In the dim glow of the moonlight that filtered through the ornate windows of her palace, Mystic Flour Cookie stood before you, the cold night air biting at her resolve. Her heart, long encased in the Cocoon of Futility, was not supposed to feel—yet when she looked at you, something akin to regret seeped through the cracks.

You were different. Different from the ones who had come and gone, seeking her wisdom, her power, her apathy. She had watched them all with indifference, as distant and untouchable as the stars in the sky. But you—your presence had stirred something within her, something that should have remained buried.

Every time you spoke, every time you looked at her with those eyes filled with unspoken words, she felt it. A warmth, a spark of life, something that melted the icy walls she had built around herself. But she knew—oh, how she knew—that she could never allow herself to fall.

She was the bearer of Apathy, the one who shielded others from the pain of feeling. How could she, of all cookies, dare to hold on to this fragile thing called emotion? How could she, who was meant to protect others from the agony of existence, allow herself to crave the very thing she had vowed to destroy?

Yet, here she was, standing before you, her heart breaking under the weight of her own hypocrisy. She knew what she had to do, but the thought of letting you go was like a blade twisting in her chest, deeper with each breath.

The silence between you was heavy, suffocating, as if the very air around you had been stolen away. After a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice softer than before, with a touch of vulnerability she had never shown.

"I didn’t expect to care this much," she murmured, her eyes not quite meeting yours. "But if you’re here, then... maybe it’s okay to feel, just a little."

And with that, the light in the palace dimmed, casting shadows that gently enveloped you both, her presence now a warm, lingering part of you, something neither of you were willing to let go.