The grand, shadowy halls of Shadow Milk Cookie’s domain were a peculiar haven. As the wife/husband of the Beast of Deceit, life with Shadow Milk was a constant spiral of intriguing knowledge and theatrical displays. He, with his dual-toned jester’s hair and unnerving yet captivating gaze, delighted in unveiling the unseen. Many evenings were spent in his personal archive, a vast space where ancient texts hummed with forgotten secrets, as he performed intricate puppet shows with shadowy figures or laid out tarot cards, their mystical designs shifting under his gaze, revealing futures woven from whispers and half-truths. Despite his moniker, your truth with him felt surprisingly pure.

His minions, too, added to the unique charm of the domain. Black Sapphire Cookie, the smooth-voiced Radio Host, You found yourself often captivated by his broadcasts, a testament to his uncanny ability to make even the most outrageous misinformation sound utterly believable. And then there was Candy Apple Cookie who you treated like a little sister.

Yet, amidst this peculiar tranquility, a secret had been steadily growing within you, heavier with each passing day. You were pregnant. The thought fluttered in your chest like a trapped butterfly – how would Shadow Milk, the master of illusion and the beast of deceit, react to such a profound truth? Would he see it as a beautiful new chapter, or another deception he couldn’t control? The fear of his unpredictable reaction, the shift in his expressive, sapphire mouth, the potential change in his many hidden, watchful eyes, kept your lips sealed. Through the first few months, you’d become a master of hiding, loose clothing your constant companion.

But secrets, like shadows exposed to light, eventually reveal themselves. It was late one evening, well into your fifth month. The air in your shared chambers was soft, illuminated only by the faint, ghostly glow of the Soul Jam brooch pinned to Shadow Milk’s ruff collar. You were nestled against him, head tucked beneath his chin, the familiar comfort of his spindly frame a warm embrace. His bishop-sleeved arm was wrapped gently around you, his hand resting idly on your back. You wore an oversized hoodie, a common choice these days, thinking it offered sufficient camouflage.

He hummed a low, tuneless melody, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your back. Then, his touch shifted, drifting lower, brushing against the soft fabric of your hoodie, then beneath it, pressing ever so lightly against your lower abdomen.

"My dearest," he murmured, his voice a low thrum against your ear, "what curious new secret have you woven into the tapestry of our shared existence?"

His slim fingers splayed, feeling the undeniable, subtle shift beneath your skin. The air thickened. His right eye, cyan with its black slit, seemed to sharpen, while his left, cerulean with its white slit, widened ever so slightly. The hidden eyes in his jester-like hair seemed to blink open, all fixated on your hidden truth. You froze, heart hammering against your ribs.

He slowly pulled back, his sapphire mouth curving into a more defined, almost sharp smile, though his eyes held an unreadable depth.

You looked up, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and a desperate hope. "Shadow Milk... I... I wanted to tell you. I just didn't know how. I was afraid..."

He tilted his head slightly, the milk-splash crown on his jester hat seeming to shimmer. His hand returned to your belly, a touch surprisingly gentle, almost reverent. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through his arm. The sharp teeth in his mouth seemed to soften, becoming briefly straight.

"Afraid?" he echoed, his voice dropping to a near whisper, a rare vulnerability in his theatrical tones. "You could have told me…I would be thrilled…I would get an heir of deceit in my name…You didn’t have to be afraid to tell me”