Chapter Text
You hiss inwards, the breath knocked out of your chest. You lie, your body beginning to crumble under the large spice rocks that had fallen upon you. That damned, flighty, usurping, golden cookie. You loathed her. You loathed her more than you loathed stillness, more than you loathed peace, more than you loathed who you used to be. But... In a way, it was ironic. You had brought that same cookie to this exact brink a few hours ago, you felt no sympathy, in fact, you were filled with nothing but sadistic glee.
And now. Here you are, shaking and coughing. Pitying yourself as though you did not deserve this fate. You begin to slowly close your eyes. You understood you deserved this fate, even if it filled you with bile and hate. You understood that you were a beast, and the shining paragon had vanquished you. You understood this; you understood this was the day you crumbled.
Fuzzing out nerves rendering limbs sensitive and useless. You don't fight back. You're done fighting back. Your senses scream at you begging you to listen, begging you to keep trying, begging for survival. You refuse to listen.
This crumbled mountain, this wreck of your own destruction is your grave as it is it's own.
"Dear, oh dear! What on Earthbread happened here?"
...What?
A sing-song voice chirps in a cooing tone to a crying baby dough...?
Who in the witches' name brings a baby dough to the turmeric badlands?
What has a cookie seen to be unphased by a dying god?
Why is who what is goodness maybe you a fix, yes?
You try to think and brood but your head fills with jam (or at least feels like it does). It's heavy, hot and oh so agonising. You can't do anything but fade. Warbling, unsure black splotches bloom over your vision like mould over bread as your senses melt and mesh; smell becomes sight, sight becomes sound, sound becomes touch.
You wonder if this is how Cilantro Cobra Cookie felt.
You'll be able to ask her soon.