to take painkillers, the other refusing because they didn’t have enough, constantly stating that they should keep them for more grievous injuries. But a stab wound was a big deal- Pure Vanilla really believed that it should help.
Shadow Milk seemed to hesitate, and Pure Vanilla was getting a bit restless at how panicked the other was acting- he felt antsy. Was there something that he wasn’t seeing? The thought made him swallow uneasily, his grip on Shadow Milk’s arms loosening slightly. “What… what is it?” He prompted.
“Why…” Shadow Milk broke into a coughing fit and Pure Vanilla hoped that whatever was troubling him would be easy to resolve because he really didn’t want to let the… air issue linger for too long. He patted Shadow Milk’s back, waiting for it to pass. His own lungs prickled. “Is that- is that blood?”
Pure Vanilla let out a little laugh, relieved- it was just that? Shadow Milk made a little alarmed noise at the sound, shaking Pure Vanilla’s shoulders and- oh, the other was just worried about him. Nothing that he couldn’t resolve. Pure Vanilla’s head throbbed, a frustrating pressure building in his skull.
“Ah- sorry.” He covered his mouth with his hands, hiccuping. “It’s just- the air. We didn’t- we forgot about it.”
Shadow Milk coughed again, grumbling irritably. It made Pure Vanilla smile for some reason. His body slowly tilted to the side, and hands righted him up by the shoulders. “R-Right- of course. That annoying shit…”
Pure Vanilla lowered his hands from his mouth, coughing a bit. It made Shadow Milk fret over him. “S-So, like I was saying- where did you put the. The masks?” He had some trouble focusing. “T-to, to put them on.”
“They’re- wait-” He felt Shadow Milk shift and before Pure Vanilla could warn him, his fiancé instinctively moved his injured leg which made him let out a pained groan. Pure Vanilla lightly slapped his chest, his eye struggling to stay open. He was tired. Maybe Shadow Milk had woken him up, after all- he certainly didn’t feel like he had a good night of rest.
“You’re injured.” He mumbled, wiggling off of Shadow Milk’s lap. The other must have been too dazed from the pain to immediately notice, because he only let out a surprised yelp when Pure Vanilla rolled onto the ground. Ow. “Let me fetch them-”
His side hurt, and he threw up. Oops.
He was lying on his side, the sharp gravels digging into it and-
He choked on his spit, or vomit, or whatever he had been gagging as he was made to lay on his back and he wanted to berate Shadow Milk. Wasn’t he aware that he should lay him on his side instead? He tried to say so, but his mouth felt strangely numb and he barely had the mental capacity to muster up a coherent string of words. He distantly heard Shadow Milk speak up, and he closed his eye for a bit. It didn’t change much, but at least it blocked out the bright and aggressive light of the sun. He coughed wetly. The ground was rocky and unpleasant, but he was still content laying down. His senses muddled for a bit, and he felt guilty for leaving Shadow Milk to deal with everything on his own- especially with his injury. He would rest for a bit, and then help Shadow Milk. His poor fiancé must be so frazzled…
Pure Vanilla let out a weak cough. Some undefined amount of time later, his head was delicately lifted off the ground. He was handled so gingerly that Pure Vanilla didn’t get alarmed. He trusted Shadow Milk to know what he was doing. Something hard covered his face, long fingers struggling a bit to clasp the straps behind his head. Some of his hair got tangled in the process, and he heard a choked sound.
Pure Vanilla- breathed, and he almost cried when pure, filtered oxygen filled his lungs, as if cleansing them. He swallowed down a cough, his fingers shakily brushing over the surface of his mask and- he still couldn’t get up. It was infuriating. To have so little control over his own body. Maybe it was falling apart entirely. Maybe after his sight, something else would be sacrificed.
“Hey hey hey-” He blinked, only now registering the uninterrupted slew of frightened babbles coming out of Shadow Milk’s mouth. He willed himself back into reality, sensing the grounding pressure of Shadow Milk’s body atop his own, hands rather painfully squeezing his biceps. Pure Vanilla could practically feel his anxiety and mounting psychosis- if such a term could be used. He should reassure him. Defuse the situation, say that he was okay.
Instead- he passed out.
Then he woke up- was Shadow Milk wearing his mask? He should be. He deserved unpolluted hair. Air- unpolluted air. Not hair. Maybe this slip of his tongue was due to the fact that his hair was currently being gathered and split into sections, shaking hands braiding it. How nice. It would avoid getting too tangled, then- plus, Shadow Milk liked to take care of his hair. It would help him calm himself down.
Pure Vanilla’s stomach loudly rumbled, even more obvious with the stillness of the rocky landscape around them. Had he been moved…? He didn’t think so, since he had been in the exact same position when he had fainted. His head hurt. Had he mentioned it already?
The fingers paused at the sound. They quickly tied the braid before he heard some shuffling. Shadow Milk must be crawling, then. Of course- he couldn’t walk anymore for now. Injuries were really inconvenient. Pure Vanilla was being inconvenient, too, laying here and doing nothing.
His mask was slightly lifted over his head, his eye watering once more as his next breath was a poisoned one. He almost coughed, but refrained from doing so. He didn’t want to make Shadow Milk spiral at the sight of his blood. He felt the edge of something rounded and firm press against his lips, and he didn’t fight the rush of fresh (more lukewarm from being in the backpack but- well. Still as agreeable) water that slid down his parched throat; he drank it greedily, only now noticing how thirsty he had been. And a bit cold, too. He could feel a thin layer of snow around him, one that hadn’t been there before.
“Slow down- geez, it’s not going anywhere.” Shadow Milk muttered, wiping Pure Vanilla’s chin where some water had managed to dribble down from his mouth. He licked his dry lips.
“S-Sorry…” His voice was horribly rough as the gas mask was properly fitted over his face once more. “’M tired.”
“I can see that.”
“I can’t.”
“Smartass.”
Pure Vanilla giggled, immediately regretting it as it dissolved into a light coughing fit, one that left him feeling drained. Blood trickled down his lips once more, and he was glad that Shadow Milk couldn’t see it. “A-Ah- how are you feelin’…?”
A pause. Pure Vanilla could only dream about knowing what kind of expression Shadow Milk was currently making. The other completely ignored him, instead shuffling away. Pure Vanilla stayed quiet. Time passed strangely, because a mere second later his mask was lifted over his mouth once more and-
Shadow Milk sniffled, a choked sound leaving his throat as he shakily wiped the smidgen of blood off his lips. Pure Vanilla wanted to reassure him, to say that it was normal and that his lungs simply needed to recover but words still stubbornly evaded him. Something crumbling and sweet was pushed against his lips, and Pure Vanilla obliged, opening his mouth. An unsteady hand helped him chew, the pastry filled with a thick cream and dappled with chunks of sugar onto the paste. It tasted very good. Dark Cacao still knew his tastes even after all these years, it seemed.
“Idiot… why didn’t you tell me that you weren’t feeling well?” His voice wavered, something fearful and irrational making his breath hitch as he muttered. “Are you going to leave me…?”
“N-No-” He started, his tongue moving sluggishly as he tried to explain himself. It felt heavy and just as useless as him in his mouth. “You- I’m not-”
“E-Eat.” Pure Vanilla squirmed as yet another pastry was pushed against his lips, insistently. “You- you need to eat, right? And rest- and then you’ll feel better.”
“Shadow-”
“Take it.” He forcefully fed him, pushing the sweet past his lips with a hand gripping his jaw and still helping him chew. Pure Vanilla wanted to throw it back up. It didn’t taste good anymore- it was overwhelming and it made him nauseous, the cream sitting heavily on his tongue. Shadow Milk isn’t in a good mindset, he distantly thought as he mechanically chewed, an ear pressed against his wrist. Listening to his heartbeat. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Pure Vanilla swallowed. Shadow Milk let out a shaky exhale, burying his face in the crook of his neck. The edges of his mask dug unpleasantly into his shoulder, so at least he had the reassurance that Shadow Milk had put on his own mask. “Better now?”
He shook his head, the movement making him dizzy. Wait- no. He nodded. He didn’t feel better. But factually, eating and drinking were supposed to help his body recover faster- alongside rest, which he was eager to get started on. But he couldn’t, for obvious reasons. He didn’t want to leave Shadow Milk on his own- anything could happen. They were still out in the open, plus he was wounded and Pure Vanilla was afraid that he’d try to hurt himself further while in a fragile mental state.
“You too.” He managed, only able to make his fingers twitch. How much fatigue had he accumulated…? “Take care of- of yourself.”
Shadow Milk didn’t answer. Pure Vanilla liked to think that he nodded- wistful thinking, of course. “We- we should really move.”
The abrupt shift in topic made him struggle a bit to catch up, his feverish (because, as unpleasant as the thought was… there were some chances that the remnants of the infection that he had managed to hide up until now were worse than what he’d imagined- adding to that his exhaustion, both mental and physical as well as his poor eating habits and- well) mind lagging behind. “W-why?”
“It’s dangerous here.” Shadow Milk sounded uneasy. Hands rubbed Pure Vanilla’s arms up and down- probably a soothing gesture for him. “I don’t like it. Plus, something tells me that these nutcases aren’t one of a kind…”
Pure Vanilla breathed. He felt faint, and he did not want to pass out. “Do you think-” He lost his train of thoughts. “that. Um, it’s… ah! The cult that Dark Cacao had warned us about?”
“Only crazy cultists go around and randomly stab people.”
“You do that, too.”
“I… totally do. Hm. Maybe I’m a cultist then.”
“That- would… surprise me.” Pure Vanilla’s eyelid felt heavy.
Shadow Milk said something, but he was unceremoniously out like a light again.
_____________________________
The next time he woke up, it was to the quiet sound of Shadow Milk cursing.
He instinctively started assessing his own health and… he felt- terribly awful. And that was a euphemism. He barely had the time to roll onto his side and shakily yank the mask up his face before he threw up once more, hysterically marveling at the fact that his stomach still had anything left to expel at that point. He gagged, the foul taste in his mouth not helping with his atrocious nausea. Oh- he didn’t want to imagine how he looked right now. There went the pastries that Shadow Milk had made him eat.
He heard a strangled noise on his right. Some shuffling could be heard- something stepping over the rocks and pebbles and nearing him. Walking? Wasn’t Shadow Milk injured? It would be bad for his wound to be jostled like that. His stitches could reopen; it was just like him, never listening to Pure Vanilla’s advices when it concerned his health.
A hand fully lifted his mask off his face. He rapidly blinked at the harsh expense of whiteness that suddenly assaulted his eye, aggravating the headache that he only now noticed in the first place. There were some rough scuffling, and he heard Shadow Milk let out a pained yelp. If only Pure Vanilla had the force to get up and help him. The rush of toxic air filtering in his lungs made him violently cough.
Everything blurred for a bit- and he took some time to rest because while the rocky ground wasn’t comfortable, it was still leagues better than standing up. Or sitting. He distantly noticed that his face was covered by his mask once more, and he let out a relieved breath. Better.
“I’m gonna kill you all-” He vaguely registered Shadow Milk’s demented threats- no, promises, as the other was surely fully serious. “I’ll rip your guts out and-!”
Shadow Milk let out a painful grunt. Hushed voices- ones that Pure Vanilla didn’t recognize and could hardly pay attention to. Only Shadow Milk’s mattered anyway. He tried to lift his head off the ground, vaguely aiming it toward Shadow Milk’s general direction. Some shuffling again- harshly exchanged curses, and he felt Shadow Milk bump against his prone form. Oh, he was sitting.
“Wha’s… happenin’?” He slurred, drool or vomit or- he didn’t know actually nor he wanted to guess, dribbling down his chin. He could usually get a good grasp on his surroundings and the current situation just by the sound clues and his other senses, but when he couldn’t, he could always count on Shadow Milk to tell him what was going on. He was really considerate in that aspect.
Shadow Milk huddled closer, his voice lowered. “Y’know the nutcases we were talking about?”
“Mmh?”
“Well, they found us out here and attacked us.”
“Oh.”
“I’m all tied up, and my leg hurts like a bitch.” Shadow Milk complained. Pure Vanilla made a little sympathetic noise, trying to move his hand. It moved across the ground pitifully, scrapping against rocks. It send a little jolt of pain up his arm and- right, right, hadn’t his hand been hurt before? It was bandaged, that he was certain of, but the details escaped his clouded mind.
“We didn’t attack you.” A stranger stressed. His voice came from above, and he must have been standing up, then. “You were the one who attacked us first!”
“Shadow Miiilk…” He whined, feeling a bit delirious for some reason.
“Details, details.” Shadow Milk’s shoe bumped into his side. “Sorry- it’s the intention that counts.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You had malicious intent.”
“Wha- Tha’s not a reason to try to kill us!” Shadow Milk had done what? He was unbelievable.
He rolled onto his back, closing his eye to shield his vision (or whatever meager scraps that were left of it) from the bright glare of the sun. It was still cold, though. “Shadow Milk. That’s rude. Apologize.”
Shadow Milk spluttered. “They made you throw up!”
“I would have done so without them anyway.” He really needed to stop saying that or else he would gag once more. He was sick (pun not intended) of being… well. Sick.
“Hello?” They both jolted at the sound of his voice. “You are both insufferable.”
He let out a pained yelp, and a feminine voice spoke up. “Stop antagonizing them. Do you remember what we’re here for?”
“Right, right- apathy and all that.” He sounded dismissive. “You two look like you’re having some trouble here. We can offer you shelter and food for your travel- we have plenty of that in our temple.”
“No thanks. You can shove that sectarian bullshit up your ass.”
“You sure? Your friend here doesn’t look too hot.” No, he was getting a bit cold actually. “We have a doctor.”
Shadow Milk made a low and frustrated noise at that, falling silent. Pure Vanilla’s stomach grumbled annoyingly, cutting through the silence that had briefly settled over them at the stranger’s remark.
“Whatever! It’s not like we have a choice anyway.” Shadow Milk sounded genuinely upset at that fact. Pure Vanilla wanted to hug him and tell him that everything would be okay.
“Great. You can walk?”
“I can strangle you to death.” There was a silence. Pure Vanilla was starting to doze off on the ground a bit. “… Yes, I can walk. But- ugh. I’ll… need some help.”
“You can lean on my shoulder.” The woman bravely offered, her voice guarded.
“…Whatever.”
“And him?” The supposed cult member asked, and- oh, they were talking about him. Pure Vanilla felt pretty much useless right now, and what an awful feeling that was. He was perfectly content with Shadow Milk handling everything for him- and maybe that alone was the proof that he really was feeling under the weather.
“I can carry him. It’s not too far from-”
“Don’t put your dirty hands on him.” Shadow Milk abruptly snarled, the sheer hostility in his voice making Pure Vanilla wonder if he heard it well. He knew how to handle Shadow Milk when he was acting irrationally protective over him- though he guessed that he couldn’t really reassure him in his state.
“Wha-”
“I’ll kill you if you even dare to touch a single hair on his head.” Pure Vanilla was a bit desensitized by Shadow Milk’s overall… intensity, as he knew that he’d never hurt him. But he knew that his fiancé could be really frightening when he wanted to- had known first hand of what his affectionate partner could be capable of.
“Okay okay!” The man sounded afraid, his voice uneasy. “But- I have to carry him, or else… he doesn’t look like he can walk on his own.”
“I can’t.” Pure Vanilla affirmed, feeling something foul rise in his throat. Oh boy.
“Still-” Shadow Milk sounded conflicted, and Pure Vanilla felt a bit guilty for what he was about to do. A shelter and a doctor sounded like heaven to him right now, and as much as he adored how Shadow Milk was putting his safety above everything else, he was exhausted, okay? Pure Vanilla knew that his fatigue would reach a tipping point soon, and he could already identify in him the signs of a nasty burnout. Dying from exhaustion seemed like a horrible way to go.
So, Pure Vanilla’s hand jerked as he lifted his mask up and threw up, making sure to gag excessively. The blood was a little bonus, and- he technically wasn’t lying to Shadow Milk about his health. He did feel on the verge of death.
Predictably, he felt Shadow Milk’s ear press against his chest, hushed panicked rambles leaving his lips. Pure Vanilla wheezed- okay, in hindsight, maybe that hadn’t been a really good idea to overdo it.
“Fine! Fine, you win!” Shadow Milk sounded frazzled, his ear never leaving the comforting beating of his heart. Thump. Thump. “But if you even just- just think about-”
“I’ll be careful!” The cultist yelped, sounding terribly scared for his own life. Shadow Milk was being rude again-
He was picked up from the ground and-
He fainted.
_____________________________
How odd.
“We bring you poor souls in need, Mistress.”
Her disciples approached, the large doors of her ivory pagoda closing behind them. Her followers all muttered as they huddled near their comrades, the two cloaked figures huddling further on the yellow carpet, closer to her seat- not a throne. She wasn’t above them, no- in the end, it all boiled down to one thing, and their fates were all the sames, no matter who they were. All would return to flour. Free them from their mortal shells and elevate their souls into something beyond; in order to achieve such a perfect state of mind, one must cleanse themselves of their parasitic emotions and live by the true meaning of apathy. Of nothingness- the void where their purest version of themselves could be attained.
Her devout disciples brought the two strangers forward- two lost souls that she would shelter and educate on her teachings.
One was held in a loose bridal carry, wearing loose and comfortable clothing. The gas mask strapped around their head made it hard to properly identify them, but she could discern ashen skin and long, braided pale hair. They lain immobile, their legs dangling limply out of her follower’s hold. She could sense their stress, even from their unconscious state; but fret not. She would help them break the shackles of their feelings to reach apathy.
The second one was leaning against one of her worshipers, awkwardly hoping on one leg. They were clad in fair clothing, stained messily with splotches of dry blood and other things that she didn’t want to know about. Their hair was messily gathered in a ponytail with loose strands framing his face, swishing behind him as he hobbled. A flash of… something flitted through her mind at the sight of the few white strands in his hair, but she dismissed it. She couldn’t afford any distractions.
She opened her arms wide, her ample white (more like a soft, light gray) sleeves swishing with the movement. “You are welcome here, in my humble Ivory Pagoda. May all return to flour.”
The conscious stranger jolted when all of her followers echoed her prayer, their hand twitching over their waist.
“You may removed your masks- the air here is pure, like our minds.” She monotonously informed, neatly folding her hands over her lap. She wanted them to feel at ease- her teachings required them to feel comfortable in her temple.
A silence. Then, the awake stranger wobbled a bit as they separated themselves from their human crutch, reaching up to remove his mask and-
She blinked.
Mystic Flour… for the first time in years, she felt something, an emotion making her heart beat and said emotion was-
“That’s creepy as hell, you know that?” Shadow Milk said, a bored look etched onto his face.
-fear.
She couldn’t believe it. She breathed in, acutely aware of all her followers’ eyes being trained on her, flitting between Shadow Milk’s foreign presence and Mystic Flour.
“You- You are in a sacred place here.” Her eye twitched as her voice faltered for a moment. “This-”
“What the-!” Shadow Milk rudely cut her off, his lips twisting up in a cruel, sardonic grin as a damned spark of recognition lit up behind those unfeeling eyes. He cackled, his insane peel of laughter echoing in the large space. Her followers looked scared, muttering among themselves. “I know you, don’t I?”
Mystic Flour jaw clenched. “Pray tell.”
“You sent me to jail.” His hands twitched, and Mystic Flour was rather brutally reminded of the first time they had met, and the cold, chilling realization that-
Yes.
The man in front of her was a psychopath.
Her hands shook minutely, and she hid them in the folds of her robes. Her carefully crafted state of apathy was tested as she was facing down a part of her past- something that she would have preferred to keep buried. “I have no recollection of that. Now, you are here under my protection- you must have been promised shelter-”
“That’s what you’ve been doing all this time? Playing God?” Shadow Milk’s eyes bore into her soul. She felt exposed. She rarely felt, so this was very off putting.
He was off putting. He proudly wore his wickedness like a second skin. His presence was something toxic, something malevolent and corrupting that was out of place, that made you uneasy with the feeling that you are certain that he is something sinister but can’t quite put your finger on what exactly. He was cruel and ruthless- Mystic Flour had seen. She had seen and her eyelids were seared by the atrocities that she knew mankind was capable of. That was why she had resorted to apathy. Apathy was the ultimate state of mind, the one shielding her from the disasters of this ruined world plunged into anarchy.
Her eyes flitted from Shadow Milk to his unconscious companion, merely laying her gaze upon his figure and-
His face twisted into a scowl, something so dangerous that it made her skittish. “What is it?”
“Your companion seems unwell-”
“Bring your doctor.” He cut her off once more.
“I-”
“Oh my God, I don’t care. Just bring them here!” He behaved rather petulantly, punctuating his outburst with a threatening glare.
She pursed her lips. “Lead them to their temporary rooms.” Her followers bowed, the two that had come in starting to lead them out of her sight when-
Shadow Milk didn’t budge. He cast a glance at his blond friend, something indescribable swirling in his dead eyes. “Go ahead. I’ll chitchat with your supreme leader or whatever.”
“But-”
“Let go.” She softly advised, her tone flat. “I will entertain him, and guide him onto the right path.”
Shadow Milk’s unnerving stare bore into the believer that was holding on his companion, making him swallow nervously. He seemed to understand something as he tightened his previously carefree hold on the beast’s friend, nervously inching away. “I’ll- I’ll take care of him!” He ran away, toward where the doctor would await them.
The rest of her followers scattered around- there had been a reason as to why she had settled in the Cake Mountains. It was vast, and many in need wandered these paths, the rough and rocky terrain made even more perilous with the winter, snow dusting the ground. They all fizzled out, until she was left at the precipice of the wolf’s maw, the beast’s lips twitching as he assessed her.
“What was your name again?” He disinterestedly asked, leaning his weight on his uninjured leg.
“It’s not relevant.”
“Listen.” He started, so arrogant and brazen. He was just as she had remembered- a predator who knew how high he ranked in the food chain. “I don’t care about your farce of a sect. I don’t care about the few loose screws you have in your head. But open up your ears here, hm? Because that’s important.”
His eyes darkened and he bit his lip, looking restless in a way that was foreign to her. “You don’t- I don’t know you, okay? In front of him, I don’t give a shit about you. You don’t say a thing.”
Ah. He must be referring to the other he had been dragged with.
How peculiar. Had he become attached to someone? She pitied the poor soul who had become his new obsession.
“I owe you nothing.” Mystic Flour blinked. “I have no intention to dwell on the past. I won’t say anything about how… you are. He must be kind, to be willing to stay at your side.” To stay with something so vile, so incapable of loving or feeling.
“He is.” To her surprise, Shadow Milk… gushed? His hands were cupping his own face, chipped nails digging into his cheeks. He looked dreamy and deluded, something that she had never seen on his face. It unsettled her.
“He’s so good. I can’t- this is true love, y’know? I’ve changed- for him.” He was rambling now, and she barely paid any attention to his unhinged ravings. “We love each other- he’s my fiancé. We’re getting married.”
Mystic Flour kept up her pristine composure. She was uncomfortable. He had a knack to make people uncomfortable.
“I see. I wish you the best.” She flatly answered.
“I don’t care about you!” He suddenly snarled, clenching his fists. She could almost see the blood on his hands- a memory that stubbornly took root in her mind, dug up from its deepest recesses. “Shut up!”
He pursed his lips. He dragged his nails down his face, then-
-he hurried after where his companion had been taken, and Mystic Flour-
All that Mystic Flour could see were the loud, blaring sirens of the ambulance and that sickening smile aimed at her.
Watching.