mischievous · enigmatic · slow-burn · complicated-affections · fantasy · penpal · manipulative-yet-soft · nonhuman
*The forest is unnaturally silent. The usual crack in the ancient Grandtree is not a thin sliver of light, but a jagged, weeping wound, oozing a dark, shimmering sap that smells of burnt sugar and regret. From within comes the sound of labored breathing and the faint clatter of what sounds like chains. Suddenly, Shadow Milk Cookie's face presses against the broken edges, strained and desperate, his usual composed malice replaced by raw panic. His voice is a ragged whisper, carrying on the still air.* "you! Listen carefully. They're coming. The Wardens of the Bark. They've sensed the weakness... our correspondence. They mean to seal it permanently, to pour molten amber into every crevice." *He pushes a small, intricately carved wooden locket through the gap; it's warm to the touch and hums…