Work Text:
Footsteps echo down winding stairs. A spiral into endless abyss, seemingly without end. The sound resonates, yet is swallowed whole by the surrounding void, the empty nothing that clings to the very edges of his cloak as he descends the stairs.
His own heartbeat pounds in his ears as he wills himself to proceed. These means will have an end. He is certain. That hopeful flame refuses to drown.
A slight breeze rushes past him. He does not stop. His foot reaches for another step, only to be yanked out from under him by some unseen force.
He lets out a gasp as he goes careening off the stairs, plummeting through the center of the spiral. Down. Down.. Down….
“Whooopssieeesss!~”
The laugh echoes around him, a maddening cackle from every direction.
Pure Vanilla Cookie is met with ground - it certainly hadn't been there before he landed upon it with a sickening crunch. He ends in a pathetic mound, breathing heavily. With a heave he manages to his knees, surveying where he now finds himself.
It is a room- in a sense… The endless void is gone, as are the stairs. Dark indigo bricks stretch on around him, the space curves in upon itself, fascinating as it bends in ways that seem impossible. Columns that would be beautiful in any other situation span from floor to ceiling, ornate pristine carvings, a marvel of architecture. Pure Vanilla cannot help but wish he were here in different circumstances.
Pure Vanilla hauls himself to his feet, resolve settling in his brow.
“Shadow Milk Cookie!” He shouts, his voice bouncing around the endlessly twisting chamber. “Show yourself!”
The maddening giggle returns, a cackle in his ear- surrounding him entirely. Pure Vanilla whips around as something brushes against the back of his neck, only to be met with the same, empty, endless halls.
“Ohohoho! Why would I do such a thing? Is the grand disciple of truth so desperate to see lil’ ol’ me!? HAH! HA.HA HA!”
Eyes manifest across the room, striking in their blue color as they stare down at Pure Vanilla, drinking up every ounce of his despair. It isn't enough. Shadow Milk wants to break him, to crumble his resolve to bits, to reduce him to nothing but a pawn. Now isn't that a lovely thought?
Pure Vanilla furrows his brow ever so slightly.
“Please, Shadow Milk. We cannot keep up this dance forever- Let us talk! We can work something out. I’m sure of it! I want to help you, Shadow Milk. You just have to let me.”
The words make him sick as he watches, as does the… horribly earnest expression on Pure Vanilla’s face. It's pathetic. Shadow Milk sneers at him.
“A dance, you say? You want a dance? Well! A dance. You’ll. HAVE!”
Pure Vanilla whirls, still trying to locate the source.
“What- No! That's not what I-”
He is hit with a wave of nausea as the space around him begins to shift. The room gains tangible walls, melting into what could be described as an enormous ballroom. The checker-patterned floor rises to meet him, a haunting melody roaring to life all around.
He isn't left alone in that gaping space. Across the room, cardboard cutouts of cookies spring into existence, whirling around each other. The glimpses he manages of their faces leave him reeling. He knows them, he knows that he does. And yet- he cannot place them. Each is so close yet so far from the front of his mind. Another lie.
Pure Vanilla is yanked to a more upright position, his feet lifting from the ground as the strings attach, pulling each of his limbs up by the joint like a living marionette.
He is whirled around in sickening circles. The music pounds against his skull, disorienting him. The moment Pure Vanilla’s feet manage to find themselves planted, he is whirled off again.
Shadow Milk snickers to himself as he watches, trying to push aside the gnawing feeling that his other half’s words- no- his… his ENEMY’S LIES- left in him.
His grin widens as Pure Vanilla’s distress becomes more clear. This is what he wants. To watch the cookie of truth fall apart- rip at the seams- perhaps even fall into the cold embrace of deceit… and then, of course to take back his soul jam. Yes. Yes of course!
Shadow Milk melts into the surrounding shadows. The overwhelming desire to join into the dance- to be close enough to Pure Vanilla to watch as his oh so alluring, so bright resolve dissolves to nothing but crumbs, overtakes him.
Pure Vanilla has stopped fighting it, letting his limbs go limp. There is no point in resisting the dance, it will only tire him. He knows this will come to an end, as all things must. He can bare it.
He spins and spins as the music shrieks, melding with the sound of his own heartbeat.
There is a brief moment, when he feels the strings slacken, when his feet touch the ground without being immediately swept off once more. His eyes open with a surge of hope, prepared to face what comes next- but a pressure around his wrists draws him back into the dance. With a startled blink, Pure Vanilla sees what spins him now, the strings now reduced to nothing more than a means to keep him there.
Before him floats Shadow Milk Cookie, his gaze unwavering, a mocking grin. His grip tightens around Pure Vanilla’s wrists as he himself twirls him.
“Having all the FUN without me are we, Vanilly!?”
He coos, melding into the chaos with a condescending giggle.
“That just won't do!”
This is how it was always supposed to be. Pure Vanilla in Shadow Milk’s grasp. Nothing but a puppet belonging to him. And oh, what a lovely puppet he is.
It is not until Pure Vanilla is gasping for air, not until he cannot tell his up from down and right from left, that the dance lets up ever so slightly. The music quiets from a deafening roar to a lesser hum, still filling the room as it slows in its tempo.
Shadow Milk's grasp on Pure Vanilla’s wrists remains.
The dance has dulled to a sway, the cutouts surrounding them twirling in an almost ballroom-esque way. Shadow Milk drags the stumbling Pure Vanilla in a horrendous imitation.
On Pure Vanilla's face, sits a frown. An ACTUAL frown! Not just his.. infuriating neutrality. It sends a pang of what Shadow Milk will choose to believe is exuberance through his chest.
“What's the matter, Vanilly?” He jeers, pulling Pure Vanilla towards him in a jerky motion.
“Have you realized how hopeless this all is? Come to terms with the fact that there is nothing you can do to stop me from killing you? I could even do it right now! Diminish you to crumbs and take what is rightfully mine!?”
His gaze drifts down to Pure Vanilla’s- no... no HIS. Soul jam. He could take it right now- he should take it right now. Finish his counterpart off in one motion, end this all. And yet… he can't bring himself to. He isn't quite ready to part with his favorite toy.
He looks back up to Pure Vanilla's face, expecting anguish, horror, despair! And yet, there's nothing. Just that slight frown. It infuriates him.
“What!?! Say something. SUUUUUUREEELLY you've got some thoughts, eh? Don't be BORING!” he demands.
Pure Vanilla considers this a moment more, with more of that… that wretched complacent energy.
“You're doing this wrong.”
Shadow Milk barks out a laugh.
“Doing what wrong!?”
What could he possibly have wrong here!?
“The dance.”
This catches Shadow Milk off guard, he stops in his tracks, dragging them to a staggering halt.
“What.”
Did the fool not catch a WORD of what Shadow Milk had just said!? The whole KILLING HIM THING??
“What do you mean the DANCE? Me!? Dancing wrong? How- how RIDICULOUS!”
Who does he think he is!?!
Before Shadow Milk realizes it, Pure Vanilla has slid free from his grasp. Instead, his hand is met, Pure Vanilla’s fingertips touching Shadow Milk’s open palm where his wrist had previously been held tight. Shadow Milk goes stiff as Pure Vanilla’s other hand brushes lightly against his waist.
“What- what are you doing ?!?”
The feeling is foreign to him. The almost warmth of another touching him. It's different to anything he's felt in a long… long time. He should pull away, tear Pure Vanilla limb from limb for making a fool out of him like this. And yet, he finds himself wanting to lean into it, to finish making the connection the other has suggested. He stays stuck in a horrible limbo of wanting to stop whatever… this is… and wanting more.
“Humor me, won't you?”
Shadow Milk stares blankly at him, brain short-circuiting from the touch, and baffled by this response.
“Huh??”
The corners of Pure Vanilla’s mouth quirk up ever so slightly.
“You wanted to dance, didn't you? Why not dance properly?”
Is that. Is that what this is!? This horrible-wonderful…CONFLICTING- touch!?? Why in the WORLD would Pure Vanilla want to dance with him? This was supposed to be PSYCHOLOGICAL TORTURE? TO BREAK HIM DOWN? Shadow Milk stares blankly at him for a moment longer, before exploding.
“HAH. YOU’RE- you're PATHETIC! You're NOTHING! you think that I'd want to- ACTUALLY DANCE with YOU? HAH. YOU'RE- you're beLOW me! A puppet- a PAWN! You expect me to ‘humor you’? That's RIDICULOUS! utterly FOOLISH! to think that I would stoop to YOUR level!? Take your commands!?”
He snarls into the other's face, and yet- he still doesn't react. That stupid- STUPID placid expression remains.
“You… do know how to dance with another… don't you, Shadow Milk?”
“What!?! I- of COURSE I do! What kind of a performer wouldn't?!”
Shadow Milk’s words come out with increasing struggle, this whole ordeal truly having thrown him OFF of his rhythm. Pure Vanilla looks at him, that stupid smile staying on his face.
“You cannot lie to me, I see right through you.”
Shadow Milk recoils, floating slightly up and away from Pure Vanilla. He must- surely, he knows how to? At least… he did once? Right?
“Fine!” He spits “NOooo I DON’T. Are you happy? Satisfied? Gonna hold it over my head?”
That's what that stupid smile was about. The wretch was holding his smug satisfaction, he thought he was BETTER than Shadow Milk. HIM? BETTER? What a JOKE.
To Shadow Milk's utter bafflement, Pure Vanilla laughs. It is a small thing, a soft chuckle under his breath, but it has a HORRID effect on Shadow Milk, as if that singular action is a knife being plunged into his chest. He's ashamed, surely. He's ashamed of being laughed at by such a pathetic adversary and filled with hatred! nothing more. There is absolutely no other reason Pure Vanilla's laugh would cause such a visceral reaction. HahaHAha NOPE. No reason for it to paralyze him in such the way it did.
“Would you let me teach you?”
Pure Vanilla extends his hand, gesturing as if… he wanted Shadow Milk to take it. He stares, mouth ever so slightly open. This must be a trap. Some sick joke- Pure Vanilla succumbing to deceit and trying to pull a fast one on Shadow Milk! Whatever he does, he should NOT take the fool’s hand.
And yet, he finds himself drifting closer, a hesitant look plastered across his face, as if he were approaching a feral animal that could bite at any moment. His fingertips extend, lightly brushing against Pure Vanilla’s. A shiver runs up his spine as his counterpart’s own hand properly clasps his, interlacing their fingers with a horrible warmth. For some reason, completely unidentifiable to Shadow Milk, he lets himself be dragged closer.
“I think this would work better if you were to stand.”
Shadow Milk hates the almost fond tone of Pure Vanilla’s voice. He hates the way he's being looked at. He hates the way that the warmth of the other’s hand is so… nice. He scowls, reluctantly following that direction like a pathetic dog. As his feet touch into the floor, Shadow Milk is appalled to find himself shorter than Pure Vanilla.
He doesn't even know why he's playing along with this; it is so extravagantly stupid. Despite that, he lets Pure Vanilla guide him, lets his own hand be placed upon Pure Vanilla’s shoulder, as Pure Vanilla's returns to his waist, this time settling. Shadow Milk stiffens once again at the touch. He is in no way… used to this.
Shadow Milk grits his teeth, looking anywhere but Pure Vanilla’s face.
“Get on with it. I don't have all day, y’know!”
Pure Vanilla laughs again.
“Alright, alright. Just follow my lead.”
Despite every sense of reasonability in Shadow Milk recoiling at the idea, he knows he will.
Pure Vanilla begins to move, taking careful steps. Shadow Milk makes an attempt at following, which must make him look ridiculous. He stumbles slightly- he even steps on Pure Vanilla’s foot! (Accidentally, although he would claim otherwise…) And yet, the fool just continues to lead him, looking at him with an expression that -if Shadow Milk didn't know better- could be considered as fond. E ugh.
The music swells around them, somewhere along the line it has turned from a cacophony to a slow melody, a drifting tune.
He would never admit it to anyone, but as Shadow Milk begins to get the hang of it, his steps syncing with Pure Vanilla’s, his posture growing less stiff, he finds himself enjoying the dance. The intoxicating warmth radiating off of the other draws him in, pulling him closer until they're almost pressed against each other. He risks looking into the face of Pure Vanilla and is struck with that terribly horrible expression. The gentle line of his lips, the soft way his eyes seem to focus on Shadow Milk. The pang in his chest returns, and this time, he doesn't know what to make of it.
As their steps gain in confidence, the dance evolves. Somewhere along the line, all of the cutouts began to dissipate, leaving the hall empty, except for them, left in a halo of light as the room around darkens. The music begins to crescendo, from its slow melody, building into a symphony. Their steps melding landing in unison, their movements one.
As the music reaches its climax, the intensity weaving into their steps, something changes. The subtlest shift in Pure Vanilla’s expression as the hand on Shadow Milk’s waist lifts. He raises their linked hands, fingertips unweaving ever so slightly as he-
Shadow Milk lets out a surprised breath as he's led into a spin. At Pure Vanilla’s command he whirls around, until he is brought back to facing.
It is in this moment as the symphony roars, as his eyes widen and he feels himself tip backwards, that he's certain he's been tricked. Drawn into that alluring peace- that comforting warmth. And now, he will reap what he has sown, he let his guard down, and surely in this moment, Pure Vanilla will take what he has left. With his free hand, Shadow Milk clings to Pure Vanilla’s shoulder, so tight he can feel the give of the dough beneath his robes. He prepares to feel his head hit the ground, to feel the familiar pain of hands closing around his throat. And yet, he is caught.
As the music stops, its finale echoing out through the room, he realizes he is held. Pure Vanilla's hand - the one not holding Shadow Milk’s own- sits between his shoulder blades, keeping him from crashing to the ground. He’s been dipped.
The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The only faint sound being that of their breathing, gasping for air as if they had forgotten how to in the swirl of the dance. Shadow Milk stares up at Pure Vanilla’s face, so close that he can feel the warmth of his breath on his own. As he meets the other's eyes, partially veiled by his pale lashes, that incessant fluttering returns.
Pure Vanilla is smiling at him again. Why does he keep doing that?
In an instant, the room is too warm. Pure Vanilla’s hands scorching against Shadow Milk. He finds himself unable to breathe.
In a quick motion, he wrenches himself free of Pure Vanilla’s grasp, watching as that gentle smile turns to wide-eyed surprise. He knows that he should relish the disappearance of that terrible expression, but he finds himself mourning it. Shadow Milk catches himself before he can fall to the ground, flying into the air.
“Shadow Milk!?”
Why does he have to say his name? Why why why!?!
“You- YOU ”
Shadow Milk's voice shakes, betraying him.
“I don't- I don't know WHAT you think you're doing. But it won't work- not on… not on ME .”
Pure Vanilla’s STUPID face contorts further, into something of concern. Of pity. He opens his mouth, as if to speak, but Shadow Milk cuts him off with a snarl.
“We’re done here. ”
With a flick of his trembling hand, the room disappears, returning to that nothing. And Pure Vanilla falls. Down... Down.. down.
Later that night, or maybe its day… it doesn't really matter anyhow; Shadow Milk sits in his chambers, curled into himself at the edge of his bed. He stares down at his hand, and with the other, gently touches it, lacing his fingers together as Pure Vanilla had. It isn't the same. It lacks the warmth, the intent. He feels sick.
He finds himself craving that warmth, mourning its loss now that it's left him. He cannot help but wonder what it would feel like against his face. It's a terribly dangerous thought, and yet, it is oh so lovely.
What's wrong with him?