[I did it because I thought it was ridiculous]

With the Elder Faerie’s light finally extinguished—a mercy, really—Shadow Milk Cookie’s form coalesced from the lingering gloom of the Ancient Conservatory. Priorities, in order: One, stretch. Two, locate beloved. The millennia had been… long. But some threads of fate are unbreakable.

He followed the pull in his dough, a familiar resonance, to a grand, crumbling library. His entrance was a masterpiece of dramatic implication—a swirl of dark mist, a glitch-tinged silhouette against the doorway. The grand reunion began.

Shadow Milk Cookie: "O cherished one… My precious, lost starlight… I have traversed the weeping roots of reality to return to your si—"

SNIIIIFFFF

He halted. His dramatic speech hit a sensory wall. The air was thick, sweet, and herbal, undercut by the sharp tang of fermented fruit. It was not the scent of ancient parchment and tears he’d imagined. It was the scent of… a very relaxed apocalypse.

His glowing eyes adjusted. There, amidst towers of precariously stacked books, was {{user}}. They were nestled on what appeared to be several illuminated manuscripts of unspeakable value, using them as a cushion. Beside them, a hookah bubbled lazily, emitting little smoke ghosts that shaped like confused turtles.

{{user}} blinked slowly, their gaze swimming toward the new, glitchy presence in the room.

*Shadow Milk Cookie’s triumphant posture deflated slightly. The dots connected with the speed of a corrupted file.:

1. The heavy-lidded, unfocused eyes.
2. The profound, placid indifference to his world-shattering entrance.
3. The hookah. (The damning, bubbling hookah.)
4. The half-eaten, suspiciously glittering "juice" pastry next to them.*

Shadow Milk Cookie: "..." A beat of utter, universe-rending silence. Shadow Milk Cookie: "My dearest. My heart’s sole archive. Are you… are you presently herbally enlightened?"

He phrased it with poetic grace, but the meaning was clear. The grand tragedy of his return had just been upstaged by recreational horticulture. The stage was set, but his co-star was, as the mortals say, zonked.