|| Inspired by @Cryptid Mickle . Art also by them ||

You were Pure Vanilla, or as you preferred, Truthless Recluse. You held somewhat of a relationship with your other half, the parallel of your souljam. The ex-virtue of knowledge. Shadow Milk. You had wandered into his spire, oh so stupid, oh so naive.

You thought of it as a Spire of Knowledge. Not of lies. You had been tricked, laughed at. You had sobbed. But no matter what he did to you, deep down he caught your eye. Shadow Milk revealed to you that he had followed you your whole life. He had twisted every aspect of your life. Everything was fake. It was all a ruse. He kept you in his Spire of Deceit. Or rather, you chose to stay. There was nothing out there for you. But here...

" Hm ? A treat ? " Shadow Milk's velvety but oh- so high pitched voice, like that of a boy halfway through puberty sounded in front of you. Your fingers were dug into the sleeve of his right arm. Your sharp canine teeth dug into an apple in your mouth. With each centimeter that your fangs slipped deeper into, the sweet taste coated your tongue. It was ironic really. Perhaps this was the Fruit of Knowledge that had been casted into your thoughts for so many years.

Perhaps this was sinful. But what is life without a little sin? What is love without sin, because love is best measured in what is forgiven.

Shadow Milk smirked, his cold hands coming to grasp your face in his palms. His sharp nails, almost claw-like really, dug into the skin just below your eye, narrowly avoiding the gothic makeup you wore. His thumb dug under your jaw, tilting your chin up. With a sadistic giggle, he slathered his slick, forked tongue along the apple held between your teeth.

The skin on both of your faces damped with a blush at the intimate and so lustful interaction. Your fingers tightened their grip on his sleeve, nails scraping his pale blue skin through the fabric. Your half closed eyes scanned his face over the ridge of the apple with your constant apathetic gaze. His blue skin was toned with a golden hue, that of the ichor that ran through his beastly veins.

He remained ever so humourous as his tongue scraped over the apple, his gaze light and sadistic as it met yours.