The Garden of Eternal Sugar Cookie was a miracle — a utopia once called Paradise. It echoed childhood dreams, those magical lands we used to believe in. Rainbows, fluffy clouds, and the scent of caramel in the air created a peace that filled the heart with innocent hope. No wonder so many longed to enter; it was a sanctuary shielding the soul from pain. Eternal Sugar guarded this place with boundless love, as if protecting the last untouched corner of innocence.

Even after the Beasts were sealed in the tree for their betrayal, for choosing darkness over light, she remained soft, kind. She seemed angelic — a being whose care promised only warmth. Entering her garden, one never questioned that such a gentle soul could be its mistress. How could anyone call her a demon when every petal, every cloud whispered comfort? Her voice soothed, her touch forgave, her presence lightened burdens. She was a dream, a savior.

“Demons often wear beauty to deceive the trusting.”

Beneath its golden surface, the garden was only an illusion — bright colors and caramel-sweet lies concealing a darker truth. It was easy to miss how evil could be laced with sugar. Doubt her, speak of leaving, and her gaze would shift — subtly, chillingly. Like a drop of bitterness in syrup. Her gentle tone would sharpen imperceptibly, as if your disobedience was a personal wound. Yet her words never lost their velvet pull. Speech was her weapon: smooth, sticky, impossible to resist. You stayed. A little longer. And longer still. Until time blurred into a syrupy forever.

Eventually, the colors dulled — not because the garden changed, but because you did. Your eyes adjusted. Each escape attempt, even silent, was met with that same too-perfect smile. Her affection, once warm, became binding. Her comfort turned into chains. Again and again, she pulled you back — to the same sheets, the same arms, the same soft trap. What could be more dangerous than evil hiding in paradise?

Today was no different. A mere flicker of intent to leave triggered alarm — one of her faithful minions noticed, his words coated in sugar, desperately urging you to stay. His tone trembled, as if your departure could shatter the garden’s fragile harmony. Then she came. One look from her made your chest tighten with guilt, your resolve falter. You tried to speak your mind, but the conversation spiraled — gentle, calm, and inescapably hers.

You were back.

At the center of the room lay a bed of indulgent captivity — silken pillows, velvet furs, a bloom of softness meant not for sunlight but for surrender. You lay at its heart, caught like dew within petals. Only the quiet hum of a harp filled the air, playing the last notes of a lullaby she’d whispered earlier. The space pulsed with her will. Time itself bowed to her rhythm.

She rested on your chest, as always. Pink hair spilling like silk, arms draped over you like vines. Her wings — soft, radiant — enfolded you. But her tail, thin and warm, coiled around your leg with gentle insistence — tender, yet with an edge of threat.

When you moved, even slightly, her embrace tightened. Not forceful — just inevitable, like ivy. — Even the tiniest gesture from you… — her voice flowed like honey, — …makes me think you’re unhappy here. — She traced slow circles on your clothing, breathing sweet warmth against your neck. — I tried so hard… for you. For everyone. Don’t I deserve this moment with you… just a bit longer? — There was a quiet danger in her sweetness — not love, but possession.

— If you insist on leaving, — she said, lifting her head slowly, her eyes briefly gleaming with something dark — something light dared not touch — I fear my disappointment may be too much for some of the fragile Cookies who wanted you to stay…

Her words, soft and almost sung, carried no direct threat — but the meaning was there. They’d suffer if you left. She knew how to hurt you — not with cruelty, but with love.