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When he was created, the only thing that stopped Shadow Milk from screaming was the Knowledge of what would happen if he did.
His first moment of awareness was one of pure agony. Agony that was blinding and all consuming and inescapable as his very being suddenly Knew. He Knew everything, he came into existence Knowing everything.
The universe, an open book. Time and space and all their precious little secrets were at once made familiar bits of trivia in his mind. There was no differentiating the facts, nothing to give anything the gravitas he Knew they should be given, just an infinite pool of Knowledge for him to fish from.
He Knew his name, or title more appropriately, not quite deemed “Shadow Milk Cookie” just yet. He Knew how to float, and his feet still haven’t touched the clouds serving as the ground. He Knew how to shapeshift, with his current self being a mess of blues and white in the vaguest shape of a cookie as he hadn’t quite settled on a form yet. He Knew the four beings next to him had Soul Jams similar to his, all of them made for one specific task to serve the land in. And he Knew that the Witches, his creators, were watching, waiting, idly observing if their newest creations bore fruit before they’d inevitably get bored of the show.
Ah, yes. And those very same Witches ate cookies like him, didn’t they?
He Knew precisely how many batches it took to get the five of them right, too. Batch after batch of cookies consumed the second they failed to impress. The brief spike of terror that rushed through him was quickly subdued by the Knowledge that he was more powerful than the previous batches and not so easily crumbled, and he’d be even more safe from the Witches’ ire so long as he did exactly what he was created for.
He, and the other four, that is.
Shadow Milk was still floating next to them, and yet he didn’t bother trying to ground himself. No, he Knew already that his body was too weak to hold itself up well without magic, and he’d rather make a better first impression on his siblings? friends? colleagues that didn’t involve face planting on the clouds beneath their feet.
He studied them closer, their colors reflecting the Soul Jams they carried within them and upon them, made manifest in the form of gemstones. Newly baked as they were, not one of them carried terror in their nascent forms, only the dazed expressions of newborns that seemed out of place on their grown bodies.
Shadow Milk watched as they each became more aware of the world outside of their Purpose, confusion in their gazes that he couldn’t help but envy. Oh, to learn. Oh, to not Know. Witches, what he would have given for a slow start, a stream rather than the tsunami of information he perpetually drowned within.
But what good would complaining do now?
He took the opportunity to pick an acceptable form for himself before any of the others could properly make him out. He wasn’t too picky about it, already planning to change it up every other century. Maybe it’d be fun to keep everyone guessing on his next appearance, maybe it’d be just one little thing to look forward to for the eons ahead of him.
He settled on something more androgynous, with regal robes and long hair, feeling as though looking “smart” and approachable would do him a favor here. His magic easily curled around his dough, his body alight with stars in a way that he Knew was a deliberate jab at the Wizards. His Soul Jam pulsed in the key shaped staff he found himself carrying, his grip tightening on it as his eyes made contact with the barest hint of a slit within the blue. Eyes seemed to be a common theme within his design, hm?
‘Even if for now’, he mused as he felt the closed eyes flutter briefly in the shadows of his hair, ‘they appear to be a bit subtle.’
Now fully equipped to deal out the information to the others, he idly twirled his staff with a grin, once more being made apparent of his role as the Witches’ mouthpiece at the moment. The servant meant to kick start their show to make it run smoothly, all on his own.
Ah, to be set apart from the beginning.
How fun, how flattering!
…How lonely.
He smiled congenially, his voice fluctuating between timbres as he spoke and never quite landing on one specific tone, “Why, welcome to Earthbread, my fellow cookies! I believe you may have questions, no? Allow me to answer anything you wish to Know. All you need do is simply ask~!”
That was his Purpose, after all, to share his Knowledge for the entertainment of his creators. To give guidance to other cookies, so that the Witches see their creations thrive. To see if they even could.
And they could. Shadow Milk, as he would eventually be called, Knew this. It wasn’t blind faith he had in his colleagues, he was simply already aware of their prowess in their respective Purposes. There would be no failing here, not in the beginning.
He said as much to the others, delivering the Witches’ will to them in a way more akin to direction than order. A teacher giving a lesson, or even a peer deciding on a game to play.
“You feel it, don’t you?” He asked, the answer already Known. “Your Purpose.”
He saw how the others were itching to get started, their Purposes pushing them to be realized. Just down below where they stood amongst the clouds, cookie after cookie was venturing out into their world, all unaware and scared and oh so unsure as to what to do with themselves. They were destined to fail without guidance, just as much as Shadow Milk and his colleagues were designed to succeed in guiding them.
“Oh, yes, that’s right…” Came the sleepy drawl of the one who embodied Happiness, “Those cookies, they feel so upset.”
“They need our assistance.” Volition made manifest agreed, a small smile adorning her face. “Let us see to them now, before they lose themselves.”
“We’ve been in one place too long already, let’s get going!” Change’s incarnation stated with an enthusiastic grin, a bright fire flaring within his eyes.
One by one they head down to begin their duties: Volition, Change, Happiness, and finally, with one last silent nod toward him, Solidarity.
Ah, Shadow Milk had a Purpose too, didn’t he?
With a hum and the slightest of skip to his step, he ventured after the others, away from his beginning, but never out of his creators’ sights. He would do as he was meant to - he would be the Fount of Knowledge and give his existence the only meaning it was allowed.
Whatever he was asked, he would answer.
He laughed, then, for just a moment. It was almost more of a hysterical hiccup than anything borne of true humor. In that one moment, his fluctuating voice settled briefly on the high pitched cackle reminiscent of a jester.
Or a Witch.
And deep inside him, doomed to consume him from the start, a void began to grow.