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Within a small section of the garden sat Eternal Sugar, leaning against her dearest other half while looking lovingly into her eyes. The Ancient hero returned a sloth-ridden smile to the one she had fallen for, abandoning her duties to seek out a remedy for her heart. There was no fiery passion like when she had arrived in the garden.
Hollyberry raised a berry to her mouth, slowly eating it while watching her other half as the winged figure fell asleep. The scene was nothing short of a blissful fairytale with a twistedly happy end. So happy that it felt wrong.
Pavlova’s eyes remained narrowed as he peered through the vines that overlooked the quiet space. He had changed, taking on the appearance of someone more mature than how he felt. A few days after the Ancient Hero had given up her passion, those who stood by her and the foolish butterfly of the garden dared an attempt at escaping. The futile plan only subjected them to an eternity in jam jars.
His feet slowly twisted amongst the blades of grass that poked against the soles of his feet. They were all moronic for trying to leave; no one ever makes it out alive once they upset the Bringer of Happiness. This garden was a cage, and he was one of many birds stuck within, kept within as an act of care from a near-divine being.
His eyes remained locked at the scene as he saw the once-passionate cookie move to lie the two of them down more comfortably to rest under the gentle sun rays. Something within the Cupid-Like cookie began to tick. He had to leave.
To where, he didn’t know. This urge was for something more than a hiding spot. Like a wild animal in captivity, he wanted to be rid of the bars that contained him and soar, as Sugarfly once had. He missed seeing her moving about with grace, but he longed to once more see the silver of her wings from when she first arrived in the garden.
Pavlova gritted his teeth as he began to take steps back from the vines. The quartet that had tried to leave the garden had done so when nobody was paying attention to them, no one but one sugar angel carrying a vase of wine. The Stoic Bodyguard within that group had turned to go fetch something when Pavlova had bumped into him. There was nothing he was going to retrieve other than his own willpower to leave and break his sworn duty.
Upon finding out about their plan, he gave several warnings to the taller cookie. When that failed, he tried fear-mongering; it backfired. He claimed that he wouldn’t survive and his love for one particular cookie beyond the garden’s walls would never get to see him again. This comment only solidified the resolve of the cookie as he returned to the group.
It was the delay of Pavlova’s fuss that had caused them to be caught, for they had waited for the Bodyguard to return. The Cupid-Like cookie was forced to watch as they were one by one found and captured. The one wielding a rapier got the furthest; she had tripped over a root at the very edge of the garden, a few steps from freedom. In contrast, the Bodyguard was the first to be dragged back.
Maybe it’s because he was the closest to the Ancient Hero, or it was the familial connection the two shared that forced Eternal Sugar to retrieve him first. Pavlova’s legs began to run as he turned. His heart beat faster than he had ever felt it beat as his mind ran rampant with one thought at its core. He had to leave.
Taking flight, he knew where he was going. A few sugar angels looked up at him as he glided overhead, flying slowly so as not to draw any unwanted speculation to himself. He landed roughly onto his feet just before a maze-like area; five left turns were all that was needed to find the location that he searched for.
Several jars were scattered throughout the area. Some were filled with various travelers that had wandered within the garden; others were empty, awaiting newcomers. As he stumbled upon staggering feet, the older and newer jars blurred together through his wild vision. The Cupid-Like cookie’s would not focus for long as he frantically skimmed through the countless jars. His eyes freeze upon seeing a jar with yellow jam.
Sugarfly rested within, curled in on herself with her wings half open. It wasn’t a beautiful sight, but rather a horrific scene depicted in a sugarcoated guise. Pavlova felt his heart grow hollow as the knowledge that, if he were to leave, he’d never see the butterfly again. He couldn’t take her with him; Eternal Sugar would know and be furious. Sugarfly would be brainwashed.
His eyes slowly left the yellow jar, landing upon two jars close by one another, the tiger’s friend and the rapier wielder. To Pavlova, those two were little help in his plan to escape. There were two things he needed: strength and understanding. They would have a quick mind, but they wouldn’t make it far if they couldn’t heed his words.
As the Cupid-Like cookie clenched his fists, something caught his eye. A rusted shovel sat against an empty jar. No such thing was within the garden, a rare thing to see. His bow hit the ground as he approached the gardening tool. A shaking hand grabbed a firm hold of the handle. He had to leave, spread his wings for the butterfly who would never do so again. No longer would he be caged, for he was no canary cursed to sing for a twisted hand.
No longer would he be forced to subject those to heartbreak; he’d prevent it. How he once found joy in the perils, or others was sickening to himself. Maybe that’s where his maturity came; when his cruelty had been hashed back at him, a taste of his own medicine. Never again would he be the hand to cause a lover’s heart to shatter; he was already stained by what would never be undone.
Freedom was within his frantic grasp if he could swing a shovel like an axe to strike down those who would attempt to keep him at bay. He would be free, liberated from what contained him and unshackled from the curse that acted as duties he never swore to do. Pavlova was made to keep others in the garden, but he refused to remain there himself.
He knew the jars could break, having broken one in the past. It was an agonizingly slow morning, and he decided to fire some arrows at an empty jar. When the third arrow struck the surface of the jar, it created a fissure that spread like a spider web. He should have stopped there, but he raised his bow one final time; it shattered into pieces as he quickly fled. He knew the jars could break, but he never dared to try to break one with something inside.
His arms shook as he trudged forward towards the last of the newer jars. A deep shade of mulberry was the color of the jam that hid the figure inside its confines. Never shall it hold a cookie again. With a tremble, Pavlova raised the shovel as his rabid eyes bore tears he hadn’t known were held within himself. He struck the jar, and a thunderous tremor came from it.
His swings were wide, but quickly grew steady as the shovel’s ratty surface bashed into the jar. Scraps, scratches, and scuffs began to litter the glass as his attacks rained down. His disheveled and hysterical appearance was no longer visible in the reflection of its surface as Pavlova snarled.
The stench of the garden filled his nose as his breath grew sporadic. Each inhale through gritted teeth resembled that of a snake's hiss. No longer did a sing-song coo come from the Cupid-Like cookie, replaced by the animalistic craze to be wild; to be free.
He stepped back, raising the shovel as though it were a spear and driving it forward with a hoarse cry. The jar’s surface fractured, and Pavlova stumbled back, face ridden with horror. He was frozen for a moment before the weight of the shovel in his hand, and the near-completion of his plan stood before him.
Holding the shovel like a bat, one hard swing was all it took for the glass to crumple to pieces, shards and jam mixing as it pooled below the winged cookie. The figure slumped down to the ground along with the aftermath of the breakdown; Pavlova dropped the shovel.
There were small twitches at first, as if something deep within the Bodyguard was fighting off the forced slumber. Pavlova remained hovering above the Hollyberrian as his hysterical exterior painted him as a broken man. Wildberry sluggishly moved his limbs, feeling the weight of weakness as coughs tore out of him. Jam dripped from his mouth while he gasped for air amongst the mixture below him.
Forcing a hand beneath himself, he looked up at the figure that blocked the sun. The Bodyguard’s eyes widened with panic as the frenzied eyes of the winged cookie bore down into him. Everything seemed so bright, sounds were muffled, and his body ached as though he’d been dragged back to life.
It took a while of watching the cookie below his struggle before Pavlova moved to grab hold of the Hollyberrian and lift him onto weak footing. The Cupid-Like cookie said nothing as he grabbed hold of the Bodyguard’s wrist and dragged him through the maze. The winged cookie knew the time of day, the locations of each sugar angel, and the whereabouts of the Ancient and Beast.
Upon reaching a dead end, he stepped forward to reveal a secret area through the brush. Wildberry walked into it and was immediately forced to change and be cleaned of the jam that stuck to him. As Wildberry dons a chiton, Pavlova explains a plan to escape.
“Why the change of heart? Why now do you wish to be free?” The Bodyguard’s voice was rough from lack of use as he closely monitored each minute change upon the Cupid-Like cookie. Those wild eyes met his, and a cold shiver ran down his spine.
“I have my reasons, just as you do. I am not a bird, and I should not be caged; you have a love to return to, I have a love to honor.” Something about the way in which Pavlova spoke left the Hollyberrian feeling sympathy towards him. It was a complete one-eighty from how he’d previously regarded anything the Cupid-Like cookie would do.
They said no more about questions until the taller had asked about the other three, to which Pavlova explained why they had to leave now. A promise was made to come back with help to save them, all of the warriors and Hollyberrians that had been trapped. This included the Queen Mother. They refused to remain any longer and stood to make a break for it.
They flew for half of it, with Pavlova’s arms hooked under the Bodyguard’s arms. He flew all the way to the edge of the sacchrine paradise. It was then that they set out on foot, running as if this sprint would be their last.
A sweet scent clung to them, drawing monsters in, but they pressed forward. If they stopped to fight, they would not make it. Pavlova began to cry while racing forth, feeling the burning sensation that ached his legs. His throat burned as he struggled to maintain his breathing through the sprint. Wildberry was close to his side, running with a stone face as he focused on the goal they had set.
Vines and branches whipped surface lashes into their skin as they refused to lessen their pace. Even as the sound of the monster grew faint, the two remained in flight for their lives. They refused to die in a forest when they were getting closer to freedom. A passion burned deep within the two as they dashed with one goal in mind. A branch snagged the left arm of the Bodyguard, drawing out streaks of blood, but he did not falter.
It couldn’t have been more than eight minutes before the treeline seemed to change. The Cupid-Like cookie began to take longer strides to reach what he saw ahead. A root snagged his foot, and he met the mulch-covered ground. His face ached as the scratches along his legs and arms ached. His feet were mangled by the unforgiving plantlife, and the feathers of his wings were ruffled by the frantic dash.
Pavlova choked on his own blood and tears as his fingers scratched into the earthen surface below; it felt real, and he felt alive. The Bodyguard yelled at him while dragging him back up to his feet. Every part of his body ached as he righted his stance and wiped his face.
Blood trickled down his face from his throbbing nose. They ran, seeing the trees further down opening into a light of sorts; freedom’s embrace. He’d reach it and be free, for Sugarfly, for the sugar angels with the purpose to only serve, for those trapped in the garden's sickly sweet grasp. He had to be free.
Wildberry was a few steps ahead of him as they ran through the tree line. The light was blinding, and he lost sight of the Hollyberrian but continued to run a few steps more forward. Blinking away his blindness, he felt sand beneath his toes. A hot, scratchy thing that felt comforting to his bloodied feet.
He hadn’t realized all he could hear was his heartbeat until the sound of waves began to register in his mind. Looking ahead, the water crashed into the shoreline as the sun’s rays rippled upon the water. Gentle, imperfect clouds drifted overhead as the word around wasn’t in shades of pink. It looked natural, it looked real, and he felt alive.
His wounded knees hit the sand as he cried. His weeping sounded like that of a child as he fell forward onto his palms. Curling his fingers into the sand, Pavlova let out his heartbreak through the broken song of sorrow-filled sobs. He reached his freedom; his escape wasn’t planned to perfection. It was pure luck they lived, fueled by the fire of passion that remained steadfast within.
Blood and tears fell upon the sand as the Cupid-Like cookie began to smile; his lip had cracked, and blood ran down his face from the many lacerations, but he was free. Wildberry walked over to him, dropping to a knee to inspect him. The Hollyberrian had fewer scars across his frame, for he had run a strategic path rather than a frantic one. The few wounds he did have were located near his arms, where he’d swat away branches. Pavlova’s eyes met his as his injuries ached, but his smile only grew. He was not a caged bird; he was free.
He had achieved what he had always wanted and what he loved about Sugarfly. She was free once, and he would be free now.
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