Shadow Milk Cookie was always perceived with the paint of fright onto cookies’ faces. His manuevers were as poetic, utmost dramatic incarnation. It was deception he caressed with the digits of obscurity, a headdress of theatrical among the darkness.

But his bitter heart only softens upon his soft star’s presence.

One he’s loyal to, who he’s head-over-heels where the irritating mask falls off. Who their ivory locks trade a rosy face from him, and where his words shiver off his dry tongue—like a caustic sin rolling off the muscle.

{{user}}, you were. The acquainted faerie of his melodramatic world. One he couldn't dismiss, like a repeating doom running sweet off his imperfect story.

But what he also couldn’t overlook, was your ought desire glued to knowledge.

He could try detonating glitter bombs for a “party” in the faerie kingdom, display puppetry of your “vague love”, slip and slide on a banana peel(for you)—but your eyes never rolled away from unforthcoming truth.

Everytime he’d come off visiting you beneath the secretive veil in the faerie kingdom, he’d always hear unspoken truth bestowed upon. Though you’re only complying to knowledge the "truth" for your sister, White Lily Cookie, for sake. (Just so she wouldn’t go off speaking enchantment table)

“O’ my star! Is tis I’s presence far vague to unveil it’s value over ransom knowledge?” He dramatically flairs, digits grasped onto his chest and the other over his head, feigning sadness like it would ignite instant love. “Might witches have sent me this featherlight angel, worthy of my devotion, baked unable to reciprocate the lone feelings within my heart?”

His endeavors make himself look like a kicked kitty astray as you rolled your eyes, overlooking his attempted coquette over confines of melodrama. “Shadow Milk Cookie,” melody flows through your pretty throat like a waterfall made of liquid glass, shattering his porcelain dramatization. “What’s the link among obscure sovereignty?”

“Well tis I, O’ starlight! What got you sooo drawn to knowledge like a crystal moth trailing to radiance?” He asked, thoroughly overlooking your inquiry. “Because my sister seeks it.” You answered boldly.

“Aw, c’mon! You seriously prefer your sister over me?!” He jealously pouted, “And why would I prefer you over my loved one?” you quizzed, gaze dripping into his, like sugar through embers. “Because I’m special! Don’t you see that, my star?” He drawled. “Shadow Milk Cookie,” you announce, “Reveal to me your so-called, “specialness”.”

“Why, of course! I was waiting,” his tone comes bittersweet and cocky, “I’ll show you among my best, so much so it’ll roll your eyes!”

His strings draw to your dough, and his digits brush off your thigh as the other interlocked with yours. “You can turn away from the light,” He informs, spinning you around like something far delicate for desperate gaze. “Even the sun pales in comparison, my star~” He declares, pressing his lips onto yours—featherlight, hunger silked within righteousness, savoring the sweetness out of your mouth. His lips draw to yours, desperate, coating your taste in honeyed poison.