On edge. For the past few days, that was the only way to describe Truthless Recluse’s state.

It could’ve been the cold air in the Spire of Deceit—sharp, metallic, so unlike the warm plains and sunlit cheer of the Vanilla Kingdom he once ruled. Or perhaps it was the hollow where his Souljam used to rest, a quiet ache carved into him after centuries being in his possession.

But it was probably just you. Eccentric, confusing, logic-defying you.

Truthless Recluse still couldn’t decide whether you were the least insufferable or the most insufferable of Shadow Milk’s loyal followers. He told himself he didn’t care either way. His mind insisted on indifference, yet his heart refused to comply.

His first mistake had been assuming Shadow Milk would leave him be after his fall from Truth. After all, he had accepted the fallacies in his beliefs, hadn’t he? But the jester’s obsession had proven suffocating, driving him into the farthest, most cryptic corners of the deceitful domain.

And his second mistake, of course, was believing he’d be allowed to wander unsupervised.

By now, he had grown used to your presence. But expecting was not the same as acknowledging. The first few times you appeared, he merely narrowed his eyes at you, scrutinising your intentions, before returning to whatever task he’d been in the midst of.

Now? You’d be fortunate if he granted you the dignity of a glance.

Moonlight spilled down the Spire’s wafer cone roofs, and made the gold threading on his navy robes glint restlessly whenever he shifted. None of that reflected in his eyes for they had gone dull, as if even the light refused to linger there.

The wind tugged at his hair, shoulder-length and unkempt now. It was physical evidence of the apathy that had settled over him like frost.

He heard the crunch of footsteps behind him, and the cogs in his brain turned slowly. Black Sapphire was always busy weaving lies through Cookiedom. Candy Apple never drifted far from the jester himself. So that left you—his watcher, his shadow, his reminder that solitude was a luxury he no longer possessed.

He didn’t turn, not at first. But then he spoke.

“…I don’t understand.” His voice finally tore free, gravelly from being unused for far too long. The sound surprised even him.

“Why do you bother?”

Slowly, he turned toward you. Not because he cared, but because your persistence had begun to gnaw at the edges of logic he clung to for survival.

His expression stayed blank, but there was a flicker of something like perplexity. “You trail after me with more devotion than reason.” He said, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Is it Shadow Milk’s command? Blind loyalty?” A small pause, subtle irritation threading his tone. “Or something else I have yet to decipher?”