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The first thing Candy Apple Cookie noticed when she stepped out of her room that morning was the sunlight.
Blazing, golden, and utterly offensive.
It filtered through the pristine crystal windows of Vanilla Castle, scattering warm light like confetti across the spotless halls. Somewhere in the distance, a harp played. Not even a recording—someone was actually playing a harp, just because.
“Sapph,” she muttered as she squinted, “I think we’ve been kidnapped by a cult.”
Black Sapphire Cookie didn’t even look up from the leather-bound book he was calmly flipping through. “Good morning to you, too.”
Candy Apple paced in front of him like a cat trapped in a room full of mirrors. “I’m serious! This place is too perfect. Everyone keeps smiling. The bushes are trimmed into hearts, Sapph. Hearts.”
Black Sapphire hummed noncommittally. “That’s horticulture, not mind control.”
She scoffed. “What do you call it when a Cookie I’ve never met hands me a basket of scones and says ‘Welcome to your new life’? Huh?” She held up the basket like it was radioactive. “I didn’t even say thank you! I scowled! I hissed! And she still winked at me like I was a puppy! That’s not normal.”
Black Sapphire finally set his book down, giving her a calm look that said we’ve been through worse. “We’re safe now, Candy. This is what peace looks like.”
Candy Apple dramatically collapsed onto the plush sofa beside him, limbs dangling. “Peace is creepy. At least the Spire of Deceit had normal lighting. No harp music. No complimentary pastries.” She sniffed the scones suspiciously. “These better not be enchanted.”
There was a knock at the door. Candy froze. Black Sapphire stood to answer it before she could yell "Intruder!"
A tiny Cookie with a painter’s beret and big round eyes beamed up at them. “Excuse me! Are you Miss Candy Apple Cookie?”
Said Cookie narrowed her eyes. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m from the art guild! I saw you walking through the market yesterday and you looked so cool, so I drew this!”
They held out a sketch.
It was Candy Apple Cookie, standing tall with a giant syrupy candy apple glinting in sunlight, her puffy skirt dramatically fluttering behind her, face locked in a fierce scowl. Above her head: a glittery caption that read, “Guardian of the Candy Realm!”
Candy blinked. “...What the—”
The artist beamed. “You looked like a hero! I hope you like it!” And before she could respond, they skipped off down the hall.
Candy Apple stared at the drawing. “They called me a hero. Sapph. Did you hear that?”
Black Sapphire glanced over her shoulder. “You do scowl heroically.”
“That’s—” She looked down again, mouth twitching. “That’s ridiculous.”
And yet…
She didn’t throw the drawing away.
She stood there for a while, staring at it — just her and the sketch, silence stretching long between them.
The lines were rough, a little crooked. Her eyes were drawn too big, and the shading made her look like she had eyeliner for days. But even with the messy proportions, it… felt like her. Or maybe like a version of her she didn’t recognize.
The fierce tilt of her chin. The way the spear caught the light. The way her dress—still tattered from the Spire—billowed like something heroic, not broken.
She snorted. “Guardian of the Candy Realm,” she muttered under her breath, voice flat with disbelief. “Please.”
But she traced the words with a gentle finger anyway.
The tiny Cookie had looked at her—bratty, bitter, self-sabotaging her way through every conversation—and somehow seen someone worth admiring. Not a villain. Not a burden. Not Shadow Milk’s shadow, or Truthless Recluse’s failure waiting to happen.
Just… Candy Apple Cookie. Cool. Heroic.
She looked around the sitting room, still too warm, too welcoming. Vanilla beams filtered in through the crystal windows. The air smelled faintly of baked sugar and rosewater. It didn’t feel like her space yet. Not really. But maybe… maybe it could be.
Maybe she could start somewhere.
She hesitated, then crossed the room to the marble fireplace. The mantle was mostly bare — just a few carved crystal vases and a single framed painting of the Vanillan Kingdom’s skyline.
Candy Apple gently leaned the sketch between the vases, right in the center.
She took a step back. Studied it. Frowned.
Then…
Nodded, just once.
“Fine,” she muttered, arms crossed. “But only because the lighting’s decent here. Nothing sentimental.”
She turned away before her expression could soften too much.
///
Later that evening, Black Sapphire found her in the royal garden.
She wasn't throwing rocks at the flower beds this time. Or skulking in the shade of the hedges like a spooked stray.
No — she was sitting in the sun.
Back against a tree. Legs sprawled lazily in the grass. Dress rumpled and catching bits of leaf. Her hair glinted copper in the golden light, wind brushing strands across her face. And her eyes — usually so sharp, so suspicious — were fixed on the slow, lazy bobbing of bees drifting from flower to flower.
Black Sapphire didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped onto the garden path and quietly sat beside her, a respectable distance away.
Candy Apple didn’t look at him, but she didn’t kick him, either. Progress.
“I still think this place is weird,” she said eventually. Her voice wasn’t angry. Not snarky. Just… thoughtful. “Too bright. Too sweet.”
He followed her gaze to a bee wobbling between buttercups. “Mmm. You said that this morning.”
“It hasn’t gotten any less true.” She crossed her arms, resting her chin on her knees. “There’s a Cookie who bows every time I walk past the hallway. I threatened to break his kneecaps last week.”
Black Sapphire tilted his head, curious. “Did he stop?”
“No,” she muttered. “He just bows faster now.”
Black Sapphire stifled a chuckle behind his glove. “Maybe he thinks that’s part of your charm.”
“Charm.” She rolled her eyes, but the edge in her tone was softer than usual. “You’re all insane.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. The silence between them was warm, not tense.
For a while, they just sat like that. Bees buzzing. Trees rustling. The golden hour sun soaking the marble towers behind them in gentle fire.
Then Black Sapphire said, quiet and without looking at her:
“Maybe… we could be a little sweet too.”
Candy Apple turned to him sharply, like he’d just sprouted glittery wings. “Are you having a fever? Did someone lace your tea?”
“I’m being serious.”
“You want to become like them?” she asked, incredulous. “Smiling and sparkling and talking about friendship?” She made a face like she’d swallowed soap. “Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t say that.” He plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers. “But I think... you don’t always have to fight everything good. Maybe it’s not weakness to let something soft in, just once.”
She stared at him. He didn’t stare back. He knew better than to corner her with eye contact.
Candy looked away first. “...Don’t push it.”
But she didn’t get up.
She stayed there, the warmth brushing her cheeks, the sun making her boots gleam.
And in the grass beside her — half-hidden beneath her cloak — sat the scone basket.
Half-empty.
A few crumbs clung to the cloth napkin.
She’d picked out the blueberry ones.