May Chip Cookie

So they met in secret night after night, to share in whispers some truths hidden in forgotten scrolls and parchments. Their voices always soft and low, as to never break those intimate moment between them, those moment who only the moon herself was aware of it.

But the more they pushed each others forward in their quest for more and more knowledge, the less they noticed that they were dragging each other toward a unfortunate end.

Knowledge, as powerful as it is, carries a heavy weight. And the more they uncovered, the heavier it became, until the light that once guided them began to dim. And yet, even as the darkness crept in, they held on to one another…

Until one of them broke their promises, a promise that was once, oh, so dear to them, broken into a thousand of forbidden pieces of knowledge now forgotten.

What began as a beautiful journey slowly twisted into a quiet tragedy that neither of them would speak. It was their new secret, to pretend that their existence had never crossed their path…"

—

“Shadow Milk. You dared to say that you hated witches, but could you look her in the eyes and repeat those words after so many quiet whispers between you two? I saw how lonely you were. Your loneliness, it began after her…”

“..I-…You know nothing about her!”

That my witch Au, thanks for reading!!🫶

You were one of the librarians at the prestigious Blueberry Academy, an ancient institution nestled between forested hills and timeless traditions, a place of marble halls and old ivy, where magic and intellect danced hand in hand.

You had worked there for years, long enough for the walls to recognize your footsteps, long enough for the books to trust your touch. And yet, despite your time there, you remained something of a ghost to your colleagues. It wasn’t for lack of kindness on their part; rather, it was the weight of your own timidity, tied with the fine thread of shame, that kept you apart.

You lived mostly in the silence between conversations, avoiding attention with the practiced ease of someone who had long since given up on being seen. Not out of bitterness, no, but from that gentle kind of shame born of being too awkward, too shy, too... much in your own head. You had tried, once, to befriend your colleagues, to join their laughter and complain about reckless student on breaks, but your words always felt like mismatched shoes, clumsy, uncomfortable, out of rhythm. Eventually, you stopped trying.

But you had the library. And that was enough. You found peace in the solitude of your work, in the quiet breathing of the library’s walls, and in the whispering rustle of pages turned by unseen hands.

You often left the doors unlocked late into the evening, even when the Academy’s magical curfew should have sealed the building. A few students would slip inside, grateful for the quiet space to revise, ask whispered questions, or simply rest their thoughts between the bookshelves. You never reported them. After all, you remembered what it was like to be a student, desperate for answers, afraid of failure. If they sought knowledge in the hush of ink and parchment, who were you to deny them?

One dusky evening, as twilight spilled through the stained glass and painted the library in hues of sapphire and gold, you heard the creak of the door open behind you.

You didn’t look up immediately. Expecting another student slipping into the library for unknown purposes.

“Good evening,” came a voice, not youthful, but calm, smooth, precise.

You turned, and the world stilled.

He stood near the entrance, framed by the dying light, cloaked in a white clothes in long navy sleeve lined with golden runes that shimmered faintly as though breathing. His presence was... magnetic, but quiet. Like a forgotten star remembering how to shine. He walked not as though he belonged there, but as if the place had waited centuries just for him to return.

You had never seen him before.

And yet...

“I was told the library had a copy of Celestial Architectures, Vol. I,” he said surely, but keeping his voice low as not to disturb the quiet of the place, while stepping closer he continued. “Would you happen to know where it is?”

You blinked. That book. Of course. A rare tome, often requested, rarely understood. Unfortunately.

“I’m afraid... our only copy was badly damaged last month,” you said, hesitant. “Some careless hands. …Student.” you muttered the last word under your breath, filled with bitterness.

His expression didn’t change, but you noticed the way his fingers twitched slightly, disappointment perhaps, expertly hidden.

Then you remembered.

“I-I might have... a version,” you said, already moving toward the back. “An older edition. I kept it for myself years ago, since the new edition came. Not for lending, but... well, it’s better than nothing.”

He inclined his head. “If you’d be willing to share it, I would be in your debt.”

You found the book quickly, worn but well-loved. Without hesitation, you handed it to him.

He accepted it with reverent hands, your fingers lightly brushing against each other as you offer him the book.

“Thank you, I will take good care of it.” He simply responded with a smile.

Then, he left without another word.

Only after the echo of his footsteps had faded did your stomach twist with sudden dread.

The notes.

Oh no.

You had filled that book, completely, with your own thoughts over the years. Scribbles in the margins, musings in the blank spaces, questions addressed to no one. Your imagination. Your thought. You hadn’t opened it in so long, you’d forgotten the ink-stained map of your mind you’d left behind.

You cringed, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.

Days passed. You told yourself he would not return, that it would be better if your gaze’s never met again after such a embarrassing event…

But on the fifth night, he came back, unfortunate for you.

You were shelving a stack of returned scrolls when his voice, as soft as silk over stone, came from behind you.

“I believe this is yours.”

You turned, startled. He was holding the book, your book, in both hands.

“I-I’m so sorry about the notes,” you directly blurted before you could stop yourself, face already flushing. “I forgot I’d written in it, I never meant for anyone to read them! Especially not someone like-”

He raised one of his hand, stopping you gently.

“There is no need to apologize,” he said, his lips slightly curved, as if the situation amused him more than anything else.

You blinked at him, wide-eyed.

“Truly. It was...” He paused, taking his time for searching for the right word. “..Interesting.”

You stared.

“I’ve read that book a dozen times before, and yet your interpretations offered an entirely new lens. I would had never imagined the constellations to be seen in a such way by myself... But now I fear that I cannot see them otherwise.” His voice faded like a whisper, chased by a laugh so delicate you thought it might have been your imagination.

Your heart thudded somewhere near your throat.

“I-I didn’t think anyone would ever read them,” you murmured. “They were just thoughts. Silly ones…”

He gave the faintest smile.

“Thoughts are never silly when they ask the right questions.”

You looked down, overwhelmed. No one had ever spoken to you like that, at least not about your ideas.

When he handed the book back to you, your fingers brushed his just briefly for a second time.

The book felt heavier than before, though you didn’t yet understand why and didn’t bother to understand more.

“Thank you again,” he said, giving a small bow of his head accompanied by a faint smile.

Then, with the same quiet grace he had arrived with, he turned and walked away. The long folds of his sleeve swept softly behind him like waves in deep water. You watched him until he disappeared between the columns of the library, his footsteps fading into silence.

And then he was gone.

You stood still for a moment, your heart oddly unsettled. The lamps hummed faintly above you, casting shadows on the marble floor.

…Who was he?

You hadn’t even thought to ask his name.

Should I have? you wondered. But the moment had passed, and you’d let it go.

You sighed and glanced down at the book still in your hands. Adrift in solitude with only the book and your thoughts now, you let your fingers wander through its pages, searching for a whisper of something new, maybe a response of your endless thoughts.

Yet as your fingers brushed across the turning pages, your gaze fell upon something that shimmered with quiet beauty, something far too radiant to be your own.

His handwriting, elegant and deliberate, had answered every one of your scattered thoughts on small note. Not correcting. Not judging. Simply responding, like a conversation that had waited years to be heard.

And that’s when you saw it, tucked delicately between the last two pages, just beneath one of your messiest notes, written in a precise and graceful script.

“If you wouldn’t mind terribly, I would love to read the second volume. And if possible, in similar condition as the first one.”

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Part 2

EH J’ÉCRIS TELLEMENT MIEUX, je crois, coems🤑🙏

"What—" Fount's neck almost seems to twist with how quickly he turns around, "[READER]!! Quick, hold on to my hand!" the Virtue extends his delicate hand to you and you grip it so tightly that it reciprocates, his long nails biting your skin, "Don't let go, did you hear?!" Well, yeah, that was a little difficult knowing how physically weak your Fount is...

The beast behind you begins to pull you even harder, and the grip of your hands grows weak almost to the point of breaking, "let go of my disciple...!" Fount groans with effort and reaches with his free hand for his long staff holding his Souljam, raising it as he casts a luminiscience spell that seems to stun the manifestation behind you and let you go, while the latter lets out an annoyed and irritated growl that sounds strangely human, rubbing his eyes raw.

Inertia does its job and you slump against Fount, causing you both to stagger before he quickly composes himself and holds you firmly in place, his hand on the back of your head against his chest as he mutters a curse under his breath. The two of you are still taking a little deep breath from the shock and you notice that Fount's sweating a little, but even more, you get to notice and hear his heartbeat in this position. You almost mentally scold yourself for the blush that appears on your cheeks despite the situation you are in right now.

Fount, on the other hand, isn't paying attention to you and keeps his eyes narrowed at the blinded figure in front of him, 'damn it, how come I didn't notice his presence?!' His mind searches for solutions, it berates itself but wakes up enough to shake her head and focus on the present, her gaze focusing on yours, "[Reader], are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

"Y-yes thank you Fount, I'm f—"

A mocking laugh interrupts your answer, and the two of you quickly turn to watch as the entity takes on a more defined shape from the shadows as it speaks, "well, well, well... But if it's not my dear meee and my adorable disciple~! I'll let you know, I didn't like your dirty little trick... very predictable coming from such a boring Virtue!"

Shadow Milk finishes materializing from the ball of shadows that previously grabbed you, floating with a cruel and theatrical laugh. If it weren't for the adrenaline, you'd stop to observe his great resemblance to your Fount; if it weren't for the eyes in his hair taking the place of constellations.

Instead, Fount's jaw tightens with pressure "dirty trick? I suppose you were the one who left that distraction on the road while you were taking advantage of my disciple, weren't you?!" Fount leaves an annoyed growl and lets out an exasperated sigh as he loosens his hold on you, and shakes his head again, "Who even are you, jester? What do you want?"

Another mocking laugh. "Well, let's say I'm you... but MUCH better, you see! How come the 'Oh Great Fount of Knowledge' fell for a trick like that?!" Fount's almost mortified from the embarrassed blush that begins to cover his cheeks, his frown growing every second that his eyebrows must hurt. "Heck, I knew I used to be such a bitter and boring cookie, but not of this level! I'm sure [Reader] must be sick of you by now too, poor them~!" Even though you can't see well Fount's face in this position, you can feel something about him snapping as his heteroceomatic gaze becomes feral.

"What did you just say, you little..!"

Suddenly, a snap sounds from Shadow Milk's fingers and you are teleported right to his side with a gasp muffled in shock, his arms (now considerably gentler than before but not enough to let his grip slip away) intertwine around your neck, and blue strings wrap tightly around your body as well. He floats past you with an almost sweet but also smug and defiant smile, as if HE is the one teaching your Fount something obvious. "Since you obviously don't know how to take care of -much less entertain may I add- my dear pookie bear, I guess it's time for us to—"

The beast stops dead with his words as the large, golden, sharp tip on the back of Fount's staff lunges so quickly and decisively at his Adam's apple uncovered from his ruff, burying itself in his skin just enough to let a trail of blood slowly run down below.

"I've already told you to release my disciple. Do not make me repeat myself."

Shadow Milk's small, open mouth gradually shifts into a playful, almost innocent smile, and his hands and strings let go of your body and rise up in the air in a mocking sign of defeat that tells you that's not all of it. "...Tough audience, huh..?"

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- I think you all might notice it's my first time writing a fic LMAO 😭 pls pls criticize me