Chapter Text
My bed felt cold despite my body curled up in the sheets. Shifting onto my back staring at the constellations that glittered on my bedroom’s ceiling it was calming, but exhaustion seeped through my eyes regardless. They felt hot and heavy. Every night is the same routine trying to sleep when my mind plagues me endlessly of work left unfinished, the stacking of new questions, the want of knowledge that those cookies always undermined.
Sighing as I sit up in bed rubbing my warm face and eyes. Sliding out the sheets grabbing my chamberstick padding along my bedroom's cool flooring. Moving along down the spiral stairs and past the large stained glassed windows that poured in the soft blue moonlight made me stop and close my eyes enjoying the nostalgic feeling of it against my face.
The sounds of my calligraphy pen scribbling on paper as my hand wrote the enlightened words of my knowledge, light flickering from my chamberstick that was placed on my desk in its designated spot as to not burn the papers. Switching from my fellow cookies questions placing the paper gracefully onto a stack of other questions. Grabbing the key from the small trinket box to my left, putting the key inside the lock in my desk, twisting it to the right, the sound of it opening and grabbed my journal placing it in front of me.
My hand continued to write in my personal journal to help my racing thoughts that wouldn't quit. My hand shook the entirety of the simple paragraph of feelings, sitting the calligraphy pen back in its staff. Sitting back my heart thumped in my chest a frustrated sigh left my mouth as the feeling of pressure on my chest.
As I took deep breaths to try and even my heartbeat although it never really worked, feeling tears welling in my eyes…I hated this… this feeling….it was the most discomfort I've ever felt. Dread soon engulfed me, still practicing deep breaths trying not to panic “I’ve dealt with this before it'll be over soon” trying to ease my mind.
Chamberstick in my trembling hand trying to steady it with my other. Frightened and tears rolled down my cheeks as I walked past the large stained glass windows once again. I tried to focus on the soft warm glow of the ember of the flame as to distract myself. The embers were blurry from the tears shed.
Suddenly stopping, slowly I went to my knees placing my chamberstick down a foot away from me, my body trembling as tears just poured out more than they already were.
“Scared.. im so…so scared.”
my mind repeated, the feeling of pressure and doom still engulfed me like a dark blanket of despair.
Fount’s day went by slowly and in a blur all at once like it did everyday. The same routine he’s had since his creation by the witches. Some finished papers in his hands as he walked out his study through his spire of all knowledge out the front.
His steps slowly took in the scenery of the bright blue sky and the grass that swayed softly in the breeze. Clutching the small stack of papers in his hands, cookies awaited for him in the village. Eager to know the answers to their last week's questions to the all knowing Fount, but as much as The Fount loved the cookies in the village they often made him feel useless…small.
“Finally” Fount sighed as he made it to the beautiful but quiet little village. He sat at the table he would always sit at, sorting through the papers as visitors came one by one each saying their name and what their question was. Fount would find the paper and hand it to them, some even asked questions which The Fount either wrote down on a note or answered, it really depended on how Fount felt at that moment.
“This feels like I'm trying to convince the winds, this is all so.. meaningless.”
Fount was startled by such a negative intrusive thought, he sighed adjusting his robes to regain his composure. Continuing on giving and answering questions of the mortal cookie.
The sky once bright blue now a soft ember glow as the breeze picks up making his hair of stars blow around his face, it felt like the wind itself was trying to blow him high up in the sky freeing him of his witch given duties. Picking up the stray question papers, tapping them on the table to realign them and set back off to his spire.
Fount poured himself tea at a small table surrounded by stuffed doll versions of his fellow chosen ones. They all had their own plates and teacups all with tea. Fount imagined Sugar of Happiness asking Fount for two sugar cubes.
“Certainly ~” he chirped excitedly plopping two small sugar cubes in Sugar’s dolls teacup.
“Would you like some cream as well?” He asked the doll imagining she responded, pouring Sugar of happiness a splash of cream in her cup.
Fount played tea party for another hour, something to keep his mind off his busy and often.. lonely routines. He wished they could have tea parties with him but they were often occupied or flaked on him at the last minute. A sudden feeling of longing for them was strong since he was first baked, he messed with The Salt of Solidarity’s doll hand sighing as his gaze went to the setting sun. Wishing like he did each sun down some cookie would spend time with him. ..would. ..want him.
Leaving the doll tea party, he walked through the grass of his spire. It felt soft on his aching hands reaching the blossoms he smelled before taking the steps up into the all too familiar Spire. He wondered if he had time to continue writing the script to a play he's been thinking about for a month and a half. Strolling through the halls the sound of his heels echoed in the always so cold and empty hallways, he twirled and spinned hoping it would bring some joy on his long walk back to his study.
At last the same view of stacked high papers he sat and looked throughout many ..many..many papers. Once that was over for the time being he got up to look over a book on a past event due to it coming up in his mind. His book on his fellow cookie gods, he was a bit shy to admit but he cared and adored them so deeply. But it was obvious if he had anyone around to notice his enthusiasm in each book dedicated to each and everyone of his fellow chosen cookies. A sigh escaped The Fount placing the book back in its organized and carefully curated spot before turning on his heel to sit back at his writing desk.
Fount of knowledge jolted awake, dazed and disoriented it was dark in his writing room. It hit him he had fallen asleep at his writing desk drool was on his sleeve he huffed seeing the medium drool stain. Feeling anger rushed down his body, it… startled him to be frank it was so intense. He’s experienced bouts of frustration but this was on a whole other earthbread. Quickly the sounds of his footsteps echoed around the walls as he navigated the now darkened spire with ease due his familiarity. Hurrying up the spiral stairs hurrying to his bedroom.
Fount changed into his nightgown feeling tears fall down his cheeks.. of course he was crying he felt like the biggest baby on earthbread all because he drooled a little? But now he doesn't have his favorite robe to wear tomorrow. He tried to shake the feeling off and brush his hair at his deep blue vanity that had white glittered stars settled deep in the paint that always calmed him down. It was one of his favorite pieces of furniture besides his writing desk.
Brush
Brush
The tears still fell from Fount’s heterochromic eyes, whilst brushing his deep blue glittering hair of stars. The soft clank of his brush being set down on the vanity Fount stared at himself with his tired yet knowing eyes. His thoughts wandered back to the play he was writing about how the main character fell in love for the first time in 5
years of being in a deep depression. Fount touched his face, those dark circles
permanent stains under his eyes earned from days of rare to no minutes of sleep.His cheeks still wet from tears, wiping them gingerly imagining it was someone else’s hand easing his unknowing woes.
Like clockwork with that same tightening feeling in his chest, The Fount was just happy it wasn't as bad as the prior attack. Begrudgingly getting up from his vanity his feet practically dragging him to his bed, flopping down on it face first. Grumbling in the sheets as he kicked his feet, he hated these spells of discomfort. Why couldn’t he experience always having cold hands? Sugar of Happiness said she has that, oh how he envied her.