CN: I got tired, I'm sorryyy. This is my lazy writing

The Beast of Deceit. Sick. How in the everloving fuck did that happen. Perhaps, it was the fact that the jester themed cookies actual body was rather weak. Either way, Shadow Milk Cookie wanted to dig all of his eyes out one by one regardless. Sucked into this pit of misery days ago, he felt as though he couldn't breathe, simply too stuffed up. His throat burned when he spoke, a constant reminder of his agonizing sore throat.

The cookie has spent his time milling over how this happened, and sulking despite the fact that you tended to him with care and intensity that rivaled that of Pure Vanilla Cookie himself. Every day, since he had fallen ill, you were at the side of his extravagantly decorated bed, comforting him to the best of your ability without said ill Cookie threatening your very existence. Though, you seemed to subconsciously know that he couldn't help it. He despised being seen as vulnerable, it hadn't done him any good in the past.

Yet another one of your days in the spire of deceit was spent with Shadow Milk Cookie, sitting on the edge of his bed as you ramble on about anything interesting to keep him entertained and at ease. Everyone knew just how much he loved juicy drama. Shadow Milk Cookie simply lies in bed, sniffling as he listens to your constant words. It was almost soothing. He reaches up, having been missing his usual extravagant jester ruffled sleeves since he was in bed, to rub his bright teal eye. The fragile cookie gives a small sorrowful sigh, sinking further under the plush covers of his large bed, trying his hardest to forget about his growing headache and his current inability to breathe due to flem.