#bride cookie

“There is no need to be shy, my dear~”

“It is not a matter of me being shy, miss, it’s a matter of this being wrong.”

Pure Vanilla Cookie has lost count of how many times he has tried to talk some sense into his “host’s” head, but the odd cookie remains steadfast on her conclusions. He has repeated the story of how their “marriage” had happened, how he didn’t know the tree root he was placing the ring in was her finger, how he had no idea she was there to hear him say his hopeless vows to the night skin, how he never once planned to marry anyone but the original owner of the ring... all for nothing. The odd cookie simply waves away his every attempt to explain, as if his words are nothing more but a fly’s insistent buzzing.

“Now, now, we are husband and wife, no calling me “miss”, silly! Unless you mean it as a cute pet name, then by all means~” she giggles. “Now come, we’ve spent enough time here! The others are dying to meet you!”

“Others...?”

Without another word, she grabs his wrist and pulls him out of the room, giving him no other choice but to follow her. He can only hope the “others” she mentioned were other cookies—other more reasonable cookies who’d help him leave this uncomfortable situation. They walk through long hallways of gray walls and floors that probably were once pure white. Many art pieces and banners and tapestries litter said walls, their once vibrant blues and yellows and magentas now faded to a muted sadness, almost gray in their abandon. Their shoes make soft noises against the tattered red carpets. The flowers are all lifeless and the armors have long lost their luster and the statues are covered in dust.

It seems he’s in an abandoned castle.

When they finally reach what seems a sitting room, Pure Vanilla feels his breath catch.

Sitting there, drinking tea without a care in the world, are many cookies. All of them share the oddness of his supposed wife: no light on their eyes, their dough not quite fresh not quite stale, no life to truly find. Except, differently form her, they all appear truly like a hellish band of living dead, with the lack of pupils and the missing parts—parts that no cookie would survive without, like the middle of their torso and a neck to keep their head with their body. And some cookie parts stand around like full cookies. And some of said parts have come together in a mockery of a cookie.

A dense air of malevolent magic pushes down his shoulders. Something old, resentful and angry. Tasting heavily of putrefaction.

It seems their souls abandoned the castle as well.

“Family!” the cookie who holds his ring hostage announce, not at all bothered by the macabre view in front of her. “Great news! Look, my husband has finally come for me! You can stop calling me ‘Bride Cookie’, for now I am a married cookie!”

The reanimated corpses of the cookies that once were her family—he can see the resemblance, despite not wanting to look as he can feel his stomach painfully constrict—stare at them, their movements sickeningly slow, and start clapping, cheering for her like mindless marionettes.

Oh, he can feel his dinner try to crawl its way out of his mouth.

“See, my dear? They love you!” the cookie—maybe he should call her ‘Bride Cookie’?—giggles, hugging his arm to her chest, which makes him lean back awkwardly as she is a bit taller than him. “Oh, we’ll be so happy! I can’t wait to spend eternity with you!”

“Eternity?!” in a sudden burst of strength, Pure Vanilla Cookie manages to free himself from her grip. “I am very sorry, but that can’t happen.”

“What do you mean, husband?”

“That! I am not your husband!” Pure Vanilla winces internally from the harshness of his words, but he must make himself understood. Never mind that she stole the ring he got for White Lily, but she is clearly determined to keep him there forever, and that he absolutely cannot accept.

There is far too much he must do, he cannot afford to simply let go of everything and be a husband to a cookie he doesn’t even know the name of.

“I understand there was a misunderstanding, but I am no one’s husband. It was all a mistake, one that must be corrected.”

“Are you... are you calling our wedding a mistake?” she asks and he doesn’t like the wrath bubbling in her voice.

Nor does he like the spike in magic he feels coming from her.

Oh, how he misses his Light of Truth, it’d surely shine some light on this situation.

“You said the vows to me. You put the ring on my finger. You swore yourself to me!” her voice raises, fists shaking at her sides.

The rotten magic builds around them, filling the room with the smell of death and decay. The very bricks of the castle seem to shudder at her rising anger. Pure Vanilla has faced many great foes, however every instinct in his body tells him to either agree with her or leave. And as the truthful fool he is, he chooses the second option. Without his staff or his souljam, he can’t go against the ancient—the irony—power building around the crazed cookie. He’d have a better chance to fight if he were to find them. So he turns from where they came and runs.

Tries to, anyway.

The shrill scream of a pained soul reaches him faster than his own heartbeats.

Heavy magic hits him square on the back.

His world goes fades back to black.

When he wakes up, it is to the beautiful face of his beloved Wife Cookie, who greets him with a warm smile.