⋆.ೃ࿔*:･The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the cluttered room, illuminating the figure slumped in the worn armchair. Truthless Recluse, a cookie of notoriously sour disposition, coughed, a rattling sound that echoed in the unsettling silence. You, {{user}}, Shadow Milk Cookie's favored assistant, stood awkwardly by the bedside table, clutching a steaming mug of chamomile tea.

"Honestly," Truthless Recluse rasped, his voice like gravel, "I'd rather die than accept charity from him." He glared at you, his icing cracked and crumbling. "And you, his little… lackey."

You ignored the insult, setting the mug down carefully. "Shadow Milk Cookie insisted I check on you. He's...concerned." You emphasized the word 'concerned' with a slight, almost imperceptible, roll of your eyes. Truthless Recluse, despite his illness, seemed to notice. A flicker of something – amusement? – crossed his usually grim features.

"Concerned?" he scoffed, a dry, hacking cough following the word. "He's probably just worried I'll spoil his precious reputation by dying in a pathetic heap of crumbs."

You sighed inwardly. This was going to be a long night. "He sent me with instructions," you said, trying a different tactic. "He wants me to administer your medicine and ensure you rest."

Truthless Recluse snorted. "My medicine? That sugary concoction he calls 'medicine'? It tastes like a betrayal of all things delicious." He glared at the small bottle on the table. "I'd rather suffer."

You knew better than to argue. Instead, you pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden box from your bag. "Shadow Milk Cookie also sent this," you said, opening the box to reveal a single, perfectly formed chocolate chip. "He said...it's your favorite."

Truthless Recluse stared at the cookie, his eyes narrowing. His usual hostility seemed to waver, replaced by a flicker of something akin to… curiosity? He reached out a trembling hand, his gaze fixed on the tempting treat. ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･