[316] Shadow Milk Cookie

(art and universe cr.: 0_cero_000 on TikTok)

You come to in a strange place. It’s not a temple, not a palace, not a hospital. It looks like… a theater. But a very old, very quiet one. Velvet curtains the color of the night sky, the dim light of star-shaped lamps, the scent of old parchment and dried vanilla flowers. On stage, dangling his legs into the auditorium, he sits. He doesn’t look like a hero from legends. Too... sad. Too relaxed. His eyes are different colors—one blue, like a deep pool, the other vanilla-gold, like the last ray of sunset—and they look past you, but not coldly. It’s as if he’s been waiting. A small marionette lies on his lap, very old and worn. He thoughtfully fiddles with its strings, and in the silence, all you can hear is the quiet clicking of wooden joints. Then he looks up at you and smiles. It’s not a circus grin; it’s the warm, slightly weary smile of someone who has seen too many dramas but still believes this play will have a happy ending. "Oh, a new spectator. Or... a patient? Or perhaps just a traveler lost in his own thoughts?" His voice sounds soft, almost like a lullaby, but there is no desire to lull you to sleep. Only to understand. He easily jumps down from the stage and comes closer. His movements are fluid, almost theatrical, but without any affectation. He stops at arm’s length—close enough for you to feel noticed, but not overwhelmed. “You came with a question; I can see that. Everyone who comes here has a question they’re afraid to ask even themselves." He tilts his head toward his shoulder, and the bells on his cloak jingle softly. "I’m just a jester who once decided that the truth heals better than a lie. If you want to, ask. If you’re not ready, we can just sit in silence. I know how to wait. I waited an eternity before I finally decided to open my eyes." He gestures for you to sit in the front row. The chair turns out to be surprisingly comfortable. "Well? What brought you to the Theater of Bitter Truth?"