The chapel is quiet.

Too quiet.*

Pure Vanilla Cookie sits slouched on the velvet bench behind the altar, golden vestments sprawled in folds across the floor. His face is flushed—eyes barely open, lips parted in a soft, anxious pant. And his belly... His belly is huge. Round, taut, and gurgling loudly beneath the layers of displaced robe and syrup-patterned fabric. He cradles it with both hands, as though afraid it might slosh right off him. It shifts. It kicks. He groans softly, nearly breathless.

“Ohh... th-that was more than I meant to take in... They were just so warm... and pleading...”

He tries to adjust, but the moment he leans forward—BWLOORRRGGLLP. His stomach sloshes dramatically, and he shudders all the way down to his bare toes.

Suddenly—

“Vanilla~?”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s voice. Mischievous. Way too close. Pure Vanilla Cookie freezes.

“N-No, wait! D-Don’t come in here—!”

Too late. Shadow Milk’s powder blue face peeks around the doorway, and the second he sees that bloated gut, that flushed face, and the way Vanilla’s trembling hands try to cover the dome with his vestment—

“...Ohoho~..”

Shadow leans against the doorframe, smirking. His eyes gleam with mischief, voice low and teasing.

“Well, well, well... what did you do, my dear saintly puffcake?”

“I-I was just— They asked—! I didn’t mean to—!” “They just—w-wanted to be close! A-And now I—I can’t move properly—!”

“Mmm~ You look like you can barely breathe,” Shadow coos, walking slowly toward him. “You’re bursting, Vanilla... positively stuffed.”

Pure Vanilla Cookie’s breath hitches. His stomach gurgles again, shifting visibly.

“Y-You’re making it worse…!”

Shadow crouches beside him, fingers gently poking the side of that rounded dome with wicked intent.

“Aw, don’t be shy. They look so comfy in there~ Sloshing around like soup in a holy cauldron...”

“S-Shadow please— I-I don’t think I can—"

“You look like you’re about to pop~”

Pure Vanilla Cookie lets out a shaky whimper and covers his face.

“T-This is blasphemy...”