Well, the lounge seems to double as a general reading room- there's also the lab slash study but we can hit the rest up later, and as such this is where more of the recreational books are.
"Recreational" for a professor seeking every ounce of knowledge that can be found, that is. If it's his own works he's looking for, it won't be found here- but neither will the falsities. After all, it's just a lounge. If anything, it's the diversion from everything else.
... There's portraits, as well. Past students and colleagues that look familiar- old allies and enemies alike, but something gentler, softer. Kinder.
... There's also himself as a younger man, and two schoolmates. One with soft blonde hair and a gentle smile. And one with a long white braid. They look so happy. A note is pinned to the corner.
A good place to start, it seems like. They can work their way up to the bigger, more startling stuff. Anyway, as he looks around, he almost misses the portraits, going straight for any books. Wanting to pour over their secrets, their insight. He finds them most just ...casual things. Periodicals, fiction, things one reads for leisure. With a frown he turns and comes face to face with the pictures and goes dead still
He does not have to wonder who he is looking at. He's both seen that ghoul haunting him, and of course, the other two, they are far more familiar. Far more recognizable. Here they are, like old friends.
For Them.
Is this a life they all shared? Has he been tied to their story all this time? Was there really never any separating him from Vanilla? Did he reach out, because something deeper than the Soul Jam spoke to him? And the Guardian, there she is too.
There is something deeply tumultuous rising up in him, and he has to quickly let go of Vanilla to pick up the picture frame- but rather than destroy it, he shoves it at Vanilla and takes a few steps away to simmer down. The jealousy of a life that was once his, is a frightening thing to behold, and he was not prepared for it. He often tries not to look back on who he was before he became a Cookie of Deceit, finding that cookie foolish, naive. A puppet to his own purpose, but there is something different about this he can't put his finger on.
"These story decisions feel a little too convenient, don't you think?" Show him the Truth, Vanilla. Confirm it for him so he doesn't lose it.
He's studies the portrait in his hands after it's thrust there with a soft smile. There were letters he had found amongst the ones he had discovered that he had always wondered about. And now he understands who they're from. The friendship in them, a soft rivalry that never grew antagonistic.
He doesn't need to look to see if it's real or not, if it's True. Because he knows it is. It's the reality of this place. He gently touches their expressions as they smile up at him, then glance to the note.
For them.
Is it Lily's handwriting? The same as the note he found in the book, waiting for him?
"It's real," his voice is gentle, soft, as he turns the portrait to look to see if there's anything hidden behind it, stuffed in it's backing, "and it does not surprise me. I will show you letters after this, if you'd like. I now recognize your handwriting."
It's his. He knows his own handwriting, and so now he has to think about that. What that means. It's easy to accept a Truth where maybe he and Vanilla have been tied together for multiple lives, but that extending out to others...? That is the thing he is struggling with, especially the person who is responsible for locking him back up in that tree. What a comedy this is truly turning out to be! Hahaha...
"Letters, did I write to you like some pining maiden, Vanilly? Somehow I don't think the Guardian would be happy to hear I was hoooooomewrecking, heheh."
He has to make silly jokes about this or he will have another tantrum. Look, he is working on managing his emotions okay, he didn't come in here thinking something would set him off right out the gate, this is getting really frustrating. Why is every step he takes in this place catered to torment him so well? Why does that visage keep haunting him, even when he has no reflection to look back at him.
"Time to move on! This room is getting boring, let's see if there's some real meat to be found," He will head off into the next room, perhaps a bedroom? That looks niiice and intimate. He will not wait for Vanilla to follow him, and its certainly not that he needs to breathe for a moment.
Oh... The tears and blood hurt him so badly, and he gently lifts the letter off the portrait, setting that down again to be collected later. He let's Shadow Milk put distance between them, and flips the note over to check as he follows at a slower pace.
He doesn't respond to the commentary but he will give Shadow Milk a little slip of warmth through the shared soul jam. Like a squeeze, before backing away to let the other have a moment to himself.
The Bedroom is comforting. A large, plush bed with a decent amount of pillows and a star-patterned canopy for colder nights. A fire place. A smaller desk, for letters and diaries. More bookshelves, goodness!
A giant puddle of wine-dark blood and claw marks staining and cutting the rug before the fireplace.
The window's been broken, so the area around that is worn, weathered and rotted, cold and snowy. Any paper over there is long since ruined. Thankfully, that does not include the desk.
More portraits of his friends and family litter the shelves, the walls, the desk. His love is an all-consuming thing, even at it's healthiest. A shame you can't accept when it's given anymore.
The Note is torn from something else. When Pure Vanilla inspects it, he'll find it's been torn from a letter. He'll be forgiven if he doesn't initially recognize his own handwriting- it's shaky, tear-stained and frenzied.
My dear Seamus, I write to you a poison has infected her mind an I cannot understand the things you h
...
He'll need to find the whole letter, if he wants answers. Or maybe he already knows.
It gives him a moment to settle down at least. Change of room, change of scene, the specter will take a moment to catch up to him. He feels that soft influx of warmth and it's shameful how well it works in settling him down. He sighs and decides to try again, to look around. Now he knows what to expect. More reminders of a life he could have had.
He knows. He doesn't need the rest to know. He knows. An old man on his knees in the basement, drawing symbols, words on the wall, pouring over papers and books. He knows. He will find the other half of the letter anyways, he needs to see how bad it got.
Morbid curiosity, maybe.
Which is gone in a flash the moment he steps into the room after Shadow Milk and sees him...... licking the dried blood. For a moment he's just absolutely gobsmacked. Just stands there and watches, letter clutched in his hand.
Lily, he's sorry, he regrets it all. He sighs hard and puts the half of the letter in his inner robe pockets for now, then moves to stand aside and let Shadow Milk scour the room, his eyes looking around slowly as he does.
The first of it is a familiar rabbit- Mafuyu Asahina.
She has full marks in everything, but her mother keeps insisting that she can do better, must do better, are you sure this is everything you can teach her blahblahblah blah BLAH, good GODS woman. Your daughter's an exceptional student of remarkable talent and rather than nurturing that spark of light you're smothering it in oil! (Note to self, slip more wisteria into her tea next consultation.) Honestly though, when she's allowed time to herself she seems more artistic... which makes her academic achievements even better. Still, she indulges his games and theatrics, and when she does show curiosity it's a beast to behold.
And Cassie! Full marks again, can you believe that she almost didn't get an education? Girl's going to revolutionize the world, he can see it! Her mathematics and magical formulas are especially impressive, and he hopes once they can escape the forest that she can really come into bloom. ... Kinda terrifying when you look at her already packed schedule though. Take a NAP now and then, jeeze.
There's more, all with sass and comments in stride. But those students haven't been confirmed yet. So shhh. There's also a note that one of the local teacher's kid is going to be a sponge for knowledge as he gets older- better strike while the iron's hot!
The Letters are... more complex. And plentiful by far. Percival and playful banter- except from the sounds of it, life in the Grove is getting... worrisome, and there's a distinct feeling that some letters have been hidden away elsewhere. Then Lily, affectionate and playful and exchanging notes on their current research topics. It's warm. Both of those letter sets are warm. Lily includes flowers and Percy includes bundles of herbs. Percy also writes more often, and with multiple pages- there's so much love in every swirl of ink, and he goes on about the children they look after, the wedding invitation reiterated in multiple letters, the description of the local Guardians- and that statue on the beach!
Best friends. Confidants. The gaps between letters can only be from when he himself was present too.
Other letters include ministers encouraging him to return to the capitol, we can't have our greatest teacher yet in some hick town. Colleagues asking about living in fae woods, and a Salem Strode or a Birûsk Shula reaching out now and then. Wonder who those could be.
There's half of a very passive-aggressive back and forth with a rival scholar who has CLEARLY never actually read other research papers in the field of enchantments. Something about looking at it is incredibly annoying...
...
And then there's the Journals.
The most recent is probably the most important, but he can read his boyhood days in school, neck and neck with Lily in the class rankings with Percy right behind, their friendship and a mutual loneliness- Lily doesn't like to go home during the breaks for a reason. Salem and Birûsk enter his life, as do others- a M.F and an Eleanor Shirin. Breakthroughs and love and success, so much success.
Too much success. Maybe do not try and break into the forbidden so much, you keep getting, uh, strongly worded letters from the church. Thank goodness your reputation and prowess protects you.
The last though...
Percy sent for help, and who was he if he didn't answer? ... Lily is deranged, caged like a broken animal who knows her death is coming because it whispers in her ears that it's coming for her and Percy can't help her. Seamus is reluctant to admit it, but he's... also not sure. But what is this knowledge for if not to be used? And if he must break reality, so be it.
But Aldric's condition is also worsening, and people are disappearing more and more by the day. He teaches to give a sense of normalcy to the students, and then researches throughout the night.
It's easy to focus on the report cards, honestly. There's nothing particularly damning in them, and they are interesting besides. The little rabbit, yes, this seems to inform some things doesn't it? His curiosity over her grows. Ah, and this must be what Heihei had meant about poisoning her. It really does sound like him, like he used to be, he remembers briefly, the spark of joy that came from watching students blossom. His time as headmaster really had been a happy one, hadn't it? What happened, what happened-
More letters ... More letters and he still suspects things to be missing. He hones in on some of those dates, some of those gaps, the way some letters leave off while the next begin strangely with missing context. He reads them all, piecing together more and more of this ironic tragedy.
The diaries take some time to read through, though he is very fast comparatively. A former fount of knowledge would be well versed in speed-reading, after all. The names he takes note of, piecing together possibilities of who they could be. It strikes him how strange it is that so much can cross lives, if he is right, and he's pretty sure he is. He wants to learn more about them... the other beasts. Had their lives, too, enjoyed some kind of paradise here? Were they also fated for their downfall on Earthbread? Who put this into motion? Was it the creature? The entity in the woods? Is that who he has to direct his newfound blackened fury towards?
Though his emotions on everything dip and rise depending on what he's reading, he manages to keep himself together, fueled instead by the maddening desire to learn and understand. There is a mystery here, pieces of a puzzle, there is a grand finale that they don't have the script to, and he needs to find it. If he doesn't, he feels like he will lose some missing piece of himself he hadn't realized was gone.
The research isn't here, so it must be elsewhere. He has more rooms to search. When he looks up, he looks at Pure Vanilla and there is ...a complicated expression on his face. Like he isn't quite sure who he is right now, all he knows is he needs to move forward or the lack of answers will eat him alive. He wordlessly hands PV the journals before heading out of the room.
He knows what he is looking for now. Where is the lab, he's certain there must be one.
Watching Shadow Milk is... like watching Lily. The fervor in which he devours the material presented him, the manic way he shuts the rest of the world out around him as he does. The expression on his face when he finally lifts his head and their eyes meet. The need to keep going, to learn more, himself be damned by whatever he finds.
Which raises the question in him again. Why was he chosen to be the opposite for Knowledge, when White Lily would have been so much the wiser choice? He looks at two and sees the similarities far easier than he sees his own. Both were Knowledge, are Knowledge. Doubt chews at his core, and he narrows the growing connection so Shadow Milk doesn't feel it.
He takes the journals when they're handed to him and turns to follow Shadow Milk at a distance, opening the journals to read a little here or there. Ah, he thought so. It matches the broken half of the letter. He closes the journals again without reading much and merely holds them tight.
The lab... is in two parts. One is clean and precise- or as much as it can be after years of disuse, and was meant for lessons. But hidden beneath a set of tiles is the way down to the second half.
It's dark, reeking of old blood and ink, of matted fur and dust, of pain and misery and desperation.
Multiple iterations of magic circles litter the floor, failed corpses of animals and even the plant-animal hybrids, spirits snuffed out. Etched into the wall is a door that both know must remain closed, must not open, how familiar, how tragic, how fitting-
And then there is the notes. Percy's letters of monsters and a broken temple, people going missing, and Lily's madness. Scrawled notes smuggled out of the inn that smell like flowers about the voice heard and visions gave and she never wanted to hurt anyone not Percy especially please please make it stop make it stop make it stop help me I must claw this wretched thing from my veins but there are no knives-
Notes on failed experiments. The wrong species. The wrong pull. Something is interfering with the lay lines, something is keeping the souls, the magic circles aren't right why isn't anything WORKING--
Lily is gone and Percy is going to follow soon. There's talks of a ritual to send their souls away. But if Lily is gone and shattered and lingering what will happen to her? If he can keep Percy alive long enough to save him, good. Good. But they both know a part of her is still there. He thinks and dares not speak this to Percy that Lily will too be reborn, but as shattered as her soul was by the monster causing all of this, he fears she will be incomplete, missing parts of her- and then there are others who have perished before this heresy, but leave a mark yet... He prays he is wrong... but he was never a devout man.
And if they make it through this, then the door- the door will bring his beloved friends back home to him.
The first lab is of no interest to him, not yet anyway. He moves past it after giving it a moments scan, finding that he will not waste his time here too long. The smell driving him, and perhaps also, the feeling of deranged, corrupted magic, also pulls him to finding the hidden door without much fuss. Of course, yes, this makes sense. It's all going to be down here.
There is a sinking feeling in his stomach, as he descends those stairs, ghosts and phantoms clinging to his arms and legs, trying to pull him back. Why don't you keep the lie, keep the deceit, do you really need to seek this Truth? What will it get you in the end? More pain, MORE PAIN!.
But his soul is mingled with Truth, filling up the parts of him that's missing and locked away, the parts of him that filthy gnat sealed when he woke here. He moves forward like a cookie possessed and as he finds what he's looking for...
He falls silent, a deafening quite that rings the ears so loud it invites madness. Depending on how long it takes for Pure Vanilla to catch up to him, he will find his Other Half at the center of the room, amidst the old carnage and madness, holding some of his-- Seamus' research. He begins to laugh.
And it rises into hysteria, loud, maddening and distraught.
CW: animal sacrifice, animal death, necromancy here on out
The dread had been bad enough as he followed Shadow Milk down, the eerie feeling creeping into his skin enough that he had kept his eyes closed the entire time. He didn't want to see, the smell was bad enough. Rot and dust, and emotions echoing in the room around them. Cloying and clawing and desperate to make themselves known and felt.
When he opens his eyes, he wishes he hadn't.
He recognizes some of the circles, Percy having drawn them himself in mad desperation. There are others he doesn't (but he does, they look like some of the circles Lily and him had drawn together to try and make the perfect Cookie, but different, different enough), and then there's the decayed remains of animals. Seamus had actually tried where Percy couldn't.
The door grabs his eyes and he stares at it, fingers digging into the journals in his arms. They call. They cry. They scream. They whisper and laugh and-
No, that laughter is Shadow Milks and he yanks his eyes from the door, heart in his chest. He quickly sets the journals down amongst the littered notes and crosses the distance. His arms wrap around the other first, before he opens that connection again and floods him with reassurance.
No, no, shh. I'm here. Focus on me, focus on this. Focus!
And he digs his fingers into that embrace, not to pull him away, but to find some kind of purchase, to anchor himself while he feels the madness claw right out of his throat. While the Truth fills him like a poison.
"OH, this is so FUNNY, Vanilly. Don't you see?!"
Another laugh tears itself out of his throat, he tips his head back, but he is clearly shaking in Vanilla's arms, his knees threatening to buckle.
"This story, it was aaaaalways meant to be a comedy! Haha! Why else would I make such a delightful jester, Oh, what a show stealer I am! Look at all this! For them! For them!"
But finally some of that reassurance reaches, cools him like a salve, and some of the hysteria finally gives way to ...distraught conflicted feelings. Who is he? Who is he really? He threatened to dismantle reality and the natural order for ...For Vanilla and Lily and in his next life did everything in his power to break and destroy them. Was wanting them back so vile that he deserved this kind of karmic punishment? That he endured eons or torment and loneliness?
I am growing tired of this poetic irony.
He can't accept that, he won't. If it's sweet Deceit, so be it. This is all the creature's doing, and it will pay for the part he has been forced to play.
He can only guess. Why they all went to the same world together, and then went through so much in so many different lives. Why Shadow Milk walked the same paths there as he did here, and then fell, fell into Madness and Corruption, and then was punished and locked away. Treated like a mad Beast rather than someone who had broken under the weight of too much pushed onto his shoulders while alone.
Like Lily locked away in the Inn room.
And why they were then placed after, walking in his footsteps, forced to follow after him. More karma? Did a yearning he not understand drive him to pick them out specifically and torment them, because he didn't understand? Why not make them be together, so they could support one another, why torment them so much more?
Why? Why why why-
"Shadow Milk," his voice is soft, and he shifts his hands up to the other's head, tugs him down into his shoulder, wraps his arms around him. I'm here. I'm with you. Shh. Lean on me, fill yourself with me. Listen to me.
It is strangely dehumanizing, isn't it? Referring to their predecessors as Beasts. What a strangely cruel thing to become their name after it was all said and done.
The sound that comes out of him is furious and anguished all at once, not unlike when they had their little altercation in TR's room a few days ago. He has to get it out, because if he holds it in, he knows he will go mad. He will become that monster fate has been trying to make him all this time. That he has been all this time, but he'd somehow tricked himself into reaching for the light anyway now that they were in this place.
He opens the gates and lets Pure Vanilla in. He feels his mind starting to fray, trying to reconcile the cruel reality of all this. This Truth was rotten, actually, and he wants so badly to climb back into the lies he knows to be comforting.
He digs his fingers into his hair, mindful of those eyes, and digs his mind into his Other-Half's. It's difficult yet, the connection is growing stronger the longer they spend together, but it's still delicate. And he's fighting against the fraying. He has to hold onto the edges and whisper quietly.
The past doesn't matter. It's happened, it's another life. What matters is the now, this road we're walking. Together. You're not alone. And I know it's difficult.
Ovens, it he knows it must be difficult for Shadow Milk to see this life where he had friends and loves, and then to try and reconcile it with the life he was forced to live for... for eons.
I know. But he did not do this for himself. He did not do this for some sick twisted gain. He wasn't a monster. He loved so strongly that he couldn't do anything but try to help the people he held in his heart.
... And wasn't that the same for Shadow Milk, back when he was the Fount of Knowledge? Willing to share, to encourage everyone around him to grow, out of love for them? His fingers dig, take sharp hold.
He latches onto it, desperate. Lets Vanilla fill every crack and crevice to help keep him together. The anger finally starts to quell, the violent anguish seeps out of him little by little. He leans into Vanilla's touch like a lifeline. Drinks it up, tries to meld himself into him as much as he can.
He's left with just a single lingering feeling. An echo of Vanilla's own words. Why?
His love and happiness had always come with a twisted price, hadn't it? He grew tired of cookiekind's aversion of Truth, grew miserable, The Light Of Knowledge a weight in his mind that kept pulling and pulling until he drowned. And when his lies became so easy, and so sweet, that joy had lit him up from within until it twisted him. Until suddenly he felt the power at his fingertips to carry on that joy to into something vengeful. The crack in his mind that had festered into something horrific.
It began here. He sees it now.
There's a soft, unkind laugh from the connection.
I see. That's why my reflection looks at me with such disgust. What a joke.
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sticksandbones2025-02-06 07:42 pm
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"Recreational" for a professor seeking every ounce of knowledge that can be found, that is. If it's his own works he's looking for, it won't be found here- but neither will the falsities. After all, it's just a lounge. If anything, it's the diversion from everything else.
... There's portraits, as well. Past students and colleagues that look familiar- old allies and enemies alike, but something gentler, softer. Kinder.
... There's also himself as a younger man, and two schoolmates. One with soft blonde hair and a gentle smile. And one with a long white braid. They look so happy. A note is pinned to the corner.
For them.
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He does not have to wonder who he is looking at. He's both seen that ghoul haunting him, and of course, the other two, they are far more familiar. Far more recognizable. Here they are, like old friends.
For Them.
Is this a life they all shared? Has he been tied to their story all this time? Was there really never any separating him from Vanilla? Did he reach out, because something deeper than the Soul Jam spoke to him? And the Guardian, there she is too.
There is something deeply tumultuous rising up in him, and he has to quickly let go of Vanilla to pick up the picture frame- but rather than destroy it, he shoves it at Vanilla and takes a few steps away to simmer down. The jealousy of a life that was once his, is a frightening thing to behold, and he was not prepared for it. He often tries not to look back on who he was before he became a Cookie of Deceit, finding that cookie foolish, naive. A puppet to his own purpose, but there is something different about this he can't put his finger on.
"These story decisions feel a little too convenient, don't you think?" Show him the Truth, Vanilla. Confirm it for him so he doesn't lose it.
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He's studies the portrait in his hands after it's thrust there with a soft smile. There were letters he had found amongst the ones he had discovered that he had always wondered about. And now he understands who they're from. The friendship in them, a soft rivalry that never grew antagonistic.
He doesn't need to look to see if it's real or not, if it's True. Because he knows it is. It's the reality of this place. He gently touches their expressions as they smile up at him, then glance to the note.
For them.
Is it Lily's handwriting? The same as the note he found in the book, waiting for him?
"It's real," his voice is gentle, soft, as he turns the portrait to look to see if there's anything hidden behind it, stuffed in it's backing, "and it does not surprise me. I will show you letters after this, if you'd like. I now recognize your handwriting."
Seamus.
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"Letters, did I write to you like some pining maiden, Vanilly? Somehow I don't think the Guardian would be happy to hear I was hoooooomewrecking, heheh."
He has to make silly jokes about this or he will have another tantrum. Look, he is working on managing his emotions okay, he didn't come in here thinking something would set him off right out the gate, this is getting really frustrating. Why is every step he takes in this place catered to torment him so well?
Why does that visage keep haunting him, even when he has no reflection to look back at him."Time to move on! This room is getting boring, let's see if there's some real meat to be found," He will head off into the next room, perhaps a bedroom? That looks niiice and intimate. He will not wait for Vanilla to follow him, and its certainly not that he needs to breathe for a moment.
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He doesn't respond to the commentary but he will give Shadow Milk a little slip of warmth through the shared soul jam. Like a squeeze, before backing away to let the other have a moment to himself.
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A giant puddle of wine-dark blood and claw marks staining and cutting the rug before the fireplace.
The window's been broken, so the area around that is worn, weathered and rotted, cold and snowy. Any paper over there is long since ruined. Thankfully, that does not include the desk.
More portraits of his friends and family litter the shelves, the walls, the desk. His love is an all-consuming thing, even at it's healthiest. A shame you can't accept when it's given anymore.
The Note is torn from something else. When Pure Vanilla inspects it, he'll find it's been torn from a letter. He'll be forgiven if he doesn't initially recognize his own handwriting- it's shaky, tear-stained and frenzied.
My dear Seamus, I write to you
a poison has infected her mind an
I cannot understand the things you h
...
He'll need to find the whole letter, if he wants answers. Or maybe he already knows.
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More reminders of a life he could have had....
What's the blood taste like.
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Morbid curiosity, maybe.
Which is gone in a flash the moment he steps into the room after Shadow Milk and sees him...... licking the dried blood. For a moment he's just absolutely gobsmacked. Just stands there and watches, letter clutched in his hand.
"Really?"
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Were the narration a person, it might bonk him.
It tastes like rotten copper and dust. He's going to get sick later.
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He looks right at Pure Vanilla as he walks in, tongue out, long and forked like a snake and grins at him. Then he stands up!! dusts his hands off!!
"Human blood is gross! Man, what are these people eating, hahaha!"
Anyways. Let's go take a look at that little writing desk so he can give himself some psychic damage.
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There's a set of diaries, a collection of letters, and student reports.
Where do you want to start?
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To smother the worry and apprehension.We will go in order of: Student reports, collection of letters, and then diaries.
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She has full marks in everything, but her mother keeps insisting that she can do better, must do better, are you sure this is everything you can teach her blahblahblah blah BLAH, good GODS woman. Your daughter's an exceptional student of remarkable talent and rather than nurturing that spark of light you're smothering it in oil! (Note to self, slip more wisteria into her tea next consultation.) Honestly though, when she's allowed time to herself she seems more artistic... which makes her academic achievements even better. Still, she indulges his games and theatrics, and when she does show curiosity it's a beast to behold.
And Cassie! Full marks again, can you believe that she almost didn't get an education? Girl's going to revolutionize the world, he can see it! Her mathematics and magical formulas are especially impressive, and he hopes once they can escape the forest that she can really come into bloom. ... Kinda terrifying when you look at her already packed schedule though. Take a NAP now and then, jeeze.
There's more, all with sass and comments in stride. But those students haven't been confirmed yet. So shhh. There's also a note that one of the local teacher's kid is going to be a sponge for knowledge as he gets older- better strike while the iron's hot!
The Letters are... more complex. And plentiful by far. Percival and playful banter- except from the sounds of it, life in the Grove is getting... worrisome, and there's a distinct feeling that some letters have been hidden away elsewhere. Then Lily, affectionate and playful and exchanging notes on their current research topics. It's warm. Both of those letter sets are warm. Lily includes flowers and Percy includes bundles of herbs. Percy also writes more often, and with multiple pages- there's so much love in every swirl of ink, and he goes on about the children they look after, the wedding invitation reiterated in multiple letters, the description of the local Guardians- and that statue on the beach!
Best friends. Confidants. The gaps between letters can only be from when he himself was present too.
Other letters include ministers encouraging him to return to the capitol, we can't have our greatest teacher yet in some hick town. Colleagues asking about living in fae woods, and a Salem Strode or a Birûsk Shula reaching out now and then. Wonder who those could be.
There's half of a very passive-aggressive back and forth with a rival scholar who has CLEARLY never actually read other research papers in the field of enchantments. Something about looking at it is incredibly annoying...
...
And then there's the Journals.
The most recent is probably the most important, but he can read his boyhood days in school, neck and neck with Lily in the class rankings with Percy right behind, their friendship and a mutual loneliness- Lily doesn't like to go home during the breaks for a reason. Salem and Birûsk enter his life, as do others- a M.F and an Eleanor Shirin. Breakthroughs and love and success, so much success.
Too much success. Maybe do not try and break into the forbidden so much, you keep getting, uh, strongly worded letters from the church. Thank goodness your reputation and prowess protects you.
The last though...
Percy sent for help, and who was he if he didn't answer? ... Lily is deranged, caged like a broken animal who knows her death is coming because it whispers in her ears that it's coming for her and Percy can't help her. Seamus is reluctant to admit it, but he's... also not sure. But what is this knowledge for if not to be used? And if he must break reality, so be it.
But Aldric's condition is also worsening, and people are disappearing more and more by the day. He teaches to give a sense of normalcy to the students, and then researches throughout the night.
It's not enough. It may never be enough.
...
His notes on the research are not here.
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His time as headmaster really had been a happy one, hadn't it? What happened, what happened-More letters ... More letters and he still suspects things to be missing. He hones in on some of those dates, some of those gaps, the way some letters leave off while the next begin strangely with missing context. He reads them all, piecing together more and more of this ironic tragedy.
The diaries take some time to read through, though he is very fast comparatively. A former fount of knowledge would be well versed in speed-reading, after all. The names he takes note of, piecing together possibilities of who they could be. It strikes him how strange it is that so much can cross lives, if he is right, and he's pretty sure he is. He wants to learn more about them... the other beasts. Had their lives, too, enjoyed some kind of paradise here? Were they also fated for their downfall on Earthbread? Who put this into motion? Was it the creature? The entity in the woods? Is that who he has to direct his newfound blackened fury towards?
Though his emotions on everything dip and rise depending on what he's reading, he manages to keep himself together, fueled instead by the maddening desire to learn and understand. There is a mystery here, pieces of a puzzle, there is a grand finale that they don't have the script to, and he needs to find it. If he doesn't, he feels like he will lose some missing piece of himself he hadn't realized was gone.
The research isn't here, so it must be elsewhere. He has more rooms to search. When he looks up, he looks at Pure Vanilla and there is ...a complicated expression on his face. Like he isn't quite sure who he is right now, all he knows is he needs to move forward or the lack of answers will eat him alive. He wordlessly hands PV the journals before heading out of the room.
He knows what he is looking for now. Where is the lab, he's certain there must be one.
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Which raises the question in him again. Why was he chosen to be the opposite for Knowledge, when White Lily would have been so much the wiser choice? He looks at two and sees the similarities far easier than he sees his own. Both were Knowledge, are Knowledge. Doubt chews at his core, and he narrows the growing connection so Shadow Milk doesn't feel it.
He takes the journals when they're handed to him and turns to follow Shadow Milk at a distance, opening the journals to read a little here or there. Ah, he thought so. It matches the broken half of the letter. He closes the journals again without reading much and merely holds them tight.
CW: animal sacrifice, animal death, necromancy
It's dark, reeking of old blood and ink, of matted fur and dust, of pain and misery and desperation.
Multiple iterations of magic circles litter the floor, failed corpses of animals and even the plant-animal hybrids, spirits snuffed out. Etched into the wall is a door that both know must remain closed, must not open, how familiar, how tragic, how fitting-
And then there is the notes. Percy's letters of monsters and a broken temple, people going missing, and Lily's madness. Scrawled notes smuggled out of the inn that smell like flowers about the voice heard and visions gave and she never wanted to hurt anyone not Percy especially please please make it stop make it stop make it stop help me I must claw this wretched thing from my veins but there are no knives-
Notes on failed experiments. The wrong species. The wrong pull. Something is interfering with the lay lines, something is keeping the souls, the magic circles aren't right why isn't anything WORKING--
Lily is gone and Percy is going to follow soon. There's talks of a ritual to send their souls away. But if Lily is gone and shattered and lingering what will happen to her? If he can keep Percy alive long enough to save him, good. Good. But they both know a part of her is still there. He thinks and dares not speak this to Percy that Lily will too be reborn, but as shattered as her soul was by the monster causing all of this, he fears she will be incomplete, missing parts of her- and then there are others who have perished before this heresy, but leave a mark yet... He prays he is wrong... but he was never a devout man.
And if they make it through this, then the door- the door will bring his beloved friends back home to him.
All of this is for them.
CW: animal sacrifice, animal death, necromancy
There is a sinking feeling in his stomach, as he descends those stairs, ghosts and phantoms clinging to his arms and legs, trying to pull him back. Why don't you keep the lie, keep the deceit, do you really need to seek this Truth? What will it get you in the end? More pain, MORE PAIN!.
But his soul is mingled with Truth, filling up the parts of him that's missing and locked away, the parts of him that filthy gnat sealed when he woke here. He moves forward like a cookie possessed and as he finds what he's looking for...
He falls silent, a deafening quite that rings the ears so loud it invites madness. Depending on how long it takes for Pure Vanilla to catch up to him, he will find his Other Half at the center of the room, amidst the old carnage and madness, holding some of his-- Seamus' research. He begins to laugh.
And it rises into hysteria, loud, maddening and distraught.
CW: animal sacrifice, animal death, necromancy here on out
The dread had been bad enough as he followed Shadow Milk down, the eerie feeling creeping into his skin enough that he had kept his eyes closed the entire time. He didn't want to see, the smell was bad enough. Rot and dust, and emotions echoing in the room around them. Cloying and clawing and desperate to make themselves known and felt.
When he opens his eyes, he wishes he hadn't.
He recognizes some of the circles, Percy having drawn them himself in mad desperation. There are others he doesn't (but he does, they look like some of the circles Lily and him had drawn together to try and make the perfect Cookie, but different, different enough), and then there's the decayed remains of animals. Seamus had actually tried where Percy couldn't.
The door grabs his eyes and he stares at it, fingers digging into the journals in his arms. They call. They cry. They scream. They whisper and laugh and-
No, that laughter is Shadow Milks and he yanks his eyes from the door, heart in his chest. He quickly sets the journals down amongst the littered notes and crosses the distance. His arms wrap around the other first, before he opens that connection again and floods him with reassurance.
No, no, shh. I'm here. Focus on me, focus on this. Focus!
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"OH, this is so FUNNY, Vanilly. Don't you see?!"
Another laugh tears itself out of his throat, he tips his head back, but he is clearly shaking in Vanilla's arms, his knees threatening to buckle.
"This story, it was aaaaalways meant to be a comedy! Haha! Why else would I make such a delightful jester, Oh, what a show stealer I am! Look at all this! For them! For them!"
But finally some of that reassurance reaches, cools him like a salve, and some of the hysteria finally gives way to ...distraught conflicted feelings. Who is he? Who is he really? He threatened to dismantle reality and the natural order for ...For Vanilla and Lily and in his next life did everything in his power to break and destroy them. Was wanting them back so vile that he deserved this kind of karmic punishment? That he endured eons or torment and loneliness?
I am growing tired of this poetic irony.
He can't accept that, he won't. If it's sweet Deceit, so be it. This is all the creature's doing, and it will pay for the part he has been forced to play.
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Like Lily locked away in the Inn room.
And why they were then placed after, walking in his footsteps, forced to follow after him. More karma? Did a yearning he not understand drive him to pick them out specifically and torment them, because he didn't understand? Why not make them be together, so they could support one another, why torment them so much more?
Why? Why why why-
"Shadow Milk," his voice is soft, and he shifts his hands up to the other's head, tugs him down into his shoulder, wraps his arms around him. I'm here. I'm with you. Shh. Lean on me, fill yourself with me. Listen to me.
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The sound that comes out of him is furious and anguished all at once, not unlike when they had their little altercation in TR's room a few days ago. He has to get it out, because if he holds it in, he knows he will go mad. He will become that monster fate has been trying to make him all this time. That he has been all this time, but he'd somehow tricked himself into reaching for the light anyway now that they were in this place.
He opens the gates and lets Pure Vanilla in. He feels his mind starting to fray, trying to reconcile the cruel reality of all this. This Truth was rotten, actually, and he wants so badly to climb back into the lies he knows to be comforting.
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The past doesn't matter. It's happened, it's another life. What matters is the now, this road we're walking. Together. You're not alone. And I know it's difficult.
Ovens, it he knows it must be difficult for Shadow Milk to see this life where he had friends and loves, and then to try and reconcile it with the life he was forced to live for... for eons.
I know. But he did not do this for himself. He did not do this for some sick twisted gain. He wasn't a monster. He loved so strongly that he couldn't do anything but try to help the people he held in his heart.
... And wasn't that the same for Shadow Milk, back when he was the Fount of Knowledge? Willing to share, to encourage everyone around him to grow, out of love for them? His fingers dig, take sharp hold.
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He's left with just a single lingering feeling. An echo of Vanilla's own words. Why?
His love and happiness had always come with a twisted price, hadn't it? He grew tired of cookiekind's aversion of Truth, grew miserable, The Light Of Knowledge a weight in his mind that kept pulling and pulling until he drowned. And when his lies became so easy, and so sweet, that joy had lit him up from within until it twisted him. Until suddenly he felt the power at his fingertips to carry on that joy to into something vengeful. The crack in his mind that had festered into something horrific.
It began here. He sees it now.
There's a soft, unkind laugh from the connection.
I see. That's why my reflection looks at me with such disgust. What a joke.
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cw repitition
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