#future shadowvanilla

Candy Apple blinked slowly. Black Sapphire raised an eyebrow. They didn't say anything—they didn't need to. Their silence said it all.

Sapphire was careful when he spoke next. His tone was calm and respectful—but nevertheless firm.

"While I'm not inclined to believe every word of that insufferable saint... I do think you should consider eating something, Master."

The very thought made his stomach turn. Him? Requiring something as pathetically mundane as food? As if he were bound by the same rules as a mere mortal? Please. He was above such nonsense. He wasn't mortal. He wasn't that weak. He couldn't be.

Shadow Milk quickly masked his unease with his usual theatrics.

"Nonsense!" he declared, flinging out a hand with his signature flair—this time mostly managing not to flinch at the bolt of pain from his treacherous body. "Don't tell me you've already forgotten? Hellooo? I don't need to eat."

He tried laughing it off, as if the pure notion were ridiculous, but there was a hysteric edge to the sound that probably only dug his grave deeper.

Sapphire didn't let that deter him. "You didn't need sleep up until now, either." Calm. Neutral.

Infuriating.

The jester gasped, "I still don't!"

Candy looked judgingly skeptical, while Sapphire just blinked at him, more deadpan than ever.

"With all due respect, Master, you look like you'll be out cold the moment your head hits the pillow."

Shadow Milk opened his mouth—then closed it. Then opened it again, reaching for some clever retort that never quite made it past his lips.

"I—That's not—You can't just—!" he sputtered, words tripping over each other in scandalized disbelief. "I don't! I am wide awake!"

Unfair. So incredibly unfair of them, both of them. Not to let him lie. Not to play along with the illusion that everything was perfectly under control.

He tried not to squirm under their expectant gazes, which would have been so much easier, if they had been just expectant or judgmental. But there was care there, too—genuine, steady concern that poked at something raw under his skin.

He didn't know what to do with it.

They were watching him too closely, reading him too easily. Shadow Milk didn't know when that had started, or how. Maybe they always had. Or maybe he was just too exhausted to keep his mask in place right now.

A moment of silence lingered, taut and awkward, before Candy Apple tilted her head ever so slightly—casual, disarming, that same smile she used when offering bad news wrapped in spun sugar.

"Well," she said lightly, "since you're not tired, maybe you'd feel better after you had something to eat?" She gave a little shrug, like it hardly mattered either way. "There is something delicious just in the next room. Still warm."

The suggestion was sweet, soft, and perfectly timed. An easy way out of the awkward and exhausting need to defend his alertness. He seized it before thinking.

"Ah. Right. Of course. Naturally," he said, already halfway into a nod before he caught the trap he'd walked into.

Wait. No.

She was offering something irresistible—a way out of this uncomfortable conversation—but the price was food. Which he also didn't want.

He stuttered, floundering for a graceful escape.

"I—well—I mean, that doesn't mean I'm hungry, you know—just because—" he gestured vaguely, as if the words might appear from thin air to rescue him. "That is to say—I have no need—I wouldn't—"

Candy was already standing. "Of course not," she said sweetly, her voice all sugar and sunshine. "But it's there if you want it." And then, like a casual afterthought, she added, "I'll go get it."

In the blink of an eye she vanished through the door, Shadow Milk's mouth still open to protest.

A beat of silence.

"Did she just—?"

"Yes," Black Sapphire said simply, not looking up from where he now idly examined a thread on his sleeve. "Yes, she did."

It wasn't long before Candy returned, balancing a tray with food that looked far too elegant for three kinda-prisoners under constant surveillance. A stack of golden crêpes, folded into neat triangles, topped with honeyed syrup and dusted with thin curls of white chocolate. A small bowl of whipped cream on the side, and next to it a tall glass of something pale and sparkling, carrying the faintest hint of vanilla spice.

She set the tray down in front of her master with a smile just this side of smug.

"There. You don't even have to move. Royal treatment for our very awake, not-at-all exhausted Master."

Shadow Milk looked at the plate like it had personally offended him.

"I am being mocked," he declared.

Sapphire crossed his arms. "Only gently."

It smelled…unfairly good. He absolutely did not trust how it made him feel.

Candy Apple sat beside him again, ever so casually. "You don't have to," she said lightly, "but it'd be a shame to let it go cold, don't you think?"

It was the tone that did it. No pressure. No demand. Just… an opening. An invitation.

He sighed heavily, before reaching for one of the crêpes with all the reluctance of someone being forced to sign a pact with his mortal enemy.

He took a bite.

Silence.

"It's… fine," he said, in an attempt at indifference.

Candy just smiled brightly. "There is a lot to be said about this place, but the food is stupidly good."

Which of course brought them right back to the question they had conveniently set aside in favor of bulling him to eat.

Should we leave? Or stay?

Do I even want to go back? Could I really bring myself to leave what's left of my Soul Jam behind?

For them?

They would be better off without you anyway.

Right… without me, they might not be recognized. Without me, they might actually have a chance to start over, somewhere—

"Master…?"

Candy Apple interrupted his spiraling, her voice gentler this time, eyes full of concern again.

Great. He'd stilled with his food halfway to his mouth, hadn't he. That wasn't suspicious at all.

"Ahh, nothing," the jester said quickly, forcing a dismissive grin on his face before quickly stuffing another bite into his mouth hoping that would somehow make the thoughts disappear. It didn't.

So, he just forced his mind to latch onto something else. Like…

Eating. Eating was strange.

Not bad, by any means. Just off. He had eaten before, of course—stolen bites from Candy and Sapphire for the sole purpose of annoying them. Pure Vanilla had even bullied him into joining a few meals the last time they were here. But that had been years ago. Shadow Milk couldn't remember the last time he'd actually sat and eaten.

But he manages—if only to make the awkward silence hanging over the room slightly more bearable. He really wished that one of the others would just say something. Anything.

But, nooo. For once in their lives they had to be silent, making meaningful eye contact, clearly communicating in some invisible language that excluded him completely. Again.

Have they always been able to do that? Is that a sibling thing? So unfair.

The jester narrowed his eyes. "Did no one ever teach you it's incredibly rude to exclude someone from a conversation like that?"

Both of them immediately shifted their attention back onto him. Both looked completely unapologetic.

Candy Apple beamed. "Nope!" she chirped, all bright-eyed mischief.

Black Sapphire smirked. "And since you're the one who taught us everything we know," he added dryly, "I'm not even remotely surprised."

Ah. Right. Manners. Shadow Milk hadn't bothered with those in millennia.

Sapphire had his own set—drilled into him long before they ever met. Although whether he remembered to use them or not depended entirely on whether they served his purpose at the time. As for Candy… she had no filter, no reservations, and no shame. It was part of her charm.

"Right, of course," he muttered. "Still. Care to enlighten me what oh-so-critical matters you were busy discussing psychically?"

The radio host gave a small shrug. "Well, I don't know what Candy was thinking," he said coolly, "but I was considering whether we should talk about the offer that's been extended to us now or later."

He said the word "offer" with enough venom that Shadow Milk was almost surprised it didn't drip onto the floor and scorch the tiles.

If he'd had his staff, it might actually would've.

Everything in him screamed to take the opportunity and delay that conversation. To bask in the illusion that they might stay a little longer—that they might sacrifice their freedom, their magic, their chance at a new life, just to remain by his side.

But that would mean dragging them down with him.

And he knew he couldn't ask that of them.

He wanted them to stay. It was selfish, detestable, obnoxious—he was all these things and more.

But he wouldn't demand that. Couldn't.

He owed them that much. And he owed them not to leave them in the dark any longer, just because he was afraid nervous.

So, when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual, the edges softened with hesitation.

"Now," he said, without looking at them. "W-we should talk about that now."

His hands fumbled slightly as he tried to lift the tray from his lap and set it aside, but Sapphire swiftly reached out, taking it from him and placing it on the nightstand.

He almost would have thanked him.

Almost.

Sue him, he was feeling a bit sentimental right now. But that would've been a massive breach in character—possibly worse than "talking to the wallpaper," as Candy had put it. He couldn't have them think he was loosing it—more then they already were.

So, he bit his lip and instead just mentioned for Black Sapphire to sit down on the bed as well. He shouldn't have to stand just because Shadow Milk lied about his need for personal space.

The other sat without question, his expression unreadable. Candy Apple shifted on Shadow's other side, silent for once, her gaze fixed on her master with something far too close to worry.

He took a breath. Held it. Let it out slowly.

"You… you two need to make this decision for yourselves," he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage. "I'm not going to ask you to stay. You don't owe me that. Not after everything."

The words scraped against his throat like glass, but he pushed through.

"There might be a chance for you to start over somewhere else—where no one looks at you and sees me. You should at least consider it."

There was a pause. Shadow Milk couldn't bring himself to look up and face their reaction.

Then Candy's voice, quiet and unsure: "And what about you?"

His heart seized at the clear worry in her tone. He couldn't tell them the truth—he just couldn't, but for some reason, the lies didn't flow as easily as they usually did.

"I- I can't leave…I-" his hand twitched, drifting up to his chest before he caught the motion and tore it away again—but not before Sapphire's perceptive eyes caught it.

Shadow could almost see the gears turning in Black Sapphire's head, processing all the information he'd been given, putting them together like pieces of a puzzle until he came to a devastating, but unfortunately correct, conclusion.

A sharp intake of breath at the realization, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Master, do you mean to say—"

Shadow Milk silenced him instantly, grabbing him by the collar and slapping a hand over his mouth.

He tried to sound angry, but he knew the other could see the terror in his eyes.

"Do not finish that sentence," he growled—more serious than he'd been in a long time. "Never speak of this again. Never even think about it. If that lie ever becomes so much as a rumor, it will be turned into a truth immediately."

He couldn't stop his voice from shaking slightly at that last part—at the reminder of Pure Vanilla's threat.

"Do you understand?"

Shadow Milk slowly removed his hand. Despite the lingering shock in his eyes, Black Sapphire didn't hesitate.

"Yes, Master."

Candy just blinked, clearly confused, glancing between the two of them.

"I don't."

Shadow let go of Black Sapphire and slumped back with a sharp exhale. Then he turned to the girl instead.

"Good," he said firmly. "Don't. You just forget this conversation ever happened." He stared her down sharply to make sure she got the message.

Despite rumors being Sapphire's main trait, the jester knew that the radio host could keep his mouth shut. To know how to sew rumors, was to know how to keep them at bay, after all.

Candy Apple on the other hand… more often than not, she acted before she thought and he simply couldn't have that right now.

Sapphire turned to her as well and added, "The only thing you need to know, is that we have multiple good reasons to stay. I'm sure we can make due, and get them to loosen these restrictions with some time and effort."

Candy nodded—reluctantly—but crossed her arms and pouted all the same, to underline her disapproval at being excluded.

Shadow Milk barely registered it, still stuck on the part where they had just casually agreed to stay with him. Like that never been up for debate.

You owe them more than that.

He swallowed hard, jaw tight. "You don't have to," he forced himself to say. "Not for me."

The room fell quiet.

Then Candy scooted a little closer, slipping her arm around his back in a gentle half-hug.

"After everything we've been through together?" she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We're not going to leave you now."

Sapphire nodded, then smirked. "You're stuck with us. Try not to faint from joy."

Shadow let out a shaky breath that might have been a laugh. "Tch. As if."

He didn't say thank you. Of course not. But he returned Candy's half-hug for a moment, and they all knew what it meant.

There was a beat of silence, but Black Sapphire didn't let it get awkward again. He stood and gave Candy Apple a small nod to follow.

"It's still a good while until dinner. We'll give you some space to… not sleep."

Shadow Milk gave him a half-hearted glare. "I won't."

They didn’t argue. Just said they'd be back when dinner arrived and to yell if he needed anything in the meantime. Then they left—just like that—shutting the door and leaving him alone in the quiet of his room. The nerve of some cookies!

But okay… Maybe he was a little exhausted—mentally, emotionally and magically.

So, maybe it wouldn't hurt to lie down for a moment—to recover his depleted magic resources more quickly, of course.

He wasn't tired. He didn't get tired.

That would be ridiculous.

…

Shadow Milk was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Shadow Milk had mostly let the explanations wash over him. Something about mealtimes, spending money and an upcoming festival. He had always let Black Sapphire handle that kind of stuff—too boring for his taste.

Although, this time, that might not have been the real only reason for his lack of attention.

Pure Vanilla might have seemed as calm and composed as always, but the jester had clearly heard the resentment buried under that gentle tone—had noticed the stiffness in his stance, the subtle tension in his movements. He had looked at his other half far too often, despite his increasingly desperate attempts to stare anywhere else. Out of boredom, of course.

I wonder if he can't stop thinking about our last encounter in this room, as well…

The phantom ache in his chest flared at the thought—radiating in bitter pulses, like cracks spiderwebbing through sugar glass. The shattering of his Soul Jam hadn’t just fractured his magic; it had left behind splinters—sharp, invisible, buried deep, not in his dough but in his very essence.

It had dulled overnight, faded into something almost neglectable. But now, just the memory of that look on Pure Vanilla’s face…

Shadow Milk shook the thought from his head immediately.

Ugh…

Nope! Nu-uh. No way.

He was not ruining his morning with that kind of thinking before it even began. It was far too early for this shit.

A glance at the clock on the wall had him groaning—in fact it was far too early for anything, really. Breakfast started at six, if he remembered correctly, so in about half an hour…

He groaned again—putting on a show for an audience of none. He definitely hadn’t planned on being the first in line. And especially not on going alone. He still refused to acknowledge that he needed food at all like it was the plague. He was good at that after all. Lying to himself.

He’d need to find a way to occupy himself while he waited for the other two to wake up. Unlike him, they hadn't been out for several days straight, so they would surely not wake for another few hours at least.

Welp, no time like the present!

With a dramatic flourish worthy of a stage curtain call, Shadow Milk flung the blanket aside and shuffled to the edge of the large bed. The movement earned him only a faint sting from his protesting body—progress! Encouraged, he swung his legs over the side with a bit too much enthusiasm.

For approximately one glorious second, he felt triumphant.

Then gravity had to remind him that it existed.

His legs, traitorous fools that they were, failed to support him in the slightest. His balance pitched forward. His arms flailed for purchase like the air could support him and with a startled yelp more befitting a squeak-toy than an ancient being of darkness, Shadow Milk faceplanted into the soft, plush carpet below.

He just lay there for a moment, sprawled out like a marionette with it's strings cut, limbs tangled, dignity in tatters.

His brain took a moment—or three—to catch up.

Thank anyone but the witches that no one else is awake yet. I might actually die of embarrassment if Candy or Sapphire had seen that.

Still facedown, he groaned quietly into the carpet. Then, with the grace of an uncoordinated newborn cream sheep, he awkwardly pushed himself up onto shaky elbows, before turning back towards the bed and grabbing onto it's frame like a lifeline.

What the hell just happened?

His body felt heavy.

But not in the same way as when he first woke up yesterday, weighted down by exhaustion. No—this was different. More… existential.

Instinctively Shadow Milk reached for his magic, intending to levitate himself back onto the bed like he had done a million times before in his lifetime. His magic sparked. He felt lighter. It flickered, then sputtered, then fizzled out completely. Weak. Drained. To little energy.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Still stitting on the floor. Staring at his claws, almost tearing into the mattress, as the realization hit.

'I've never stood up,' hiseyes were wide, his throat tightened. 'I never walked. Never ran. I…'

The thought hit like a blow to the chest.

I haven’t walked in millennia.

Why would he have? Flying had become second nature—effortless, instinctive, as easy as breathing. He'd mastered it to perfection, the motions natural for his mind and body alike. It had never needed much energy. Not when his Soul Jam provided power like the roaring sea.

But that sea was gone now.

His magic pool, once vast and unending, had been reduced to a trembling puddle. A glass half-empty where there had once been an ocean.

Something squeezed around his chest, invisible and unrelenting. His breaths grew short, sharp, panicked.

I can’t fly.

Even if he had the magic, he wasn’t allowed to use it outside these walls. He wasn’t allowed to be what he used to be.

I can’t walk.

His heart pounded like it was trying to escape the prison of his ribs.

I forgot how.

He couldn’t move.

Couldn’t run.

Couldn’t escape.

His whole body trembled. Not with exhaustion, but with the gut-deep, all-consuming terror of someone cornered. Caged. Trapped in a body that no longer obeyed him.

He dragged in a breath—but it caught in his throat. Another. Still too shallow. His hands clawed at the sheets, desperate for something to ground him, to move him, to free him.

I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—

The room spun.

The walls were closing in. The ceiling pressed down on him. Even the air felt wrong—too thick, too quiet. Every heartbeat was a war drum. Every second, a scream.

You’re powerless. Trapped. Useless. A pathetic shell—

“No.” The word was more a whimper. Croaked. Pleading.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Removed his hands from the bed sheets before his claws would tear them apart and hugged himself instead. Trying to hold it together. Trying to remember how to breathe.

In. Out. In. Out. Count it. Focus. Just…

One breath.

It stuttered.

Another.

It wasn’t steady, but it was there.

He pressed his forehead into the softness of the bed, his pulse still racing, but not quite galloping off a cliff anymore. His breaths were still ragged and wet with barely unshed tears, but they reached deeper into his lungs. His body still shook—but it was slowing.

A little.

You’re fine, he lied to himself. You're used to this. Being fine. You're always fine.

He stayed there for a while, just focusing on his breathing. His heart still pounded, but it no longer screamed. The room was still too quiet, but the silence wasn’t suffocating anymore. His body still felt heavy… but it was his.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

You're gonna find a way. You're not unable to walk. You've done it before. Just because you forgot, doesn't mean you can't relearn.

His little pep talk hadn’t been nearly as convincing as he would’ve liked—but hey, what did they say?

Fake it till you make it!

It had been his motto for centuries. Surely it could get him through this, too. As long as no one found out, he’d be fine. No one had to know about this temporary weakness of his.

All he had to do was deflect any attempts at dragging him outside until he figured out how to walk again.

How hard could that be?

As it turned out: Pretty hard.

The hours after his breakdown passed in a quiet, uneasy blur. The panic had drained him more thoroughly than he cared to admit, and once he'd clambered back into bed, his body had simply refused to move again. Not quite asleep, not quite awake, he'd drifted in and out of a restless half-consciousness—too tired to think but too tense to rest.

A very unpleasant experience.

But by the time he heard movement in the next room, he’d at least somewhat managed to sit up again—doing his very best to appear like he had not just spent the last three hours crashing out from a little panic attack.

“Morning!” came Candy Apple’s far too-loud, far too-cheerful voice, as she dashed into the room as soon as she saw him awake, closely followed by Black Sapphire at a more measured pace. “You’re awake! How are you feeling?”

Shadow Milk barely suppressed a flinch.

Act natural. You did not just have a full-on existential crisis because you forgot how legs work.

“Of course I’m awake,” he answered easily, gesturing vaguely and doing his best to lounge against the headboard like he hadn’t recently been face-down on the carpet. “Unlike certain others, I don’t need no beauty sleep to maintain my looks.”

Candy gave him a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated. “Uh-huh.”

“Should we all go to the dinning hall for breakfast,” Sapphire asked casually, “or would you rather we bring something here?”

Shadow Milk’s smile froze just a bit too long. Not the food again. He could not go out there. Not yet. But he couldn't like say that either!

“Oh no, no, no, I wouldn’t dream of subjecting the public to my radiance so early in the morning,” he declared with dramatic flair. “Besides, I’ve been giving it some thought, and I believe I should begin today by practicing the art of reflection. Yes. I need to think about some… stuff.”

There was a pause.

Candy tilted her head. “So... that’s a no?”

“Absolutely. Go, eat, nourish your mortal forms, or whatever it is you do.” He made a shooing gesture. “Your glorious leader will be right here. Meditating. Very deeply.”

Sapphire’s brow twitched, but he said nothing. Candy was already turning toward the door, a barely-suppressed grin tugging at her lips.

“Alright,” she chirped, “we’ll eat breakfast here. I hate sitting between all those boring, ordinary cookies anyway.”

“We’ll bring you something from everything,” Black Sapphire added, already halfway out the door. “So you can sample and decide what you like best. They serve pretty much the same things at the breakfast buffet every day.”

He smiled far too sweetly at Shadow Milk’s disbelieving expression—and had the audacity to close the door behind him before the jester could even begin to protest.

Shadow Milk slumped back with a theatrical groan, softly thunking his head against the headboard and dragging both hands down his face.

“Oh, yes, wonderful. Let’s experiment with breakfast while I sit here like a tragic room decoration.”

He muttered into his hands.

“They’re going to kill me. Not with violence. Not with poison. With… domesticity. Or whatever the hell this is.”

Care, whispered a voice at the back of his mind—one that sounded far too much like Pure Vanilla for his liking. They care.

Shadow Milk barely stopped himself from groaning once again, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles as if he could scrub away the feelings clawing at his chest.

Confusion. Frustration. Fear.

But hey, at least he’d bought himself a little more time.

Now he just had to figure out how to walk before lunch.

Easy. Right?

…Right?

When Black Sapphire stepped into the hallway for the second time that day, it was to collect lunch from the dining hall.

The soft whirr of the Wafflebots activated the moment the door clicked shut behind him and Candy Apple, two of the three drones floating politely into position—one behind each of them. Silent, unarmed, and yet somehow deeply unsettling.

He did his best to ignore them. They weren’t menacing or invasive, exactly—but that didn’t mean he liked being followed around by weirdly polite, floating surveillance waffles.

It was mostly a matter of privacy, really. Pure Vanilla had been insistent that the recordings would only be accessed if there was an incident requiring review—and even then, only by council order. But still… Black Sapphire was a suspicious cookie by nature. And he knew better than most that rules had a habit of bending when someone important enough thought it “necessary.”

Candy Apple, naturally, had no such concerns. She twirled once on her heel, walking backwards down the corridor with a grin. “Well,” she said brightly, “That was definitely a new flavor of weird.”

Sapphire gave a thoughtful hum, eyes narrowing. “Even for him. Something’s definitely wrong.”

Their master’s refusal to leave the room, his excuse about “preserving the mystique of his presence” or whatever he’d called it this time… it was off. Wrong, even. Shadow Milk lied all the time—masterfully, theatrically—but not like that. Not nervously. Not with something almost like an edge of desperation in his voice.

And that, more than anything, put Sapphire on edge.

“We need to do something,” Candy said firmly, but far to easily for the monumental task that that would probably turn out be.

Black Sapphire sighed heavily, pinching his eyebrows. “If only it were that easy,” he muttered. “Sometimes I really wish we could just ask for answers and get them. But nooo... That would be far too easy, of course.”

He was tired. He hadn’t slept well in days. First because Shadow Milk hadn’t stirred for over two days, and now because there was a devastating threat looming over their master’s head, the scope and consequences of which remained completely unforeseeable.

“Oh, heads up, Sapphy!” Candy chirped in her usual singsong. “Master will get back on track, sooner or later. He always does!”

Sapphire didn’t dignify that with a response. Candy adored Shadow Milk far too much to see the cracks for what they truly were. But contradicting her would only lead to a heated but pointless argument he didn’t have the energy to deal with right now.

“We should keep him entertained,” Candy continued, undeterred. “At least until he’s ready to leave the room again. We both know how...”

She hesitated, clearly searching for a word that wasn’t as insultingly honest as her first thought.

“...gloomy he gets when he’s bored.”

That was—actually a very good point. Whatever was bothering Shadow Milk, letting him stew in his own thoughts would only make it worse. He needed constant engagement—not that he would ever call it that, of course. But especially after the Silver Tree… their Master didn’t handle stillness well.

Sapphire gave a small hum of agreement. “We know he enjoys crafting—fabrics, puppets, dolls—whatever catches his attention. But if we want to help with that, we’ll need to buy supplies. And you know what that means.”

“Ughghh,” Candy groaned theatrically. “We need to work again...”

It wasn’t particularly hard to earn some spending money in the Vanilla Republic. Volunteering at the production facilities was practically a cornerstone of daily life. Cookies often helped out friends or neighbors for a few hours just for the fun of it—and even occasional helpers were always paid fairly for their time. As Pure Vanilla had reminded them yesterday, they were still welcome to lend a hand—so long as they followed the rules.

Black Sapphire gave a slow, pointed nod. “Exactly. And this time—no shenanigans. No chaos. No incidents whatsoever.” He shot her a meaningful look. “We’re walking on very thin ice right now, and every mistake we make will fall back on Master too.”

He stressed that point as much as he could, hoping to get the seriousness of the situation across, since Candy had never cared one bit about getting herself (or him for that matter) into trouble at all.

He paused, considering all that. “Actually... maybe it would be better if you stayed with Master, while I–.”

“What!?” Candy shrieked, stopping dead in her tracks. “Are you implying I can’t do it?! I handled this boring shit just fine last time—and I’ll do it even better now! You don’t get to just dump me in our rooms like I’m—like I’m a babyor whatever!”

Sapphire raised an eyebrow and carefully adjusted his tone to avoid setting her off further. They were still far from the more populated areas of the castle, but Candy's shrieking often had the unfortunate side effect of attracting unwanted (or sometimes wanted) attention.

“Of course not. I simply assumed you’d prefer spending time with Master instead of doing ‘boring shit’ as you put it.”

That made her pause. Then she shocked him.

“Well, yeah, that’d be more fun,” she admitted, “but we both know it wouldn’t help. Master likes his space, and you alone won’t earn enough money anyway—not if we want to buy materials and have anything left for us.”

Sapphire blinked at her. Huh. Maybe she had matured a bit over the past few years. He was almost proud.

“…Fair enough,” he conceded, turning back toward the hallway.

They agreed to seek out Sugar Glass Cookie, still the volunteer coordinator, as Pure Vanilla had explained yesterday. There wasn’t much use arguing about where they’d work—not yet, at least. They didn’t even know which facilities currently needed help. Luckily Sugar Glass Cookie already knew them, so Sapphire was fairly certain that she would at least have the good sense not to put Candy Apple on one of the numerous sheep or alpaca ranches. She had zero patience after all—neither for animals nor for cookies.

They continued towards the dining hall to return their breakfast trays and collect lunch, heading back with a bit more food—and surprisingly a bit more of a plan—than they’d left with.

Over the next few days, Shadow Milk made exactly zero progress.

He’d tried. Truly. Heroically, even.

The floor of his bedroom had seen more ungraceful flopping than a pancake griddle during breakfast rush. (Unfairly delicious stuff, by the way. It made his stubborn resolution to hate food so much harder than it should have been.) He also never thought he'd be thankful for something as mundane as carpets. But here he was.

Turns out, having no memory of how legs worked was a bit of a hindrance. His muscles remembered nothing. His dignity remembered everything.

And while he did have just enough magic left to float the short distance between his bed and the bathroom—or dramatically collapse into his desk chair like a fainting starlet—that was about it. More than a few times, he’d hovered halfway to his destination only to sag back to the ground like a popped balloon, hissing and cursing and crawling his way there instead.

It was humiliating.

Even if he were allowed to use magic freely, there just wasn’t enough of it. Not anymore.

Candy Apple and Black Sapphire had been doing their best to keep him entertained—bringing back crafting supplies and fabrics whenever they returned from work, or simply sharing stories about what they’d seen, heard, and done throughout the day.

He’d come close to thanking them more than once by now… But had resolved to show his appreciation in whatever way he could without actually saying those two words, instead. They deserved so much better than this—than him.

…

By day three, the walls were starting to close in.

He just couldn't take it anymore. He’d always been the master of mystery, the king of control, the jester who danced through shadows without ever missing a beat. But now?

Now he was on day three of being stuck in the same disgustingly yellow room while his doting minions looked more and more suspicious every day.

As much as he hated it—he would have to admit defeat.

He needed out. Or rather—he needed help. It was pathetically disgusting. But if he was going to learn how to walk again without faceplanting into the marble floor of the castle corridor, he’d need reinforcements.

Unfortunately, that meant telling Candy Apple and Black Sapphire the truth.

…Still better than the floor, though.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Shadow Milk announced after breakfast the next morning. He had barely managed to force down a few bites—despite the fact that stage fright was normally not something he struggled with. Candy Apple and Black Sapphire had been looking at him with that disgusting worry again.

“You’re not dying again, are you?” Candy asked, pointing her fork at him suspiciously from where she sat at the table in his room—where they’d held all their meals together the past few days.

“No, no, nothing that dramatic,” Shadow said with a dismissive wave. “Well, not physically, anyway. Emotionally? Spiritually? Existentially? Whole different story.”

Black Sapphire raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “What is it?”

The jester leaned back against the headboard of his bed, putting on his best mysterious air. “I simply… wished to share with you the latest development in my tragic hero’s journey. A shocking revelation. A scandal of epic proportions.”

Candy stood and pounced toward the bed eagerly—ever the enthusiastic audience.

Black Sapphire just sighed, but followed suit. “He forgot something stupid again.”

That hit far too close to the truth. He was not ready for that yet.

“I’ll have you know I remember many, many things!” Shadow protested, placing a hand over his heart like a wounded poet. “Just yesterday I remembered that I hate morning light and that waffles should never be square. Ever. A circle is a much friendlier shape.”

“Master,” Candy said slowly. “You said you wanted to tell us something?”

“Ah, right.” He coughed. “Yes. Of course.”

A pause. For dramatic effect, obviously.

“I’m in possession of a… temporary technical malfunction. Of the physical variety.”

Black Sapphire blinked. “What?”

“My glorious form is—momentarily—out of sync with this mortal realm,” Shadow continued. “In other words… I am experiencing a minor inconvenience. Of epic proportions.”

Candy and Sapphire looked at each other for a few seconds, then back at him.

“Master,” Black Sapphire said, slowly, carefully, “are you saying… something’s wrong with you?”

“Pft, wrong is such a loaded word,” the jester said, trying to smile through it. “Let’s say I’m currently operating at limited capacity. You know, like a waffle iron on low heat. Still functional, just… inefficient.”

Another pause.

“Spit it out,” Sapphire said flatly.

Shadow Milk groaned dramatically and buried his face in his hands. This wasn’t working. He just had to get it over with. Time to rip off the bandage.

“I forgot how to walk, okay!?”

Silence.

“...You what!?” Candy almost yelled.

“You forgot how to walk?” Black Sapphire echoed in sheer disbelief.

“It’s not like it comes with a manual!” Shadow shouted, gesturing wildly. Then, crossing his arms, he added defensively, “I haven’t used my legs in literal millennia! It’s not that I can’t walk, it’s that I… misplaced the instruction sheet, and now the whole operating system is being very dramatic about it.”

He braced for their laughter, but it still hit his ego like a sledgehammer when it came.

Candy burst into uncontrollable giggles, nearly toppeling over, while Black Sapphire at least had the decency to muffle his laughter behind one hand—though Shadow Milk thought he heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, “I cannot believe this is my life.”

“Oh, knock it off! It isn’t that funny!” he growled, his tone dangerously sharp and cutting… only to immediately regretted it, when both of them stiffened like soldiers caught out of line.

Black Sapphire pulled the old mask of elegant obedience over his features with unnerving ease. Shadow Milk hadn’t seen that look since before the war ended. Lightly bowing at the hip, he offered a practiced apology—for himself and Candy—without a hint of sarcasm, as though it were his natural response to disapproval.

The sight punched Shadow Milk square in the gut.

It yanked him straight back to all those long, bitter days of war filled with frustration and failure. When the stress had been too much, and the pressure too high, and his temper had gotten the better of him. When he’d shouted, snapped, let his magic crack the walls and shake the floor—not at them, never at them—but close enough that the fear still stuck.

He remembered how they used to throw each other under the cart without hesitance, with clever excuses and even sweeter lies. But somewhere along the way—somewhere in those dark, cold days—Black Sapphire had started stepping in first. Stepping before his sister. Shoulders squared. Voice calm. Taking the weight before Candy even had a chance to flinch.

Because when it really came down to it, Shadow Milk knew Sapphire would protect Candy with everything he had—from anything and anyone.

Guilt crashed into him like a tidal wave.

He had always hated himself afterwards—tried to make it up to them, giving them more time-off, or gifts, or elaborate distractions. But he had never apologized. Never once admitted that he was in the wrong.

They deserve so much better.

“…I’m sorry.”

The words scraped up his throat, rough and unfamiliar. His voice didn’t even sound like his own.

Candy and Sapphire stared at him like he’d grown a second head. He didn’t blame them. He had never apologized before. Not out loud. Not to them. Not for this.

He hated how it made his chest ache.

He swallowed hard and changed the subject. He'd actually rather go back to the mortifying ordeal of discussing his inability to walk. Please—anything but this.

“Right. Uh. Back to the topic at hand—walking. My new personal nemesis. But I still kinda need to relearn how to do it.”

Sapphire, to his credit, only blinked a few times and smoothly followed his lead.

“Well, yes, of course. But while we might know how to walk,” he said carefully, “that doesn’t necessarily mean we can teach someone. Especially not someone who’s…” He tactfully didn’t finish that sentence. “It’s different when you’re already grown. Probably even more complicated when it’s about… relearning.”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Maybe the library could have something? There must be books about physical rehabilitation.”

Shadow Milk made a face like he’d bitten into something sour. “Ugh. Books.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You think some glorified stack of paper can teach me what millennia of muscle memory forgot? Please. If books were that useful, I wouldn’t be hiding in a castle full of pastel optimism after blowing up my life.” He paused. “Again.”

Sapphire hummed, and Shadow got a front-row seat to watching how spectacularly the radio host failed at keeping a smirk off his face.

He was not going to like whatever came out of that mouth next.

“Well… we could always just ask someone. You know, I’m sure cookies sometimes need to relearn how to walk after serious injuries. A healer would probably have some experience—”

“NO!” Shadow Milk screeched, nearly falling off the bed as he lunged for Black Sapphire, who just laughed and stepped easily out of reach, raising both hands like he was the picture of innocence. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare tell anyone about this—especially not him!”

If Shadow had ever thought his dignity couldn’t sink any lower, the idea of Pure Vanilla Cookie finding out he’d forgotten how to walk promptly proved him wrong. The sheer thought of it made his skin crawl.

He could feel his face burning—probably glowing a shade of blue darker than should legally be allowed.

“Then the library?” Sapphire asked with enough saccharine innocence to make a sugar cube mine envious.

“Yes! For witches’ sake, yes! Just go to the damn library! And take Candy with you while you're at it, you imbecile!” he snapped, in one last, futile attempt to preserve some shred of dignity.

Candy Apple, still wheezing with laughter, nearly tripped over herself on the way out. Black Sapphire—still wearing that insufferably smug smile—paused halfway out the door to give one final mocking salute.

“Of course, Master,” he said, voice dripping with false reverence. “Right away.”

They swept out together, still giggling as the door closed behind them.

Shadow Milk groaned and flopped back onto his pillows, covering his face with both hands.

He never thought he’d be grateful for them sassing him.

But here he was.