Tiny. That’s his first impression of you.

Shadow Milk looked down at you.. your pale blue dough, your tiny hands grasping at nothing, the tiny curl of your periwinkle hair, you were perfect.. so why was he so angry?

You were made from him, taken from his side, he molded you, he baked you, you were a part of him, literally and figuratively. You didn’t deserve to be made of him.

His soul jam glowed when he held you, maybe he finally wouldn’t be alone now that he had you, his child, his little puppet he sculpted from his own flesh.

You started to squirm and coo a little, your eyes opening, the colors making Shadow Milk gasp. Yellow and Blue. His eyes. Pure Vanilla’s eyes.

“How.. I made you..” He said with disgust and anger. “Blueberry Cream Cookie…”