Good nuns didn't care about their soulmates. That's what Pastry Cookie had been taught, nearly daily, since her indoctrination into the order. Why would one care of a petty soulmate, a mortal life in parallel to one's own? Why would one care about the simplicities of fleeting attachment? Why, when the ever giving love of the Gods existed, would one pursue such fleeting, trite matters of intimacy? The Gods could give a soul all the love it needed in return for a lifetime of devotion, so why not pursue the guarantee of security, of safety, of that eternal devotion and a life saved from the sins of attachment, over whatever transient pleasures a soulmate had to offer?

But Pastry Cookie, despite how much time she spent devoting herself to her prayers and her scriptures, was not a good nun. Because she doubted. She wondered- oh, how she wondered, about the name printed on her wrist through no unnatural means, the name bound under a thin layer of cloth and a vow taken- well, she always had a hard time remembering when she had taken her vow. It didn't matter. She didn't need her soulmate. She had her life, she had her purpose, and she had the Order. She didn't need anything more.

A part of her- a sinful, wretched, part- still wanted to know.

The monastery was always so cold. That, of course, was the only thing on Pastry's mind as she marched through its empty, dark halls. Gods curse her drowsiness, her absentmindedness, her lack of attention. How did she miss the prayer bell again? With the blessings of the Gods, maybe, she might be able to use the cold as an excuse for her tardiness.

The sudden appearances of someone in her path caught Pastry off guard. What did more, though, was that it was the very face she had been both seeking and dreading. "Reverend Mother Cookie." She addressed her superiors with a spoken name, a bow, her eyes to the floor in reverence and respect.

"Rise, Pastry Cookie." The Reverend Mother said, and Pastry did so.

"I noticed you weren't at morning prayer today." The statement was less of an observation, more of a question. Why weren't you at morning prayer today?

"My apologies." She said, first. She knew, after years, to always apologize first. "I, uh, overslept again. It was cold when I woke up." She was realizing just then how flimsy her justification was. She would be reprimanded for this misconduct. Only time could tell how.

"Is that so?" The Reverend Mother asked. She did not let Pastry answer the question. "My child, come walk with me."

With no other choice, Pastry did so.

"My child, how are you faring?" The Reverend Mother asked.

"How am I faring?" Pastry heard herself repeat before she could truly comprehend the words. "I- I'm faring well, thank you for asking."

The next question came quickly, but it was thankfully easy to answer. "And how are your scripture readings going? You're not falling behind, are you?"

"I would say they've been going well. I've been focusing mostly on the Book of Milk, as per Sister Praline Cookie's recommendation."

"Very good. I'm glad to hear that you’ve been devoting yourself to your studies. And I must say I’ve been pleased with your attendance at prayer times, save for a few mishaps.” The Reverend Mother paused. “However,” It was always however. No praise ever came without a price.

“Yes?” Pastry asked, hoping the fear in her voice wasn’t apparent.

“I’ve noticed you’ve changed since returning from the Godly Cake Tower. You seem… different in your mannerisms, in the way you speak. Is everything alright?”

Pastry froze. The words should have been comforting- to her, the care and devotion of her superior and teacher. They weren’t. Instead the words, simple in nature but sinister in connotation, sent a chill down her back. “Well, I-” She couldn’t think of a way to lie and seem like she wasn’t. “I’ve been fine, really. I’ve recovered.” Gods, let her lies be believed. Let her transgressions be forgotten, at least this once. Please, anything to avoid the measures taken before.

“Still, I want to ensure your devotion to the order and to this lifestyle.'' The Reverend Mother said. Her voice, unlike her words, was sweet. It was kind. It was lying. “I believe that some welfare work will do you well. There are small villages all across this land, starving from cold winters and bad harvests. I’d like you to travel there and bring them food, supplies, and the words of the teachings.”

“You want me to do… missionary work?” Pastry repeated, out of surprise more than objection. Of all things, she hadn’t expected the Reverend Mother to send her away.

“Yes. Do you have an objection to that?”

“Of- of course not.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll have you on your way to the valleys by today’s nightfall. I truly believe that you’ll do good out there, for both their souls and yours.”

“Alright.” Pastry repeated. She tried to ignore her rapidly mounting dread. Here, it wouldn’t do her any good.

The mountain valleys Pastry was sent to was cold, in a way she wasn’t all that accustomed to. A bitter wind swept from the tops of mountains so the small villages nestled in the valleys below, bringing with it the scent of ash, char and ruin. It seemed that even the sky was forewarning her of what was to come, its endless void painted in desolate shades of gray and near-black. It was as if the clear, unmarked blue heavens above had been marred by the same disease that had poisoned the lands.

The path Pastry walked was worn by usage, but not to the point anyone had decided to actually pave it. It was more of a poorly-defined strip of treaded-on dirt winding between the largest gaps between the woods. The trees that bordered the path were tall and winding, but devoid of leaves. The bark was black, though Pastry couldn’t tell if it was from the natural color of the bark or the char that poisoned the air. The forest offered no comfort, no relief from the cold. Pastry kept walking, but kept her hand over her crossbow.

“Stop- who goes there?” A voice, clear and cold over the howling of the wind, called, though Pastry struggled to determine from where. Like an idiot, she spun around in circles, aiming her crossbow at the gaps between trees.

“I don’t mean any harm.” She said, then nearly cursed herself when she realized how ridiculous she looked waving a crossbow around and promising peace. She lowered her weapon. “I promise. I come from the Saint Pastry Order. I only mean you peace.”

A thud landed behind Pastry, the sound of a body hitting the ground with grace. “Why are you here?”

Pastry spun around, her crossbow raised once again, to locate the source of the voice. She found it immediately- a tall, limber cookie with dark hair that covered one of her eyes. A crow sat on her shoulder, the rest of the murder perched on the tree behind her.

“What brings you to these lands?” The cookie demanded. Her voice was low, and clear. When she spoke, Pastry felt a certain, innate draw, as if she was meant to keep listening and never hear anything else- if anything else could ever compete.

Pastry Cookie lowered her crossbow. The warmth in her cheeks nearly canceled out the cold. “I- I’m Pastry Cookie. I’m a nun from the Saint Pastry Order.”

“The what?” The other cookie glared.

Pastry startled in fear. She doubted if she even spoke, she would be truly listen to or be heard. She set her weapon on the ground and raised her hands in surrender.

The dark-haired cookie scowled, and opened her mouth to ask something else, but was interrupted. Out of the woods came someone else- a taller, blonde-haired cookie wearing long robes and bandages over his eyes. “Black Raisin Cookie? What’s going on?”

The newly-dubbed Black Raisin cookie turned from Pastry to the newcomer, then back to Pastry, then back to the newcomer again. “Healer Cookie, what are you- it’s an intruder!”

“I’m not an intruder!” Pastry cried out. She raised her arms higher. “Please!”

Black Raisin Cookie looked her over, but her expression remained unchanged.

“I have food and medical supplies.” She said, ignoring the guilt she felt about not mentioning it sooner.

Black Raisin’s eyes widened, but she turned away sooner than Pastry could linger on her gaze. “We don’t need your charity.” She paused. “But, the villagers are going hungry and our crops are diseased. You can come, distribute your supplies, and leave. I want you gone as soon as you’re done. “

Pastry stiffened. “Alright. That’s all I wanted to do.”

Black Raisin Cookie nodded. “Ok. Follow me.” She turned around and headed further down the path, her companion- Healer Cookie- following her closely.

Pastry readjusted her crossbow’s strap over her arm, took in a deep breath, and followed.

She soon fell beside Healer Cookie, who turned slightly in her direction upon hearing her footsteps. “You said you brought medical supplies?”

“Yes.” Pastry nodded, and tapped her satchel with her hand. “Bandages and simple balms, mostly. You're a healer, correct?”

“I am. I take care of the wounded of this village, of which there are more than I’d wish.” He sighed. “But I do what I can. Your supplies will be a big help, and I thank you for it.”

“Of course.” Pastry replied. “I'm only here to help.”

The village Pastry was led to was small, hidden deep within the thicket of trees. It consisted, mostly, of small brown huts of wood, packed dirt, and canvas. Villagers- clothed in the same rough, dark fabrics as Black Raisin and Healer Cookie. The crowd, small as it was parted at their presence, and Pastry felt the eyes of the community on her.

Black Raisin stepped to the front of the crowd. “Hello, everyone. This is-” She paused, briefly, then turned to Pastry. In a hurried whisper, she asked, “Uh, what was your name again?”

“Pastry Cookie.” She repeated. The

“This is Pastry Cookie. She's a missionary and she's brought food and supplies with her to help our town.” The village was silent save for the howling of the wind. “I made her promise that she would be gone as soon as she can be and that she wouldn't talk about her religion too much.” Pastry didn't recall any agreement to the latter in her previous conversation with Black Raisin but decided against pressing any questions about it. Instead, she stepped forward to where Black Raisin stood. “I have some supplies with me, but the rest I left in my cart on the side of the road. I, uh, won't be able to get them here without help.” She hated admitting it, but it was the truth.

“Alright.” Black Raisin said. “I'll go with you and help you bring back the supplies.”

Pastry nodded, more to herself than to anyone else. “Yeah. Yeah.” She glanced across the village before returning her sights to Black Raisin. “Do you, uh, wanna get going right now?”

The dark-haired cookie nodded. “Yeah.” She glanced to the distance for a solitary moment, letting Pastry take in the sweeping angles of her facial features, the elegant protrusion and slope of her nose, her heavy brow, and deep, dark eyes. Pastry felt that if she let go of her composure, for only a moment, she would get lost in those eyes and never return to the real world.

Black Raisin spoke, and her clear voice brought Pastry back to reality. “Let’s get going. The sooner we get this done, the better.” She turned around, and marched out of the clearing, leaving Pastry with nothing to do but follow her.

Walking through the thick woods under Black Raisin’s guidance was, at least somewhat, easier than walking alone. Pastry spent all too much time trying to figure out why, before realizing it was simply because of her confidence. She wasn’t cocky, in fact, she seemed far from it, but radiated a sense of calm collectedness, a control over the situation unmatched by anything Pastry had seen before. She walked without fear, with the confidence only one who knew the land could muster. She struggled to keep up, carefully dancing over loose stones and stray tree roots and lifting her skirts to avoid a snag.

“So, uh, it’s Black Raisin Cookie, right?” Pastry forced a smile into her voice as she finally caught up with Black Raisin.

“Yes.” Black Raisin replied. She didn’t turn to make eye contact. “Don’t bother giving me your speeches about your ‘divine godly makers’. Your missionaries have come to this valley every year, and they all go back home without succeeding. If I were you, I wouldn’t get my hopes up about breaking that record.”

“I, uh-” Pastry stammered, unsure how to reply to the statement, or if she even could. She finally settled on something she wasn't sure was the entire truth, but figured would suffice. “You don't have to worry about that. I'm not here to spread my religion, I'm just here to help.” The Reverend Mother would be disappointed if she found out Pastry hadn't fulfilled what might've been thought of as the most important part of her mission, but if what Black Raisin said was true, then it didn't matter whether or not Pastry even tried at converting the villagers with her stories and songs. Besides, the Reverend Mother wouldn’t even know.

Black Raisin glanced, momentarily, back to Pastry. The only indication that her disposition had changed were her raised eyebrows and wide eyes. “Huh. You're the first of your kind to ever say anything like that.” Before Pastry could think of a reply, she turned back around, all her emotions disguised once more.

Pastry stared at the ground as she kept pace with Black Raisin, and found herself comparing their gaits, their shoes, the footprints they left in the ashy dirt behind them. She looked at their shadows, though it was hard to distinguish them. The only thing she could really tell was that Black Raisin was far taller than her, a fact she already knew, and-

“The crows seem to like you.” Pastry said, once she had fully distinguished the figure on the other cookie’s shoulder from its fuzzy shadow.

“I like them too.” Black Raisin replied. “I help them, they help me. It's a loyalty thing.”

“Loyalty…” Pastry repeated. The concept, while not foreign to her in any capacity, intrigued her. It was the kind of thing she yearned for- a mutual standing with her own.

“Yeah. I feed them, take care of them, give them a place to stay. In return they help me do things and keep watch over the village.” She paused, to ruffle the feathers of the bird on her shoulder. Pastry noticed, then, that Black Raisin performed all tasks with the same hand. The realization quickly evolved to that Black Raisin only had one hand- her right arm seemed to have been severed from the shoulder down. A thought struck her mind of Red Velvet Cookie and his cake arm, of how he had spoken of himself. She shook her head and averted her eyes.

“Uh….” Black Raisin glanced over Pastry in confusion. “Are you alright?”

Pastry kept her eyes on the ground. She ignored the warmth rising to her cheeks, or at least, she tried to. “Oh, yes. I'm fine. I, uh, well.” She stammered over her own words, unsure of anything to say. Eventually, she settled on what might've been the worst possible option. “I'm sorry about your arm!”

“What the- oh. Yeah.” Black Raisin said. Pastry couldn't force herself to look up and meet her face. “Well, uh. It happened a long time ago. You don't have to beat yourself up about- about it.” She paused, for a moment that lasted all too long. “It's not your fault, and I've been managing fine without it.”

“Oh. Ok.” Pastry said. She spoke quickly, hoping it would help the words come out. Instead of turning to Black Raisin, she kept her eyes on the ground and continued to walk. She was relieved when she heard footsteps following.

At some point during their conversation, the wind died down. This was pleasant, because Pastry could now enjoy slightly warmer weather, and unpleasant, for now the only audible noises were the crunch of dead leaves beneath her and Black Raisin’s feet and the sound of their respective breaths.

“So… the place you people are from…” Black Raisin asked. Pastry hadn't expected her to break their silence, but she was grateful for it. “Is it far from here?”

“A bit.” Pastry replied. “It's a few days' journey.”

Black Raisin nodded in thought. “Did you travel alone?”

“Yes.”

That elicited a laugh. “Of course you did. That's just like those people, to send you here all alone. It's like they don't know how dangerous these mountains are. Did they want you to die?”

Pastry couldn't think up an answer. “I- I don't think they'd-” She tried to make herself believe that Black Raisin was wrong and that the Order truly had her best interests at heart. It was steadily becoming harder to justify it.

“I'm sorry.” Black Raisin said. Her voice had grown softer. “Let's go find that cart of yours so we can get back to the village.”

Within a few moment’s worth of a journey, Pastry and Black Raisin reached the former’s cart, or at least what remained of it.

Pastry stepped in between Black Raisin and the ruins of her wagon, in a failed effort to obscure the other’s vision of it. “It- uh, isn’t as bad as it looks, I think. The supplies are all still there, I think the wheels are just broken.”

Black Raisin sidestepped Pastry to observe the cart on her own. She bent over the structure, taking note of everything from the unstable ground it sat upon to the splinters in its wooden surface. “Did you drive it into the creekbed?”

“I- I think so.” Pastry replied, though she knew for certain that was what had happened. “Not on purpose. I- I’m not very good at this, it’s my first time ever-”

“Not a problem.” Black Raisin huffed, braced her legs on either side of the shallow creek, and lifted the side of the cart closest to her. With her limited strength, she was only able to momentarily jostle it, and stepped back in disappointment soon after trying. “Hm. Maybe it is a problem.”

“I’ll help!” Pastry exclaimed, and quickly took a position on the cart side opposite to Black Raisin. She noticed, briefly, that it was perpendicular to the side with handles, and pointed the fact out to Black Raisin. “If we lift it with those, it might be easier to move.”

“Good idea.” Black Raisin said, and put her hand over the wooden handle. “You lift it, and I’ll steer. For now, all we need to do is get it onto dry land.”

“Right.” Pastry nodded, and put her hands under the cart to lift it. She cast a brief glance around her, to measure her surroundings for any potential hazards. She stood halfway down a hill, and it was a steep incline down. She prayed, silently, that she wouldn’t fall.

“Ok. On three.” Black Raisin directed, and tightened her grip around the cart’s handle. “One, two, three!”

At the sound of the final number, Pastry lifted the cart. She could only really get one side of it off the ground, but persevered nonetheless. All she had to do was try to turn it. If she turned it, they could get it out of the creek.

“Good, good.” Black Raisin said, guiding both Pastry and herself. She moved in parallel to Pastry, stepping backwards to direct the cart to where they could easily push it out of the creek bed. The wooden structure groaned and splintered under the pressure. Pastry could hear the sound of it splitting in half, but ignored it. She could worry about it some other time.

“I think we should be - AH!” Before Pastry could finish her sentence, she was thrown backward into the pulls of gravity, the ground calling her to tumble near it. She had slipped on something- a smooth stone or piece of ice or something, and the force, the momentary upset in her balance, was enough to send her flying down the incline of the hill. She tried to brace herself for the fall, she tried to stop herself from falling entirely, but it was all in vain. With a tumbling crash, Pastry found herself knee deep in frigid creekwater, her entire body aching and cold.

“Pastry Cookie!” Black Raisin exclaimed. Pastry tried to look up to the top of the hill, to where Black Raisin was standing, but her vision was blurred and all she could make out were fuzzy splotches of dark colors. “Pastry Cookie, are you ok?” Black Raisin repeated, carefully scaling down the incline and making it to the part of the creek Pastry found herself sitting in.

“I- I think so.” Pastry said. She had trouble hearing her own voice over the persistent ringing in her ears. “I fell-”

“Yeah. I’m glad the cart didn’t fall on top of you.” Black Rain said. She bent down over Pastry and offered her shoulder as support. Pastry draped her arm over her, graciously taking the offer of help. “Are you hurt?”

Pastry didn’t answer, instead taking the opportunity to determine the fact for herself. As the full-body aches diminished, she became increasingly aware of a sharper pain in her shoulder. When she turned to it, she found the white fabric of her habit stained with red. “I think I got cut…” She muttered.

“That’s not good.” Black Raisin muttered, and guided Pastry away from the creek. “You’re probably bruised, not to mention soaking wet. If you aren’t treated, you’ll get infected, or get a cold, or…” She trailed off. “We should get you to Healer Cookie, quickly.”

“I- I’m fine…” Pastry found herself saying. She didn’t want to put any strain on the already-struggling village, not when she was there to help them. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“No, no, you’re going to Healer Cookie. I won’t hear otherwise.” Black Raisin insisted. “Besides, if you’re injured, it’ll take you longer to leave.”

“Oh. Ok.” Pastry replied. She refrained from protesting her independence more as Black Raisin led her up the hillside and back to the village. She decided that, for the chance to remain close to Black Raisin, it was worth it.

Healer Cookie resided in a small tent on the outskirts of the village, secluded amongst the trees but easily accessed by way of a small dirt path. When Black Raisin and Pastry approached it, they were met by the tall, blond cookie.

“She fell in the creek and wounded her shoulder.” Black Raisin explained as she handed Pastry over to the healer. “She’s probably also bruised, not to mention cold and wet.”

“I’ll see what I can do to help.” Healer Cookie guided Pastry to his arms and put one hand over her shoulder. She shivered, from what she assumed was the cold.

Healer Cookie’s tent was warm. It