Chapter Text
In which we return to find cookies in places they should not be.
“Well? Are you going to ask her? We can’t get the discount without four cookies!”
“…yeah, I don’t think so. She looks like the walking crumbs.”
“How do you manage to get a free paid day off and come into work looking like that?”
“Shhh! Not so loud!”
“Please! Baguette Cookie’s not going to walk in this late!”
“Well, how about you wait until we’re off the clock to gossip?”
“Then let’s go clock out already! We can just talk Maple Taffy Cookie into coming.”
“Maybe get him to foot the discounted bill?”
“You are the worst!”
The gaggle of straggling coworkers made their way out of the Time Registry Department, finally leaving Coffee Candy Cookie in peace. She took a huge breath and melted onto her desk with a sigh.
“They must have been friends before…” Her lips rubbed against the sharp metal keyboard. “Or been working here longer. Something like that.”
Coffee Candy Cookie had once been the new hire, barely better than an intern in the eyes of her coworkers, and she’d known it. Thus, she had thrown herself into the work the moment she sat down. She never gave herself a chance to chat around the water cooler or join the others for Korean barbeque or even introduce herself; there was just too much she had to prove. Now here she was being smack-talked by cookies that she doubted even knew her name.
And none of that was even what was bothering her.
She dragged her head off the keyboard, halting the aggressive “GHHHHHGHGHFHFJGFGJGHFJGHJFDF” her cheek had been typing, and tucked her head under her arms. The TRD was deserted. Screens were powered down, file cabinets were locked tight, and printers had fallen still. Two clocks hung on the wall—one digitally silent, the other ticking loudly—and Coffee Candy Cookie let their sight and sound overcome her senses.
Déjà vu’s were an overused gag at the TBD, but it really felt like it was two night ago. That was when she’d fallen asleep at the desk, read a report she wasn’t supposed to read, and was sent home with nothing but questions. Only one thing was different. Tonight, she was alone.
When Coffee Candy Cookie closed her eyes, she could see the morning in vivid detail. Energized after her day off, she’d sprinted to the TRD. In her mind’s eye, she could see the startled employees and scattered paper that her earlier eagerness had ignored. She looked left, right, then looked back into the hallway. Baguette Cookie had just turned a corner. In retrospect, Coffee Candy Cookie could see her manager’s exhaustion: the slightly droopier locks, the slightly sloped shoulders, the mound of files in her arms. And yet, at that moment, Coffee Candy Cookie had rushed right around the corner and barricaded the hallway with her presence.
“Good morning ma’am!” She’d bubbled in a way that now made her cringe. “How did the meeting go!?”
Baguette Cookie looked down at her, eyes hidden behind her glasses.
“I have been in several meetings today.” She spoke deliberately. “And they all went well. Good morning, Coffee Candy Cookie.”
“Not today!” said Coffee Candy Cookie as Baguette Cookie tried walking around her. “I mean yesterday! Or, not yesterday, the day before that. Before the day off. Remember? You were called in by–“
Baguette Cookie cleared her throat with the aggression of a clenched fist. Her eyes appeared from behind her glasses with a silent warning. Only then had Coffee Candy Cookie noticed all the cookies staring and whispering.
In the present, Coffee Candy Cookie cheeks burned red all over again.
“You complete imbecile! Of course it was confidential! It was another reality’s timeline that wasn’t supposed to end up on your recorder! How could I be so dense!?”
She groaned. She turned her head and reached into her blazer pocket a small envelope. The paper was a faded parchment, stamped with a wax seal that held a shimmering gold cog. On the front was a scattering of rich ink blots, among which hid the beautiful calligraphed instructions: To be presented and held by Coffee Candy Cookie. Not to be opened or given away by the recipient under any circumstances.
Surely Baguette Cookie had meant to give her this letter in person, possibly with some explanation for its mysterious orders. Instead, thanks to her outburst, Coffee Candy Cookie had been called to the front (a walk which dragged thanks everycookie’s sideways glances at her).
“Baguette Cookie said to give this to you.” Said the small receptionist, who’s disapproving expression barely reached the desk. “And that she will be occupied until further notice.”
“She must be mad.” In the present, Coffee Candy Cooke mumbled as she turned the envelope over in her hand. “So, is this some kind of test? Or a punishment? I mean, who addresses an envelope to someone who’s not to open it!”
Questions, questions, questions: that was all Coffee Candy Cookie could hear rattling around in her brain. Every fiber of her dough wanted to rip the envelope open, make notes, look for matching handwriting, interview that receptionist, and write a front-page story about everything that she’d been through. But she couldn’t. She was a member of the TBD, and she couldn’t.
Baguette Cookie had said that Coffee Candy Cookie had done well.
So why couldn’t Coffee Candy Cookie do well now?
Why couldn’t she move on with her job?
Why couldn’t she stop thinking about Matcha Cookie and Butter Roll Cookie and MyCookie and all the mystery blended between them?
Why did it feel like the story wasn’t over?
“Probably because I’m tired and need to go home.” She dragged herself off the desk, powered off her recorder, and tucked the envelope back into her pocket. When she left the department, she made sure to lock the doors tightly behind her.
“I need some really trashy TV and a quart of French silk ice cream to get my mind off this.” Her steps and murmurs rang through the vacant lobby. Electric candles shone from golden chandeliers, the light gleaming off the high glass walls with a ghostly ambience.
“Right… right! I spent all yesterday just writing things down. I should take tonight to have a real break!” Her step gained a bit of spring. “Yeah! That’s it! And maybe I’ll order in! I’m sure Sandwich Cookie still delivers this late. “
She heard the ding of an elevator bell. Mindlessly, she glanced back over her shoulder to see who else was leaving this late at night.
“Hey!” She turned around. “You don’t work here!”
The thought popped out before she fully processed the reasoning. The cookie inside the elevators was hunched over in a devil-horned hoodie that would never pass TBD dress requirements. The cookie’s black jeggings were shredded, and the sourness in the cookie’s eyes—the only part that could be seen—made the damage look intentional. A black backpack, half open and stuffed with papers, hung on her back. A massive half-eaten lollipop was slung over her shoulder. For half a second, the cookie appeared shocked. Then she scowled twice as sourly.
“Oh! I’m sorry! I don’t mean to make assumptions!” Coffee Candy Cookie added quickly. “Are you here for a delivery? The receptionist should be able to help you!”
She looked to the desk for the tiny receptionist she’d spoken to earlier.
But no one was there.
“Uh, I mean… she must be on– OW!”
The devil-hooded cookie charged like a speeding train, elbowing Coffee Candy Cookie to the ground as she sprinted out the double doors. As Coffee Candy Cookie rubbed her sore bottom, the devil-hooded cookie didn’t look back.
As such, she didn’t notice the scroll that flew out of her backpack.
“Oww…” Groaned Coffee Candy Cookie. Then, seeing the scroll, she jumped to her feet. “Wait! Wait! You dropped somehing!”
She scooped up the scroll and sprinted after the devil-hooded cookie. Standing on the steps of the TBD, Coffee Candy Cookie could just make out the hooded shape beneath the streetlamps.
“Wait! Your scroll!” Coffee Candy Cookie waved it in the air. “Wait… scroll?”
Her arm lowered halfway as the realization dawned on her. Then it lowered again for a closer look. The fresh paper that looked like aged parchment, the tight printed seal she removed without a second thought, the slender Time New Roman typed inside: this was not delivery item. This was a time recorder report.
“But… no one was in the TRD!?” Her murmurs squeaked as she scanned the page. “Did it come from the archives? But no one can–“
Her thoughts stopped dead in their tracks.
MyCookie.
Her eyes widened over the word. The printing press in her mind ran her questions on the front page, too many and too fast to keep track of. All of the alarm bells warning her against reading a clearly classified document were muffled. She ran the paper through her fingers until they brought her to the first page.
Divergence Instance: Year two-zero-two-five, Month zero-seven, Day zero-one, Hour one-one, Minute seven-zero, Second zero-zero, Instant rounded to nine-nine-nine. Divergence Locations: Crispia-1a (Strawberry Cake Tower) Crispia-1b (Crème Republic, Lower City). Divergence Notice: Parallel Shift Syndrome—Slated for Destruction…
═════════════════════════════════════════════════════
On the day that Espresso Cookie carried the last box from his old lab and hung the key on the front door, he never planned to return. He would visit the Night Market, of course, and Choco Mud Town. He’d visit the Institute of Thaumaturgy, provided they even let him inside, and maybe, just maybe, he'd consider saying hello to the ladies of House Madeline. But those trips would be recreational, and they would not be made for some time. They would certainly not involve returning to what was likely now a storage shed rented out to yet another pub.
But here was the Lower City, drowning him with the same blend of sea water, bloomed chocolate, hustling merchants, and bustling urchins that it had years before. The mud stains that splashed him blended in with his coat. The squawk of seagulls teased his hearing. The air scratched his hands with salt. The afternoon mist fogged his glasses.
He lifted his cup of coffee to his lips, sipped, and sighed. It was black and bitter and tasted like everything else around here: like home.
“You seriously grew up in this dump!?”
The insult was followed by loud slurp. Espresso Cookie looked down at the child beside him, who was sucking at nothing through an oversized straw. The cup had contained Sea Turtle Tea, but only flavor-tinted ice remained.
“I did try to warn you, Strawberry Crepe Cookie. The place I was baked is nothing like the rest of the Crème Republic or even the Vanilla Kingdom.”
“Yeah, obviously!” Strawberry Crepe Cookie slurped louder. “I’ve seen how the raisin cookies used to live. They had these dinky little hovels and sickly raisin trees that the Wafflebots would smash all the time. But I didn’t think anybody would want to live in a place like that on purpose!”
“Most cookies do not get a choice in their place of origin.” Said Espresso Cookie.
“Well, they should!” Strawberry Crepe Cookie waved a robotic hand at a passing dog treat vendor. “I mean, look at that cookie! That’s 76% saltwater! 76%! If my wafflebots had 76% saltwater in them, they’d rust in a nanosecond! And she’s just… living here? Clearly you were the only cookie here with any common sense, ditching this place when you did.”
“I’m afraid life in the Republic is a bit more complicated than that…” Espresso Cookie began but was cut short when a sailor cookie bumped against Strawberry Crepe Cookie. The child jumped and turned around. The robotic arms began shifting into cannons.
“No, no, no!” Espresso Cookie held the mechanisms in place.
“But he bumped me!”
“Not on purpose!”
“How do you bump someone that hard on accident!? I nearly fell over!”
“Because he’s a sailor! They don’t know their own strength! Just… stop! You’ll make a scene!”
Strawberry Crepe Cookie glared at the sailor, who quickly faded into the crowd. With a sigh, the waffle canons retracted.
Espresso Cookie sighed as well. It hadn’t been his intention to take his young research partner on this trip. However, Strawberry Crepe Cookie had found the letter first.
“Hey! Espresso Cookie! You got mail!”
“From the Republic? Let’s see….”
“What’s it say?”
“…”
“HEY! I said what’s it say!?”
“Apparently my old landlord found a renter for my old laboratory.”
“And?”
“He also apparently found a piece of equipment that I left behind on accident.”
“What’s the equipment?”
“A vitometer. It’s used to detect life intensity in–“
“I know what it’s for! Why’d you leave it?”
“I didn’t think I did. It must have been buried under something. I suppose I’ll have to retrieve it. What a waste of time.”
“When are we leaving?”
“Once I complete this magic candy prototype, I’ll… we?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“You want to go to the republic?”
“I said yeah, didn’t I?”
“But why? You hardly leave the Vanilla Kingdom.”
“Hey! Don’t say that like I’m some hermit! I run a thriving cake business in the Cookie Kingdom!”
“I suppose that is true.”
“And I want to see those big shot magicanical machines that 2% Connivingness was going on about. See if they hold even half a candle my wafflebots!”
“Well, I don’t plan to make any stops in the Upper City–“
“Then you better start planning! Besides, it’d be interesting to see where you were built.”
“…you mean baked.”
“I mean, if that place manage to spit out a cookie that comes close to my genius, it has to have something worth seeing, right?”
No matter how ways Espresso Cookie tried to convince his young partner that there wouldn’t be anything worth seeing, Strawberry Crepe Cookie would not be dissuaded. Not until the two of them were here, walking around mud pools and avoiding wet wads of bird feces.
“When are we going to get to the place?” Strawberry Crepe Cookie tossed the empty teacup into a pile of trash. “I want to leave and see the robots already.”
“It’s not much further…” Espresso Cookie rubbed his head. The coffee wasn’t doing anything to ward off his exhaustion. He regretted not asking for a quintuple shot.
As they neared the edge of the Night Market, Espresso Cookie felt a sense of repetition creeping into his steps. He’d walked these streets, avoided those potholes, and swerved around those broken lampposts hundreds of times, but these memories were more recent. When he’d last taken this road, he’d been chased across the city for daring to protect Earthbread’s most powerful relics.
His mouth crinkled with bitterness that made his next sip taste sweet. It had taken years for him to find a place in the Upper City, yet in less than an hour, House Custard had branded him a criminal. It didn’t matter that the charges were dropped; in fact, that made it worse. The whole affair only proved that one’s worth in the republic was not decided by skill or intellect or worthiness. Whatever prestige he’d thought he had was not earned; it was given, and as a gift, it could be taken away.
Weariness washed over him. Had it really taken this long to understand the Republic? All places had their good and their bad, so why was this such a blow? Was it just because it affected him? Because it hurt his pride? Because it hurt whatever pride he'd had in his hometown? The Crème Republic claimed to be the greatest city ever built: the glittering beacon of hope and the proof of Earthbread’s resilience against the Dark Flour War. And yet, when placed in a way between a handful of old relics and a few monsters from Dark Enchantress Cookie, the Republic proved itself powerless, petty, ignorant, small.
Espresso Cookie rubbed his eyes. Something about those words felt familiar.
“Uh, Espresso Cookie? Hello! I’m talking to you!”
Espresso Cookie rubbed his eyes again and remembered. A dark night in Parfaedia, a week before the autumn graduation ceremony, the front steps of the academy, a meager stack of boxes from a once-shared dorm room.
“Hey! Why not come with me?” The memory said. “We’ve both said this place is too small for us! I’m clearly not graduating, and why should you have to wait two more years to do something with your life!? We can find something cheap, put together a lab! I’m sure between the two of us, we’d be able to make a real difference!”
“I wonder if I made the right choice…”
“HEY!”
Espresso Cookie walked straight into a robotic arm. On the other side of it, he saw the dark gloomy muck of Choco Mud Town.
“Huh… when did we get here?” He murmured, gulping down the rest of his coffee.
“Uh, a while ago? I’ve been yelling at you this whole time!” Robotic arms carefully led him away from the mud. “You need to take a break somewhere. That coffee is not sitting right with you! Puh! I bet they don’t even wash their hands at that place!”
“Just… go to… the hut…” He was barely able to make out his own mumbling. “Seaweed… Cookie…”
Unheard, Espresso Cookie was led to back ally and maneuvered so he leaned against a wall.
“There! Now would you snap out of it already? You’re not supposed to get tired!”
Espresso Cookie tried telling himself the same thing, yet the throbbing in his head said otherwise. His legs wobbled, his vision swirled, the voice of Strawberry Crepe Cookie slurred, the empty coffee cup slipped from his fingers.
“Go get… Seaweed… Cookie…”
“What’s that? You gotta speak up! I can’t hear you!”
“Go.” He pushed his voice through tired lips. “Get. Seaweed.”
His body fell like a case snapped shut. Wooden planks slapped his cheek. His glasses jabbed at his skull. His arm was crushed beneath his torso and everything, everything, was fading, fading, fading.
“Seaweed? Hey! Espresso Cookie! Wake up! Wake up! Hey!”
He’d never heard Strawberry Crepe Cookie’s voice so sharp. Four arms shook him: two mechanical, two doughy. Soon, even those faded as Espresso Cookie eyelids fell. The last thing he heard was that young voice, now turned away from him, as it scoffed.
“What are you losers doing here?
═════════════════════════════════════════════════════
Matcha Cookie did not dream, not until she came to the Strawberry Cake Tower.
It made no difference whether she was crammed on an uncomfortable cot, sprawled out on a painfully plush bed, or (as she wished she was) comfortably curled into a mound of leaves in her cozy pipe hideaway; Matcha Cookie did not dream. Instead, she would mumble, mutter, cackle, curse, and whimper all the thoughts that hadn’t made it out of her head that day. A sad sleep, perhaps, but it’s what let Matcha Cookie wake up refreshed every morning.
Now everything was different. A different place, a different room, a different bed, different sights, different smells, different sounds: the differences piled up like manure in a composting box. Now Matcha Cookie did dream. She dreamed every single night.
This is how tonight’s dream went.
Deep beneath the hostile woods of Beast-Yeast lived a beautiful cavern. Here, the plants grew even without sunlight. In fact, they thrived. The flowers shone in a rainbow of colors from every crack and crevasse. Moss blanketed every stone with coziness. The trees, brown yet beautiful, held clusters of fireflies in a bright, soothing slumber. An underwater stream ran crystal clear through it all.
“Matcha! Matcha! Look at this one!”
The little cookie shouted from one end of the cave, which was somehow both protectively huge and comfortably small.
“Matcha! Matcha!” The little cookie repeated. Chocolate brown hair, puff-sleeved clothes, a bright cheery smile, and eyes that shone with innocence: the little cookie had not changed at all.
“Mmmm?” Answered Matcha Cookie.
“This flower’s extra big! It’s as big as my whole head!”
“Mmmmm!” Matcha Cookie scampered towards her friend but paused to see her reflection in the crystal waterfall. Only once had Matcha Cookie ever been a child— when Poison Mushroom Cookie had tricked her into eating a special Rainbow Shroomie— but she remembered it well enough. Her hair was short and scruffy. Her robes were far too long. Her eyes were big and bubbly. And, while she had complained when she’d eaten the shroomie before, right now, the size felt right. Instead of looming tall and bending her back, she could scamper over to her friend with a perfectly-size hug.
“Hee hee! I love you!” Laughed the little cookie.
“Mmmmm!” Macha Cookie hummed back.
“And look! Look! See the flower?”
The little cookie took her hand (a perfect fit) and pointed at a rafflesia flower made of delicious biscuits. Already the two cookies were eating it, licking its pudding filling off their mouths.
“That’s so yummy!”
“Mmmm! Mmmm!” Matcha Cookie kicked her feet. “Mmmm?”
“Oh! That sounds fun!”
Matcha Cookie grinned. How wonderful it was to be understood without the bother of talking!
Two little cookies started taking flowers from all around the cavern. Taking, not picking. The flowers happily let themselves be pulled without so much as bending their stems. Even when the flowers were spun and twisted together, the weaving was a willing dance between happy floral friends.
“Done!” The little cookie plopped a flower crown of chrysanthemum and forget-me-nots onto Matcha Cookie’s head. It landed at an odd angle, drooping over one of her eyes. She laughed and dropped her crown, a messy weaving of Queen Anne's Lace and buttercup, onto the little cookie’s head only for the circle to fall around the little cookie’s neck instead.
“A flower necklace? That’s even better!” The little cookie laughed. “Thank you, Matcha! I love it!”
“MMM! MMM!” Matcha Cookie pointed frantically at the middle of the necklace. There was a gap, a blank space unnaturally framed by two unfinished halves of flower chains.
“Oh! It’s ok Matcha! I love it already!”
“Mmmmm… MMM!” Matcha crawled through the flowers with a huff. The violets and dandelions and poppies all scooted out of the way as she looked for the missing piece. She checked behind the trees. She looked inside the waterfall. She lifted the moss and nudged the stones. Then she saw it, and her heart fluttered.
A single lily, as pure as snow, growing at the mouth of the cave.
She stepped forward.
“Wait!”
The little cookie grabbed her hand.
“Don’t go! Stay here!”
“…” Matcha Cookie said.
“Don’t! Don’t!”
Matcha Cookie looked down at the little cookie, holding on tight.
She looked up at the white flower, shining in the distance. Her eyes remained fixed as she kept walking. The little hands clung for as long as they could, but Matcha Cookie’s steps were unstoppable. As if in a trance, she walked, and the little cookie’s cries grew muffled by the distance. Her steps grew faster, as if trying to run, but the flowers kept getting in the way. Their petals became wet and sticky. The colors blended into goo that slowly dragged her down. She splashed through them.
“W-wait!” Matcha Cookie’s mouth burst open as she forced her feet forward. The goo was up to her adult-sized knees, squeezing her dough until the sugarbones trembled from the pressure.
“Don’t go!” She screamed, waist deep already, yet she could not reach the mouth of the cave. The lily couldn’t hear her. The lily stood alone, hair glowing white against the darkness ahead. The lily was further away now, and grew even further as the darkness spread.
“Stay here!” Waist deep in putrid pulsing dough, Matcha Cookie moved frantically. “Don’t! Don’t!”
A shadow fell across Matcha Cookie, the shadow of a massive wave of green goo that foamed with faces. Pomegranate Cookie, Licorice Cookie, Poison Mushroom Cookie, Scharzwalder, and Affogato Cookie all appeared behind her with melting, disapproving scowls. Matcha Cookie saw none of them. She refused to take her eyes from the shining white lily as it dissolved into darkness.
“Don’t go! Please! Don’t go!“
The goo wave slammed onto her with the weight of a boulder. Her sugarbones cracked, and her whole body was sucked down a garbage chute made of living dough. The disapproving faces spun her in circles—down, down, down into the darkness until she crashed.
Silverware rattled and candles flipped as Matcha Cookie landed in the midst of a jam-red banquet.
“Oh my!”
“What in the world!?”
“Ooooo this is getting good!”
When she pushed herself up, Matcha Cookie found she was kneeling on a long table. The Vanilla Castle had a dining hall just like this, but its tablecloth wasn’t stained scarlet, its chandeliers weren’t punctured with cakehound corpses, and its stained-glass windows weren’t deformed by shadowy depictions of conquest: a war she’d only heard of.
“Matcha Cookie!”
The furious voice made her shudder. She scrambled to her feet, scattering butter knives and forks. Even though she stood on the high table, Dark Enchantress Cookie somehow loomed over her.
“M-master!” Despite her terror, a small hope sprouted. Matcha Cookie risked a glance at the sharp black horns. Matcha Cookie had black horns too.
Dark Enchantress Cookie stared back with disgust.
“How dare you interrupt our banquet with your carelessness!?”
Hope shriveled; Matcha Cookie fell to her knees.
“Forgive me! Please! I’m sorry! But I missed–“
Matcha Cookie heard herself chuckle. Her vision, which had locked onto her master, finally noticed the others.
On either side of Dark Enchantress Cookie stood Matcha Cookie. Three Matcha Cookies were on her left. Two Matcha Cookies were on her right. The Matcha Cookies were tall. They were refined. They had very big horns and very lovely faces and very perfect colors: not a spec of green among them.
“Goodness! Was this really our prototype?” Pink Matcha Cookie’s laugh was soft and sweet, nothing like the green cookie’s cackle.
“Look how spindly it is! It’s pathetic!” laughed Red Matcha Cookie, standing almost as mighty as her master.
“Oh, don’t mind me! I’m just enjoying the show!” Blue Matcha Cookie tossed something in her mouth. “Seriously, great stuff you got here! Couldn’t traumatize you better myself!”
“Yes, it is quite pathetic.” Dark Enchantress Cookie chuckled. She’d never chuckled that cheerfully before, and her cheer didn’t last. “What are you still doing there!? Get off the table!”
“Y-yes! S-s-sorry!” Matcha Cookie tried to escape, but the more she moved, the more silverware she tripped on. As if she was struggling against a conveyor belt, Matcha Cookie fell on her face and back and side over and over again. The other Matcha Cookies all laughed.
“I can’t imagine why you bothered keeping that thing around.” Sighed White Matcha Cookie. “Shouldn’t you have had it crumbled by now?”
“Oh! I know this one! Down the chute, right?” Chimed Blue Matcha Cookie.
“That sounds perfect!”
“Ha! Exactly the place for such a worthless thing!”
“Perhaps… one last chance…” Dark Enchantress Cookie gave her guests a snide smile and snapped her fingers at Matcha Cookie. “Bring us our refreshments. Surely you can manage that.”
“Yes Master!” An apron around her waist and a silver tray in her hand, Matcha Cookie ran across the table. When her robes threatened to trip her, she let her feet rip straight through the fabric. When the silverware tried to stab, she kicked the pieces aside. All while the other Matcha Cookies laughed and taunted her every mistake.
“Look at her clothes! She can’t even keep them in one piece!”
“Ruining the table! Just like she ruins everything!”
“They never should have left her in that base for so long.”
“As if she could ever be like us!”
“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”
Finally, Matcha Cookie knelt at the table’s edge. Her mouth tasted sour with curses for the other Matcha Cookies, but she bit them back. Humbly, she held out the tray. She gagged.
Upon the silver tray were little cookies: dozens of miniatures little cookies, all identical, running in circles, crying out in fear. The hands of the other Matcha Cookies jumped at the tray, taking handfuls of her friend and feasting upon them. She heard their screams as their tiny bodies shattered beneath their jagged teeth. She tried to pull the tray back, but it was too late. Only one little cookie remained.
“What are you doing, your wretched thing!?” Dark Enchantress Cookie scowled. “Don’t tell me you can’t even handle something so simple!”
“I… I… I…” Her eyes flickered back and forth between her beloved master, staring with expectation, and her dear friend, staring with fear.
“Don’t!” Screamed the little cookie in a voice alonly she could hear. “Don’t leave me!”
BARK! BARK BARK!
A deformed cakehound jumped onto her back. She screamed. The silver tray flew from her hands as the hound stood triumphantly on top of her. The Matcha Cookies laughed again; this time, Dark Enchantress Cookie joined them.
“Outdone by a pet?” She sauntered across the room and scooped up the last little cookie. With a flick of her wrist, she threw the child into her mouth and silenced it with a gulp. “I suppose that proved it. You really are completely useless. A poor prototype and a waste of my time.”
“N-no! No!” Matcha Cookie bucked the hound off her. It jumped onto her head and gnawed on her horns. Its barking rang through her skull. Silverware flew everywhere as she threw herself onto the floor, trying to break free. “GRRRRR! GET OFF! GET OFF!”
She dug her hands straight into the cakehound’s dough, dragged it from her head, and hurled it across the room. It splattered against the wall, but she didn’t even look. Dark Enchantress Cookie and the better Matcha Cookies were already waltzing out of the room. They laughed, they smiled, they threw their arms around one another, and they closed the door behind them.
“No! No! No! Don’t go! Don’t leave me! Don’t!” When she dove for the door, she felt the handle snap at her touch. It sounded like broken sugarbones yet barely registered in her hands. “Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!”
Over and over again she shouted as she raced through the underground base. She pounded on bedroom doors, all locked, and searched the passageways, all empty. Everything was just the way it used to be: the ceiling dripping from every place, dust spread across every surface. Even when she burst through the biggest doors where she knew, she just knew, there had to be someone, there was not. The oven had gone cold. The mixer was caked in spider webs. The ingredients were spoiled, black and moldy. The cookbooks and notes had been eaten by bugs.
Exactly how she remembered, down to the haunting silence of the surrounding earth—an earth that loathed this place and everything in it.
“Don’t…” Her hands hung at her side. Her mouth moved without sound, only able to mime her thoughts.
Don’t leave me alone.
Don’t leave me alone.
Don’t leave me alone.
Don’t.
Don’t.
Don’t.
Leave me alone.
Leave me alone.
Leave me alone.
Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.
LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE!
“Well, that’s a real shame, isn’t it?”
His hand was on her shoulder, warm and heavy.
“I guess some cookies just can’t see your potential! I mean, you’re a really incredible cookie, you know that?”
His hand was squeezing her shoulder. She wanted to bite it. She wanted chomp down like a wild animal and make it bleed. She could not. She couldn’t even bring herself look at him as he slowly, cheerfully, crushed her shoulder into crumbs.
“I mean, just look at you! All that dough. All that jam. All that life powder. All those moving parts, just begging to be used! Maybe your master thinks you’re a mistake, but don’t worry!”
He laughed as he ripped the arm from her side. Crumbs, black as ash, scattered around her feet.
“You’re just perfect for me!”
The little cookie had been like his once, lying limp on an examination table in a dark and uncaring laboratorium. The little cookie had been asleep, but here she was, wide awake and completely limp. Her mind was screaming static, unable to form a single thought, as he plunged his hands into her torso. The dough gave way to his clawing fingers, bursting with jam as he ripped her open.
“Ha! See? Just look at all this! It’s fantastic!”
She couldn’t feel a thing as he dug through her body. He pulled out entrail after entrail with the glee of a kid in a candy shop. A long trail of gummy intestines, a chewy set of lungs, a sparking sour liver, a gooey gummy kidney. Her body jolted every time he broke a sugarbone. Her ribcage was removed, one rib at a time, and her esophagus curled into a coil.
“I really have to thank you, Matcha Cookie! I know I keep saying it, but I want you to believe me! This is really the best outcome for both of us! Hm? What’s this?”
The only thing she could feel was her desperate beating sweetheart. It had rattled in her ribcage and only rattled faster as he held it in his dripping red hand.
“Ha! Well, how about that! You do have one of these!” His grip began to tighten, just like it had around her shoulder. The heart pounded so fast that it was impossible to make out the beat.
“But it’s not like I need one of these. And I suppose…” The heart trembled as it neared the limits of the pressure. Matcha Cookie’s mouth opened, finally willing to beg him to stop.
But she had not throat, no lungs, no vocal cords left.
“You don’t need this either? Right, Matcha Cookie?”
Her heart popped.
Matcha Cookie sat up and slammed her forehead straight into the underside of her bed. The pain brought her back to reality, but it didn’t stop her from screaming. She clung to her throbbing chest with her only hand and forced out all the sounds her dream hadn’t allowed.
It wasn’t like anyone would hear her. Even if she hadn’t insisted on sleeping in the quietest, most faraway room in the Strawberry Cake Tower, it was always loud here. Cakehounds barked, cakewolves howled, and skelecakes talked into the wee hours of the morning. She could climb on top of a cakeboar and shout curses in a fully crowded room and not be noticed. She knew that. She’d already tried.
Finally, her screams faded. To keep from exploding, her heart dragged itself into a regular rhythm. Then everything was quiet. She poked her head out from the bedframe.
It was a spartan space, same as most of the rooms in the cake tower. The walls and floor were the same rusty velvet, and there was a simple bed, a simple table, and a simple window. She didn’t sleep on the bed. She slept under it with as many blankets as Esterhazy could provide, piled around the openings to make a nest of safety that never actually worked.
It was a dream, she confirmed, so she buried herself back under the bed. She lay still, her ears still ringing and her breathing still heavy. Her mouth shifted into a pout.
“Stupid… nasty… liar cookie…” She turned onto her side and reached for a blanket. Then she remembered she didn’t have an arm on that side and spitefully turned over. “Meh heh…. Not gonna sleep. Not gonna! Ha! Take that! Stupid… awful…. T-take tha…. Heh heh heh…”
She clenched her teeth into smile. She stared intensely into the dark. Curled into a ball, she tightened her muscles until they hurt.
“Not gonna. No sleep! Meh heh! Nope! Nuh-uh! Hee hee! Heh heh! Heh! Ha!”
Matcha Cookie cackled proudly to herself in the dark, too tired to remember she’d made this exact vow thirty minutes ago, too tired to realize she’d make it again in an hour.
Too tired to notice her hand pawing around on its own, looking for a little hand to hold.