fixiation
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Why, he thought, was he acting as if he had the right to control how many chances she had? For him, to her, even if he had spoken against it in the past, was this not a different circumstance, a different situation? He thought that now, if he could do it, if she wanted to come back, even just a little, then he would unquestionably…
… Hadn’t he already seen it? Wasn’t it obvious? That tear, her words?
He wanted to cry.
Of course she wanted to live.
For all intents and purposes, Pure Vanilla can’t find it in himself to let go.
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CHAPTER FIVE - PARADISE ARC (1): that which influences the heart
Because cookies were weak. Their content, their icings, the very dough that made up their bodies…all seemed so trivial in the eyes of a witch. She could remember, though she wasn’t there, the sensation of picking up a cookie, small enough to fit in her palms. She remembered, too, the way his body folded inwards with a loud crunch, and the way his arms were so easily picked apart and discarded to the ground, left to crumble in front of her friends’ terrified eyes.
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As she sat on the riverbank of the milky-white waters, an open hand reached down to help her up. When he pulled her to her feet, his eyes dull and deeply exhausted, only a vague spark of some joke she was not yet privy to remained in his eyes– though his face was as monotone and serious as she remembered him to be. Fueled by a nostalgic feeling she could not yet understand, she reached for him, yet he pulled away.
“A wager. If I win, you’re free.”
“If you win… I’ll stay with you forever.”
At the end of an empty and meaningless story, two cookies make a bet.