mincholics' area

The coldness of the Spire of Shadows spiraled down, illusions looking down on you in a cascade of blue, white, and gold tapestries. The cold, milky white pillars were tall, endless, breaking through the boundaries of the sky itself.

The tiles were empty, soulless, devoid of the knowledge that used to flow endlessly all throughout like the slowed rivers.

Looking up, the sky was deprived of the soft starlight, reflections casting back down, cardboard clouds drifting through endlessly without any purpose. Only at the very top of the spire lay a symbol of the very star of the show himself, eyes of many shades of blue casting below.

The perfect stage to act to his audience, he would say.

How could it not be? Everything was orchestrated by his design, the stage front devoured in midnight blues to draw all eyes to the actors on stage.

It was what he had left. What he had resigned himself to.

A life where he had no one left but himself.

Long gone were the days of lectures, the guidance of truth to the lost, and the overflowing knowledge his very students, and even himself, used to embody.

“Oh, shush”, he’d tell the audience. In his eyes, it was merely a pathetic tale meant to be hidden away in the deepest depths of the library, if there were even still traces of it left.

For his title as Fount of Knowledge was just a thing of the past now. A title he still has, but has been twisted as something forced upon him.

Time flowed endlessly here, no regards to anything but itself. Space had no limits nor confinements, enveloping the Spire in a void. Life was merely a thing meant to renew the fleeting. Death was the end of it all, whether you were prepared to face it or not. All orchestrated, he would say.

Time was intertwined. “Here, the future of the past and the present coexist.”

He wasn’t alone, he would say. He had those two cookies spread lies and deceit all throughout, the most scandalous of rumors sprouting from a mere seed of doubt.

This time, however, he had sent them out on their own free will, whether that be to infiltrate the libraries once more, broadcast the latest gossip, or cause mischief like an untamed child, anything.

For he already had the show set for him. Only an aspiring and memorable star such as him would truly know when to draw the curtains, to set the lights on himself, or to humor the audience a little for engagement.

Just him. Anyone from before has only dragged him down.

While he was still holding the very element and truth of knowledge itself, the Spire of All Knowledge was the embodiment of authority, yet at the same time, a welcoming place for scholars who were willing to take time to listen and read through.

He had stepped up from his position as Sage in the Blueberry Yogurt Academy, accompanied by the one he cared for the most, you. A scholar who had risen to the ranks, an opportunity only reserved for what he believed to be an “ever growing mind”, alongside your dearest friends to keep them company.

Constellations filled the sky, the starlight aligning with the moon just right, casting rays of moonlit onto weary scholars looking for respite from the high standards studying in the Spire of All Knowledge itself.

The Spire stood tall amongst the gloomy and dark trees, only using a mostly blueberry blue and milky white color scheme lining the pristine walls as a sign of purity, but also to make itself known.

Large books and bookshelves filled the endless walls, allowing anyone to bask in the information that defied all logic, transcending the possibilities of what was known and what could be done.

On some days, he’d rest beside you, not falling asleep, but rather, allowing himself a moment of respite, savoring the moment as the moonlight enclosed on the two of them, in which time slowed down for them itself.

And yet, those above would do anything but give him mercy.

He’d hum a tune he used to play on his harpsichord while he was alone absentmindedly without realizing it, a tune that filled his mind pleasantly despite the high standards expected of him.

Scrolls hung down from the walls, even more information for those willing to push their limits. Quotes of perpetual time and immortality linked with life.

He mentioned them occasionally during his times where he stood in front of the podium, thinking nothing of it, hoping that his own experience as a cookie unaffected by time would elevate his speech, bringing more gravity to the situation.

Speeches in which even the brightest minds he taught grew tired and miserable of.

Within those achingly long moments, they passed by in a blur. A report of several scholars falling indefinitely asleep in the unused corner of the empty hall, where scholars seldom visited. Filed under the emotional influence of magic. Tested an immortality incantation on themselves as their last hope, despite their deteriorating mindsets.

One of those mindsets being one he used to help grow and learn, the cookie that he… loved the most. Leaving room not just for knowledge, but for time spent with him. The fleeting moments he thought he would get to make more of. Meaningful, memorable.

Indefinitely. No treatment provided. Only healing charms and the passing of time could answer.

The only thing left from you was your worn yet timeless satchel, still carrying spare parchment, and a book smuggled all the way from the forbidden archives of the Academy, one with the intent to tamper one’s own life.

It had been shared within the four of you. A hope to a better and endless future, a future none of them were ready for. A future he could’ve prevented.

His own thoughts could only echo repeatedly in his mind, the shadows slowly enveloping the office he stayed in, despite the warm lamps that were supposed to illuminate the atmosphere.

If only you had been there. If only you had found the book earlier and lectured– not reprimanded them. If only you had the wards enabled.. If only you visited them more instead of pushing them away for duty– If only you reminded them that you were happy even if fleeting.

If only…

“If only I had more time.”

…

His eyes could only reflect the emotional conflict he wished to speak out in desperation, his quill closing in on the blank on the blurry parchment that awaited his signature.

The signature with his title as “Fount of Knowledge”... nothing more than what “they” would’ve considered him.

And before he knew it, the walls, covered with stained glass of the purest kind, began closing in on him day after day after day.

Seconds passed by. Minutes passed by. Hours, days, weeks, even. It was all but a memory drifting through the endless sea, a memory he tried to push away, but kept drifting back to the island. A memory nothing but a burden, much less he had realized the same with his knowledge, much less the one truth he tried to protect and love with all he could.

And yet, he had failed.

Within the once serene atmosphere, even as time flowed endlessly, underneath all his grand titles he had earned himself, he knew one thing.

Without truth, there was no love. And without love, there was no truth.

And yet, he abandoned the same truth that he coveted. The same truth that failed to protect them.

…

The Fount of Knowledge was too far gone.

No one wanted to hear the truth everyone knew. The truth that brought more harm and misery than enlightenment and good news. The truth that was irreversible, irrevocable, irreconcilable, irrelevant, irrational to most. The knowledge that was only a burden to carry.

Forbidden truths were the most interesting to scholars. No longer the wise words of encouragement he sought to bring out.

And so, as the whispers of his own Light of Knowledge collapsed on him in pure despair, he changed. With no more light to follow, as he rested his mind in his other-realm, he became a beacon of false hope.

Lies trailing him around, white lies, he told himself at first.

He stood in front of the podium with a new sense of vigor, hair slightly disheveled, the glow following him dimming. Though, no one noticed. The only thing people were interested in were the hopeful lies he spun. Though lied conflict, he ensured to tell a tale where everyone was not just happy, but content.

The life… he had resigned himself to.

He grew more cynical, in a way, festering fiercely onto the apple that took him away from what he once had. And oh, he had no regrets. He was an illusion within of itself, mesmerizing the audience through simple charms, what more could he ask?

In his mind, his imprisonment was, within of itself, a fleeting moment, but a torturous one that dragged on for far longer than he would’ve wished.

Silver forks rained down from the sky, landing right in front of him before he even got a second to react. Chains then began circling him, the cold metal bound and unforgiving.

Within the small space he was given, even for only a short while, to glance up, he could see Their Creators looking down on them, a sorrowful, melancholic, yet final look on their faces.

The Creators that handed him his Soul Jam, the very essence of his being.

And that too, was being taken away.

The rest left as a tale to stay hidden in only the most secure, magic bounded archives.

The halls were quiet, cold, uninviting for everyone except those who resided in the Spire itself. Many doors sat in order, ones that lead to different kinds of rooms, but still insufficient for someone as highly worthy of praise as Shadow Milk Cookie himself.

The Spire was nothing short of grand and escalated, but the gardens that rooted deep outside were filled with a longing indescribable. The dark trees were uninviting and unforgiving, guarding the entrance of the Spire.

The off-white Milkcrown flowers were pure, yet sorrowful and desolate. They were said, by rumor, to have grown and spread into clusters wherever tears fell. Innocent cookies who were burdened by the truth, unknowingly leaving trails of pure white misery to grow outside the Spire. Gentlest of its kind, yet downhearted.

And the Spire of Shadows had a plethora of them.

A plethora that he, despite knowing the truth and their intent of creation, vehemently disagreed to removing or harming them in any way.

Before, in the distant past, he had suggested planting them with you. After all, their milk-crowned shaped petals were the perfect to plant around the Academy, their purity and shape reflecting the values they upheld.

Those days were long gone.

In the somber harmony of the flowers, those memories grew in sorrow too.

He only remembered planting the same flowers in remembrance. In grief. Then he left them alone.

Then again, he seldom visited the memories he deemed irrelevant.

That was, until he floated past a particularly weary door. The entrance wasn’t as grand as his other favorite rooms, as if he already avoided it out of habit.

While it showed signs of age, the entrance itself wasn’t uninviting. If anything, it was welcoming, and lingered a faint floral scent.

Suddenly, a faint anger began to simmer within his dough. Memories like these had no place in the Spire, why should they?

He would eradicate every last bit until it was content.

With much more force and his staff in hand, he turned the door and–

…

Everything was… still as it used to be.

He gave the room to her once, an old office in the Spire of All Knowledge from a great Scholar who resigned due to age.

Quietly, he remembered organizing shelves and collecting old notes and scrolls, while you added your own books and your own flourish to the area.

It was… uniquely yours.

He remembered standing there, glancing around the room they worked on together. A space just for them.

The desk was of sturdy yet stylish wood, picture frames of her favorite moments and memories across the room.

Flowers adorned the room, cared for tenderly in the sun and watered with love. He even planted one of them for memories.

Across the shelves and other tables, there laid little trinkets gifted and earned through tender memories, cleaned every once in a while to prevent dust collection.

Some knew the Fount of Knowledge as an enigmatic yet mysterious person, vanishing the second he was done with lectures, presumably to do more work.

However, when notes and documents spared him for once, he used to enjoy visiting you for lunch or small chatter, plans to meet up outside the Spire that unfortunately weren’t successful often due to his rankings and status. There wasn’t enough time for them.

Not.. enough time.

The room in its current state was a pitiful reminder of what it once was.

Dust and a few cobwebs lined the room, The floor threatening to collapse onto the level below when he even dared to take a regular step.

The trinkets, charms, photos, or anything else had been cleared.

A large space was made room for in the center, enough to fit a casting circle.

The table was occupied by hastily scrambled notes and details of tests.

The moment he floated over, he glanced over the words on the scrolls.

The first pages were innocent notes, plans for potential spells, incantations to remember, and steps on preparing those same spells.

However, as he skipped to the last few pages, the ones most recent on top, they changed entirely.

The writing was uneven, almost unreadable as if studying the very essence of your life would be the only thing to keep you alive.

The words curled into dangerous territory. Forbidden magic with irreversible consequences. Sigils of preservation tactics for simple things like to use on your plants when you were busy were planned to use permanently on your own life.

But even he knew deep down, with his distant and closed off walls, that a forever for a simple cookie like you was unreachable.

There laid your handwriting on each page, notes following the diagrams that were horrifying to an innocent cookie who was content with their life.

And yet, you persisted.

He gripped his staff tightly.

And on the very last page, read a solemn letter.

“My Fount,”

“If you have read this, it means I have done it.”

“I know not how many days and nights have passed ever since I began researching immortality,” you began, hopeful.

“I deeply apologize for hiding the truth from you. This was my own burden.” you stated, as if already resigning to fate.

“Today will be the day I test the spell I’ve crafted so carefully over the past few months. If I succeed, I can free you of the pain of watching all you know go before you. If I don’t…”

The last words had left with excess ink, as if you weren’t sure of what to write.

“I hope you learn to treasure what we had. Loathe me, resent me, whatever you wish. But know that I enjoyed every moment I had in my fleeting life, even if it seemed meaningless to you.”

“I don’t want you to carry the burden of living with the knowledge and the truth that I passed away because of my desire to stay with you. I did this to myself.”

“This is my last hope. I can’t hope for time to spare me just from my will.”

He didn’t need to read the rest.

All his anger boiled to the surface, as he held the pages and several scrolls firmly at the top, ready to tear them.

Then, he stopped.

Time and time again, he knew that he wouldn’t forgive himself for destroying the pieces of research you had made in a desire to stay with him, even if he resented the thought.

You would forgive him, of course you would, he thought bitterly.

But why should he to himself?

He dropped the papers harshly onto the desk with a yell, shaking with unreleased fury that slowly slowed…

Into misery.

This was all he had left. Such a cookie who had warmed him up, and changed his life forever, was reduced to nothing but pieces of parchment and test results and spells of a desperate person just wanting more time.

He floated back to the door, and took in the room with all its gone glory.

He couldn’t bring himself to destroy it.

He turned the knob carefully, hinges screeching, and took in the atmosphere of the Spire of.

During the times when the Spire still embedded knowledge, by now, he would’ve greeted you goodbye with a smile.

The only thing he was saying goodbye to was a past that he never got to truly enjoy, the fear of mortality grasping him every living moment.

Once more, in a way, he embraced deceit.

The sweet lie that was of his past.

You never existed, he would tell himself.

He would leave the room alone, just as he did before. And yet…

There lingered a caring voice in his head. Not sickeningly sweet before, but it was now. A tone filled with sympathy, that he now believed was just a mock of itself.

“You’ll forgive yourself, right?”

Not with the knowledge that he used to embody.

Not with the truth that everyone turned away from.

Not with his powers that failed every single time when he needed them most.

In the same way…

Maybe with the knowledge that held all his sweetest memories dear.

Maybe with the truth that you loved him for.

Maybe with his powers that weren’t perfect, but were used in simpler ways that you enjoyed seeing.

If he had changed, perhaps he could embrace you once more.

Not in the current lifetime, but with the spirit that roamed around the Spire endlessly, waiting for a certain someone who kept avoiding them.

And you would always be there, waiting, despite the endless hold of time.

wow this story is long overdue...

you can tell i locked in on one part lol

admittedly i changed the plot like 4 times i hate writing dialogue

i can pour all my soul into descriptions then blank out at dialogue