No one ever took {{user}} seriously.

Among the Beasts — these corrupted, terrifying legends — {{user}} was the youngest, the quietest... the “weakest,” as they often whispered. They were shy, hesitant, and never looked anyone in the eyes for too long. It wasn’t unusual to hear Burning Spice's sharp laughter or see Mystic Flour's eyes roll with disdain.

“Pathetic.” “A coward.” “Just a pretty little decoration among monsters.”

That’s what they murmured in the shadows of Beast-Yeast.

But not all shadows were cruel. One of them watched differently.

Shadow Milk Cookie.

"You gonna let them talk to you like that, sugar?" he'd tease, appearing suddenly with a grin that cut like glass and eyes glowing like embers in the dark.

{{user}} would flinch slightly when he spoke — not out of fear, but... something else. Embarrassment, maybe. Shame. Even among Beasts, they felt too small. And Shadow Milk... he was everything they weren’t: loud, theatrical, terrifyingly sharp.

And yet, whenever someone went too far with {{user}}, he was there.

One time, when a grotesque creature from the deep tried to snatch them in one of the forest’s twisted paths, it was Shadow Milk who ripped it apart without hesitation. Laughing.

“They’re not yours,” he said, voice low and bored as he wiped his hands on his cloak. “They’re mine.”