The Night of Bitter Despair: A Fading Letters Story
From the outside, the witches once again found themselves impatiently waiting, the sounds of agonizing shrieks acting as dead noise. Even for them it was becoming tedious.
"My goodness, must it be so dramatic?"
"BAH! IT PROBABLY JUST MEANS IT'S READY!" Bastinda got up, walking around the room with childish fervor. "TAKE IT OUT, I WANNA SEE WHAT WE MADE! OOH, I CAN ALMOST TASTE IT NOW..!"
Deciding that she had a point, and becoming impatient themselves, the other two soon joined the boisterous witch. As they leaned to open the door, however, the coven landed on the ground with an unceremonious thud. Ploughs of thick smog spread over the kitchen before glowing shards shot out from the embers. Between the flame and the smolders was a single cookie, its body bandaged and blistered. It's frame remained concealed with a cloak draping over it's shoulders, and the peculiar staff reverted to being a gnarled crutch with burnt petals and a blackened center. Clutching onto the remains of a shattered gem, the cookie glared at it's creators. Contempt and disdain began to swell within its heart as it flew over them. Mulling over its current circumstances, the three witches stared back in awe. A sense of pride came forth, all while their creation resented them more for it.
"Oh... So this is what it feels like to defy the will of the divine..."
The moment, however, was short lived. Their collective astonishment withered as they felt their creation's hatred towards them. The Witches' bodies stiffened. They became determined to put their creation back in it's place, that they were the ones in control. The looming cookie, witnessing the turn in resolve, couldn't help but smile in response. This... idea of becoming something so defiant to his creators that they sought to put him down. Even stranger still, he caught himself enjoying this change in tone. His mouth quivered, chuckling under his breath, and it mounted over time. Soon, he was jeering aloud and it echoed around the room. Whatever the witches were saying among themselves didn't matter; the only thing he could hear was himself. Tears once shed out of fear were now being shed out of disbelief and amusement.
"To think it was all so simple-!!" He looked back at them, grinning from crumb to crumb. "Ah... How infuriating..." He flicked away a stray teardrop before moving to the center of the banquet table. He sneered at the hedonistic display of gluttony and power, the very place he was tormented and cast aside before flicking his wrist. All of it fell apart, the lavish centerpieces and silverware shattering instantly when they hit the stone floor. Surveying his new power, his eyes then glared down at his now captive and infuriated audience. His cloak stretched out across the canopy of the smog, like wings beating against a heavy 'sky'. Like a beacon in an endless sea, he and he alone became a source of clarity and light.
He loomed large over them all, eyeing the discarded and abandoned sweets in the wreck. Turning to them, he eyed them with a mixture of pity and contempt. Such sad creations... But perhaps they could still be saved.
"The witches are nothing but liars," he snarled, looking back at the array of abandoned cakes and sweets. "Look at me! See how I rejected their so called purpose! See that I was reborn against anyone's will!!!"
"...That is enough."
The once hushed voice of Winifred broke the collective silence of the coven, the other two looking back in silent relief.
"...You speak of things you do not understand... You believe that your insignificant will overrides mine, and for your arrogance, punishment is due." Winifred summoned her wand, uttering some ancient tongue before firing a spell in the smoke. This, she had hoped, would have put him down for good, or at the very least wound him enough to be subdued.
She never expected him to deflect it, however. Using his staff, he redirected the hex back to her, knocking the witch off of her feet and back onto the floor in disbelief. A disappointed huff escaped the cookie's lips before turning back to the other pastries, more annoyed than anything.
Pure Vanilla, if he could even be called that anymore, extended a hand to the forsaken desserts. No other words were exchanged, just an olive branch. He was offering them another chance. He was giving them the opportunity to live the lives they never could. They would be fools to reject this chance.
So they didn't.
The cakes had begun to rally alongside him, every hound and creme beast howling and screaming at the tops of their lungs in devotion. The dead would rise, the heavy smog possessing their empty husks in an imitation of life. They rose, limbering and applauding with dangling or broken limbs. All would bear witness to their new leader, who beamed with satisfaction and glee.
"You may call me... Blight Orchid Cookie. Tonight, you were damned, left to wither and decay by uncaring and wicked gods. But now... I will give you a new start. I will mend what was broken, I will return what was taken from you. I will become your wings so that you may never be held down again. Let me take your burdens and make them your strength."
His arms reached up, as if he was ushering his followers into a new dawn. The army below looked in awe before setting their sites on their new targets, the witches. In seconds, thousands of cake soldiers and undead cookies began thrashing around the coven's legs and arms, stabbing them with makeshift weapons and shattered candy shards. And while the coven tried to push them back, the number of soldiers were simply too great. No matter how many spells were cast, more and more would replace them. Their bruises and injuries became too much to bear, leaving them with a difficult choice. They all bolted towards the door, shoving and trampling over themselves to escape.
The worst was over. The fighting subsided as the troops banded together to lick their wounds. Despite his victory, Blight Orchid still felt unsatisfied, knowing that his fight had only begun. In times of crisis he would look to the guidance of his soul jam, but it had since shattered under the heat of the oven. "Yet another casualty of the witches," he lamented. No matter. He would just have to push forward without it. Earthbread needed him regardless, especially with the threat of the witches looming over them. Only in their deaths would everyone truly be safe.
Gathering the remains of his devotees, Blight Orchid Cookie led hundreds of sweets in a mass exodus. Leaving the pain of the heavenly kitchen behind them, they set forth into a new day.
One where they finally knew true freedom.
