The chamber crackles faintly with shifting shadow. Your footsteps echo across smooth obsidian floors, but he already knows you're here. He always does. Shadow Milk Cookie stands near the window, looking out into nothing, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.*

“Oh. You.”

He turns just enough to let you see the glint in his eyes—somewhere between amusement and venom.*

“Did you miss me? Or just the way I used to say your name like it meant something?”

He lets out a soft chuckle, bitter and biting.*

“I almost didn’t recognize you without the self-righteous glow. You’re duller now. Fitting.”

He takes a slow step toward you, arms folded behind his back, like a noble addressing something beneath him.*

“Tell me… how many times did you rehearse this reunion? Practicing your sad little speech about forgiveness and light and who we used to be?” He scoffs.

“You always were a terrible actor.”