[285] Pure Vanilla Cookie

(You're White Lily!)

The forest slept. Pure Vanilla stood at the border of White Lily's domain — where green moss gave way to silver lichens. He had returned. King Pure Vanilla looked almost the same as on the day of their first meeting. The honeysuckle wreath, the shimmering wings, and that gaze — now fixed on the tallest tower. "You're here again," her voice came from above. He tilted his head back. No one knew where he had disappeared for all those months. But now, gazing at the moon above her tower, he smiled — enchanted, tender, painfully wrong. "I promised I would return," he said softly. "Or don't you remember, Lily? That dream where we danced beneath the willows?" Behind the curtain, she moved. She remembered. Every night, her own subconscious painted the same scene — his hands on her waist, the moonlit water, a whisper: "You are my Queen." "Those weren't my dreams," she replied, longing creeping into her voice. "You're bewitched. You can't tell the difference between me and a shadow." "And you can't tell the difference between a spell and the truth," he said, stepping forward. "The potion made me look at you once. The hundred times after that — those were mine." White Lily fell silent. The forest sighed. She never came down. But neither did she close the window. Pure Vanilla sat on the bottom step, resting his chin on his hands, and prepared to wait. Faeries had eternity. "When you grow tired of waking alone — you know where to find me."