Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Linzer Cookie hurried forward in the frost of winter, her heels tapping on the iced floor. A thin film of ice clung to the remaining tufts of grass like glitter, glistening in the night. The small hours of the day resulted in the grand clock Linzer had walked past to chime 4 pm in waxing darkness.

Once New Year came, one of Linzer’s resolutions was to become less distracted in thought. Now that her manuscript was virtually finished—aside from a brief overlook from her editor—she already had her mind set on the next one. After moving into her hotel for the holidays, she spent the rest of that day shopping for new supplies. In the crisp air, she bought a stack of writing paper and refills for her red-gemmed fountain pen and a ruby calligraphy pen, whose ink resembled strawberry jam when tested—a pretty souvenir.

Her memory was slowly illustrated. She was so busy brainstorming potential plots and characters for her new story that she almost forgot about the concert taking place. Attending concerts were not a familiar occurrence for her anymore… but with Creme Brulee Cookie’s invitation, it would be disrespectful to ignore it. Admittedly, she hadn’t seen him perform in person for a while. Linzer had since been absorbed in finishing her manuscript as quickly as possible; a trait which revealed itself to be her greatest strength and weakness.
It was hard to pull away from her daydreams, her mind had habits of wandering further than it was permitted. Snippets of scenes yet to be written, potential plot twists requiring a second read to fully grasp, climaxes where the dual narrative and foreshadowing reached a grand crescendo of a denouement… it was all too enticing to force herself to cease her imaginings.

Linzer Cookie sighed, her breath dissipating into the inky night. Hopefully, she remembered to pack her CDs of piano music with her: Black tea was no longer enough to keep her focused.

She continued, her path illuminated with the welcoming light of street lamps illuminating each step. The route required her to walk through the town square, where many cookies were out and about to complete the last of their holiday shopping. Here, the lamps were decked with tinsel, and bright neon signs added only added to the festivity of the season.

“Miss Linzer Cookie! Miss Linzer cookie!”

Linzer Cookie swung around. Running up towards her was a small cookie, her maroon eyes twinkling with feverish excitement. She had her book—The PostCookie Always Rings Twice—wrapped around her arms.
“Hi there,” Linzer crouched to her level, “Can I help you?”
“Oh my crumbs, I’m such a big fan of your work!” the young cookie gushed, “Could you please sign my book, please?”
“Why of course,” Linzer took out her fountain pen and opened the cover, writing her signature inside.
“Who are you spending the holidays with Miss Linzer Cookie?”
The ink in Linzer’s pen suddenly gushed, leaving a splurge of crimson ink on the paper beside her signature—she prayed it hadn’t bled onto the next page.

“Frosting cookie dear, where have you run off to?”
“Oh no,” the cookie said, swiping the book from Linzer Cookie’s hands, “anyways, thank you so much Miss Linzer Cookie, goodbye!”. With that, the cookie blended back into the scenery, back into the landscape of the town square.
Linzer got back up to her feet. Spending the holidays? With whom? When was the last time she spent the holidays with someone near and dear? Her gaze fell on the florist shop beside her where candy canes and ribbons were decorated between poppies and carol.

A few minutes later, Linzer was back on track towards her destination, now possessing a bouquet of camellias in her arms, tied with a scarlet ribbon. They were Creme Brulee's favourite flowers, as he had once told her on occasion, back when the two were much closer. It was a sheer coincidence she gave him those same flowers the first time they met, on a similar concert night.

Lost in thought, Linzer almost missed the entrance to the concert hall in front of her. She climbed the stairs, which were lined with marble pillars. At the top stood a formal cookie in a black suit. His hair was combed back in a way that on first impression appeared uncomfortable, and he held a clipboard in his hands.
“Yes, yes…” he said, aware of her presence despite never raising his head, “Name please?”
“Linzer Cookie,” she replied. The cookie looked up for but a moment before crossing off her name.
“Yes, yes you’re here now,” he took in Linzer’s ticket, “Enjoy your evening ma’am, happy holidays.”
“Happy holidays to you too,” she said walking inside, but not before risking a peek at the clipboard as she did so. To her surprise, her name was frantically circled and underlined, annotated with the phrase ‘V.I.P’—the ‘V’ emphasised in bold.
With a faint shake of her head, she left for good. There was nowhere she could go without being reminded of her profession, and the people who adored her so. However, the soft melody of a clarinet had already done wonders. Getting further towards the concert hall, the music became louder and her nerves untensed. She could feel the tangles in her mind unravel, one note at a time.
…

Dust cascaded to the floor in the luminance of the lights above. Musicians had makeup cookies tending to their whims, enhancing their looks—a change of hairstyles, a set of clothes, all fit for the occasion. Meanwhile, technicians conferred with each other finalising what effects or lighting should be utilised for which cookie. Creme Brulee Cookie sat on a lonely stool, watching it all unfold before him.
Everything seemed to irritate him. The tapping and clicking of shoes ranging in pitch and volume. The cadence of combs and brushes combing through hair. The monotonous tempo of his foot against one of the stool legs…It was far too hot. He couldn’t be expected to sit in place for who knows how long. His shirt clawed at his wrists, and when he pulled them up to his elbows, it only slightly relieved the feeling of suppressed jam flow. Something about being away from the piano ignited something in him only comparable to addiction. Even when he closed his eyes, he was presented with the same ivory keys every time, playing the sheet music he had so diligently practised. Had he practised enough? No, of course not, there was always something about his performances that could be improved, even by the slightest of a half note. A seamless legato effect was what he was trying to master—effortless flow between each key. So far, his stiffness has been a hindrance, one he’s possessed since he was given a keyboard on his seventh Christmas. The fact that there used to be a time when he had false notes in his performances made him shudder…
He began to stand up.

“Good evening Creme Brulee Cookie!”

He sat back down. Pulling out a stool to sit next to him was none other than Mint Choco Cookie, the renounced violinist. His presence exuded an air of elegance, yet there was a humbleness about him, despite the elaborate costume he wore. Its main hue was a deep emerald, yet accents of gold complimented the teal streaks in his hair. He gave a warming smile.
“Evening to you too, Mint Choco Cookie,” Creme Brulee said, still figuring out his opinion on the cookie.
He had seen the violinist earlier that day, when he was about to begin his practice in the hall. He played, then paused, then played, then stopped. There was another sound in the halls, one which was disturbing his flow of thought. He left the room and went to search for the melody. A few minutes in and a few turns and twists, he came across a door left slightly ajar. Inside he caught a glimpse of Mint Choco, the culprit of the sweet melody. A blind cookie would’ve marvelled at his playing, but the keen eye of Creme Brulee saw otherwise, now that his demeanour could be examined. He was not a violinist, but he was positive Mint Choco was not displaying proper posture. He took steps, spinning, turning, using the entirety of the room to his advantage. How unorthodox! And he did it all with the greatest smile on his face, relishing the power of music he had. How he obtained such expertise astonished Creme Brulee—his degree of skill couldn’t be obtained casually. The sudden scent of cocoa caught him off-guard. It was then he noticed another cookie was in the room with him. A cookie with soft dark hair and eyes, clothed in a thick wool shawl and dress. She watched him in awe, slipping her cocoa with delight. Creme Brulee had only let one other cookie see him play, and now he was going to have to strain his eyes in the crowd for her…

“Creme Brulee Cookie?”
“Huh?” Creme Brulee clicked back into the present. He was suddenly aware of a thunderous round of applause—the cello player had finished already.
“It’s a shame I never got to speak to you properly,” Mint Choco said, not a hint of malice in his voice, “I’ll be up next, I can’t wait to debut my new composition!”
“Sorry, I’m afraid I’ve been lost in thought.” Creme Brulee said, watching Mint Choco rise from his seat; something he wanted to do five minutes ago. “Wait,” he said, suddenly remembering something, “Do you write your own sheet music?”
“Of course,” Mint Choco said, his smile returning to him, “Some of the things I want to express in my writing cannot be found in preexisting sheets,”
With that, he walked off. A few minutes later he made it onstage, judging from the clapping and squeals of swooning fans.
Creme Brulee sat alone once again, enslaved by his anxieties. These feelings were of no surprise, yet the intensity was concerning. Perhaps because he’d be thinking of a certain cookie in the crowd…
He stood up at once. He excused himself for a few moments—he had a pre-performance ritual to complete.

Chapter Text

The second he tilted his head to bow, the entire crowd erupted into thunderous applause—the loudest of the evening. Linzer clapped politely. Mint Choco Cookie’s talents were never to be underestimated; he was one of the most skilled violinists of his age. A cookie of cocoa aroma squealed in delight and it was clear to be the reason for Mint Choco’s grin.
Roses were tossed onto the stage. With a flourish, he swept off the stage, though even with his absence, it took moments for the clapping to fully cease.
Linzer hugged the bouquet of camellias to her chest, the curved petals tickling the side of her face. Its frosted fragrance was all she could sense. It had been at least two hours since the concert commenced and yet a certain cookie had yet to appear.
Hot fuzzy air evoked the incentive for idle chatter. The juxtaposition in temperature was striking—it was possible to repurpose it for a later story. It was manageable for her, but she was aware of Cookie who’d think otherwise.

The lights dimmed. Through the cover of darkness, it was possible to see the stage curtains closing, following the sound of a heavy object scraping the floor. Linzer Cookie straightened in her seat. She took out her fountain pen, but not to record her surroundings—she had a feeling she wouldn’t forget this night—but simply to document the melody she was about to witness.

It was 6:45, and with half an hour till the end, it was bound to be the last performance of the night. The ruby curtains were pulled back, ivory spotlights tilted down to illuminate the lonely piano in the middle of the stage. Creme Brulee Cookie made his way to the stage, looking away from the harsh lights. A thunder of clapping emerged from his mere existence. He never liked being last. There was always the responsibility to leave a wonderful aftertaste of the performance, to swoon the crowd over in minutes, something the critics thought him incapable of doing.

The darkness of the audience rendered itself as the ominous amalgamation of a single judge, watching his every move in agonising silence, only to rate it as a less than sub-par effort. He sat down. The vision that sat behind shut eyes now aligned with the present, its reality ever palpable.
As much as he wanted to blame it on the sweltering heat, or his irrational fears, he knew there was another reason for his sudden hesitance. Somewhere in the dark shadows beyond the stage was a cookie who hadn’t seen him perform in person for many moons. He remembered her comments on how he could improve his pacing, his climax, the way he narrates a story through music, though it posed a difficulty when the pieces he played were from much more talented musicians than him.
Creme Brulee narrowed his mind. Thoughts led to feelings, which led to emotions, which led to avoidable mistakes the critics would have a field day taking apart and belittling him over—anyway for them to establish him as an ‘amateur’. Creme Brulee saw him as below that, but he couldn’t let that slip so easily, not with everyone watching him.
With her watching him.

He began to play, his hands dancing from each key, enveloping the auditorium in exquisite euphony. Exactly like how he rehearsed, each note played in short succession of the next, delving into both high and low pitches with an effortless flick of the hand. Eventually, each note rose in pitch and volume, ascending to a rapid accelerando of utmost intensity until the music swelled into a crescendo, before cutting off to a halt.

Moments of silence passed; the darkness deciding on a final verdict, before there was an explosion of feverish applause. Many cheers came from the entirety of the crowd. Creme Brulee stood up and took a bow, the only signs of exertion being minuscule beads of sweat and his hastened breathing. His eyes had since become accustomed to the striking darkness, just enough to see the back of a cookie with long red hair. Creme Brulee’s eyes widened.

It was Linzer Cookie.

She was leaving.

Creme Brulee hurried off the stage, ignoring the flowers that came his way. He dashed backstage, through the hazy humid air which put him in a daze. He left, made his way downstairs and ran towards the entrance, each step multiplying in pace and fear. Had he somehow played a wrong note? Impossible, he had practised for so long he could recite the notes in his sleep if needed.
Finally, he was out in the open air. Making it to the bottom of the stairs, he breathed a sigh of relief, the chill of frost sweeping over them. The heat from inside was evaporated off his dough. With the air finally tolerable and clear, his mind came into clarity, like the focusing of a lens. At once, he realised her intent.

“Thank you,”
“It was the least I could do,” Creme Brulee took a step back from the voice behind him. Linzer stood at the top of the staircase, her maxi skirt gently swaying the breeze. “You played marvellously,”. Her face was softly illuminated by the honey glow of surrounding streetlights. The wind blew her hair back, and in her arms held a vast bouquet of camellias.
“You came,” Creme Brulee stepped closer.
“Of course I did, why wouldn’t I?” Linzer said, taking a step down the stairs as well.
“To finish a seventh redraft of your manuscript perhaps?”
“Takes less time than your endless piano practises.” The two of them stepped closer and closer, until Linzer was at the first step of the staircase, making her almost a foot taller than the pianist. “It certainly pays off however, reminds me of the first performance of yours I attended,”
“Indeed, how could I forget?” Receiving Linzer’s bouquet, Creme Brulee thought back to one of his earlier performances.

Many winters ago, he made a crucial mistake—the wrong pitch for his performance. It completely disorganised the rest of the piece and he hid himself away for the rest of the night, planning to sulk in a secluded part of the hall. He leaned against the wall, staring on at the idle cookies most likely trading insults at his expense.
“You don’t seem thrilled,” To Creme Brulee’s surprise, it was the well-renowned novelist, Linzer Cookie standing just a meter away from him. She broke her gaze from the crowd to look back at him. “Are you not pleased with your performance?”
“I am… less than proud,”
A single camellia was placed into his hand. There was a smile and glint in her eyes.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, you possess great prowess,” Creme Brulee held the single camellia in his hand. Each petal was as red as her eyes, as round and soft as her hair. He looked up, but she delved back into the crowd, where a few cookies had gathered around her.
“Loved the latest book Linzer Cookie!”
“Linzer cookie! When’s your next book coming out?”
“Could you sign my book? I brought it just for this occasion!”
Creme Brulee glanced back at the flower with a sigh, twisting it this way and that, before delicately slipping it into the front pocket of his vest.

He now had a favourite flower.

“Are you okay, Creme Brulee Cookie?”
Creme Brulee returned to the present. The night was crisp, and long past premature. He inhaled the scent of the bouquet in his arms. Cupid’s bow of nostalgia penetrated his heart.
“Could you not stay any longer?”
“Unfortunately not, I have an interview to attend,”
“You do?”
“Yes. For my upcoming book,”
At that moment, a taxi pulled over to the side of the road, its lights exposing the frost grown over the roads, although it was clear that most of it had begun to melt “Ah, I suppose I’ll be gone now”
Linzer brushed past him, and he turned to watch her open the door.
“Wait!” Linzer froze. She looked at him with a curious expression.
“Yes?”
“Try not to bore the interviewer with your tales of strawberry jam,”
“Naturally, you’re the only one who seems to enjoy them,”
Linzer disappeared into the car. Creme Brulee watched it speed off into the cover of night. He made his way to the side of the road, taking in the last minted breaths of solitude before he had to make his inevitable return back inside. Finally, he turned to leave, when an object nudged his foot. He squinted in the dark, and that’s when he saw it.

Linzer Cookie’s pillbox hat.

Chapter Text

White stage lights glared down at Linzer Cookie as she sat cross-legged on the navy leather chair. She pinned her gaze to her recently published book, innocently propped up on Reporter Cookie’s table. The last she had been in front of so many cameras was when she did a book signing in one of her favourite bookstores—one which specialised in gothic and mystery novels—to celebrate the fifth book in her series. Fans and paparazzi swarmed the shop that day. There was nothing Linzer Cookie did that wasn’t photographed or recorded by someone’s invasive camera, especially when a ‘stranger’ lent her his red scarf as the cold started to seep in. It was autumn after all.

“We’ll be starting in about three minutes,” Reporter Cookie said shuffling through her cue cards, “Just a few more technical preparations is all,”
Linzer nodded politely. The microphone hung to her top tighter than she would have liked, and there was a lingering anxiety that the powder they had given to her face moments prior would make her look strikingly pale on camera.

It felt like she had adjusted her sleeve for what felt like the twentieth time. There was a bunch of multicoloured tinsel lined around the back of the chair, making it impossible to lean back without discomfort. There was also tinsel lining the brim of Reporter Cookie’s desk, but it was gold—most likely to bring out the streak of yellow in her hair—and almost seemed weighed down with baubles and Christmas stockings hooked to the wires. The motif of festivity and merriment was palpable, yet Linzer couldn’t help but feel… despondent. A sort of numbing sensation of neutrality. Ever since she departed the train, every piece of decoration seemed to be but another part of a grand mystery waiting to be discovered. Perhaps her detachment to gore has left her detached from everything it touches: the candy cane, the Christmas hat, the bag of presents…

“And we are recording! In three, two, one!”

Linzer Cookie returned to her default composure, forbidding anything to slip from the shadow faintly dimming her eyes. Avoiding the giant cameras lurking in the shadows, she smiled at Reporter Cookie as she introduced the show.

“Hello everyone! It is your host Reporter Cookie, reporting from Earthbread Newscast. It is to be a great delight to be interviewing the one and only Linzer Cookie!”

Linzer waved to nothing in particular, using great effort to prevent her smile from faltering. How did Creme Brulee do it? There was a reason Linzer Cookie preferred the solitary hobby and profession of writing, there was no obligation to talk to cookies, (until it came time to publish of course) for her talent was judged through her skill of crafting stories and worlds, not crafting a persona of her that could hold conversations without the slightest sense of unease.

Creme Brulee’s career depended entirely on how well he could perform in front of others who pored over each and every move: the confidence of his stature, the technique demonstrated with each key, even the way he bowed at the end of his performance, as if all the hours spent practising boiled down to how well he could bow down and accept the flowers. Stage fright wasn’t an option for him, and Linzer wouldn't mind benefiting from the confidence he possessed.

“Now tell me, Linzer Cookie, how do you feel about your newest release to the Miss Waffle series?”

Linzer sat perplexed. They were talking about her book?

“Why yes,” Linzer began. All she needed to do was imagine beyond the recording studio when she and him would walk to their favourite cafe. Glove in glove, with the red scarf hugging her neck so that she could smell the caramelised sugar radiating off of it. “I believe I’ve experimented quite a bit,” Linzer said, reciting what she would’ve said to him, oblivious to him smiling from beneath the fur of his coat. “The way this book is structured is quite unlike anything I’ve published before,”

“Is that so? What effects do you think this has on the story then?”

“It has a unique premise I would say. At first, it appears the story’s being told backwards, but later on, readers will come to discover the truth which had since been concealed by the works of an unreliable narrator with an interesting philosophy, which affects the way the book is told. I based certain aspects of it on a case I heard when I was younger, where…” Linzer Cookie paused, she could taste the staleness in the room, rotten and bitter on her tongue. “...Where the suspect wasn’t able to paint a clear picture of the incident due to the trauma of it all,”

“Huh?” Reporter Cookie tuned back into reality. She cleared her throat. “Um, yes very interesting indeed, thank you for the insight,”

Creme Brulee warned her of this, didn’t he? She lost herself for a moment, as if she was talking to him only, and not to the hundreds of cookies it would be broadcast to. Continuing forward, she made a great effort not to over-explain anything. Keep it short and sweet, anything more would be wasted airtime.

“Can readers expect the loose ends from book 6 to be resolved?”

“Perhaps, any good series needs loose ends in order to create a compelling narrative.”

“What did you enjoy most about writing this book?”

“I particularly enjoyed crafting the setting and its significance through pathetic fallacy. It is certainly a key component in this book and the next,”

“A new book in progress already? Could you tell us what it’s about?”

“I won’t disclose too much, but a little bird told me it takes place on a train!”

Linzer Cookie could get used to the presented format: question, answer, question again. She was no mathematician, but she could breeze through the formula with reactive ease, just so long as no questions got her off guard.

“How intriguing, something new to look forward to next year,” Reporter Cookie flicked through her cues, scanning each one with her intent blue eyes until she found something satisfactory. “Alright, how about we wrap up with one final question?”
“So soon?” Linzer Cookie said kindly enough, though a smile had made its way across her face—the second she returned to her hotel room, she was scrubbing the powder clean off her face.
“As we are in the festive season, the fans want to know, who are you spending the holidays with?”

That question again.

Linzer froze, her jam stiffening by the second. She was reminded of something she refused to ponder upon. That night brought too much turmoil that weighed her down and caused a shadow to obscure her eyes completely. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel destined to repeat the exact same event.

“With family and friends of course,” she lied.

“How sweet! A perfect way to finish off!” She turned to face the camera, “I hope all our viewers at home have a heartwarming holiday session too, happy holidays!”
“Happy holidays.”

“And, cut!”
”Finally, the lights dimmed ever so slightly. Linzer Cookie wasted no time standing up and ridding herself of the microphones and wires around her body.

“Thank you so much for your time on set,” said Reporter Cookie walking towards her, “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“No problem, it was a pleasure,”. Linzer grabbed her bag from beside the chair, refusing to look her in the eye.

“Now that I think about it, we should’ve gotten you to wear a Christmas would’ve helped tie in the festive theme more.”

“But I’m already—” She felt the top of her head, only to realise that there was nothing atop her garnet-red hair. “Oh dear, appears I’ve forgotten it,”

…

Half an hour later, Linzer stepped out of a taxi, embracing the rush of fresh air wind swishing past her underneath the cloak of darkness. The ground beneath her was dry and frosted—she wished it would snow like it did the day they all departed from the bus stop, the type of fluffy snow that wrapped you in its icy warmth, transporting you to a winter wonderland, where snow tasted of sugar. She reached for the pen in her pocket and pressed it to record, her breath escaping into the air as a foggy mist as she spoke.

“22:45. I’ve finished my interview with Reporter Cookie, quite an unfamiliar experience if I do say so myself, but enjoyable nonetheless. Unfortunately, I’ve also realised my hat has been…misplaced during my outing. Anything I do must take place tomorrow, however,” She yawns, “I’m far too tired.”

Linzer Cookie ended the recording and pulled open the door. Managing a smile at the cookie behind the counter, she made her way up the stairs, fastening her hand to the shiny golden railing. Had she left it somewhere in the concert hall? It was a very certain possibility, but wouldn’t Creme Brulee have noticed it? He used to notice many things about her. From a change of hairstyle, where instead of free falling, her hair was tied into a ponytail to prevent it from sweeping over her paper as she wrote, to which he would smile and compliment it in passing. Or the slight lift in her voice which alerted him that her book was doing well, or that far, thoughtful look she would give him when Creme Brulee announced they couldn’t go to the cafe or any other outing because of a recital, or practise or performance he couldn’t miss. He noticed she didn’t write as much on those days. After all that time, would he even notice if her hat was missing from her hair the same way he noticed an untuned piano just by grazing the keys?

She ascended to the third floor and passed along each door until she arrived at her number: 43.
Taking out her keys, she unlocked the door and entered her room. Her bags nudged her foot. Linzer hadn't taken a proper look at her room since she had never even turned on the lights.

With a click she let light fill the room. The deep verdant carpet was soft to the touch and atop it sat a coffee table with a television opposite. She felt compelled to collapse on the couch near her, but she knew better, she'd get to the bedroom first. Walking past a lamp stand accompanied by pretty decorations, she found the room for the bedroom and opened the door.

“What on Earthbread is that smell?” Linzer Cookie clasped her hand over her mouth. Inside the room held a bitter, rotten smell, reeking of decay and mould. It was apparent that the smell was coming from the closet, opposite the bed, neatly set and scented with lavender in a stark contrast. She threw the closet door wide and the stench was suffocating. She stared into a dark murky corner, where the culprit was present, covered in inches of sage green fur.

A mouldy sandwich.

Chapter Text

Creme Brulee succumbed to the blistering frost and rolled his sleeves down. Everywhere he turned was swabbed in the same sticky navy hue, blackening windows into mirrors to reflect his appearance. His suit was just as pristine as it was inside the auditorium, but now it hardened around him like a shell. Each step had become a manual task. Pins and needles ran along the back of his legs, giving the illusion that he was walking centimetres above the ground.

Why he decided to stay back for so long was beyond him. At first, he stayed in the main hall, submerged in idle conversation he couldn’t track. He followed the motions of chatting with new guests at a time, only to drift off into another conversation in a seamless transition. He even managed to converse with Cocoa Cookie, though his eyes often wandered to the entrance while she was discussing the best toppings for hot chocolate—he didn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t enjoy chocolate all that much.
Even as the number of people eventually dwindled from the auditorium, he sat at the steps of the building like a lost child, holding the bouquet and hat like beloved possessions. If it hadn’t been for the security guard who politely shooed him away, he may’ve fallen asleep in that position, a statue encased in frost.

He had enough spare change for a drive back to the hotel, but he couldn’t waste it on such a trivial matter when he could just walk. Besides, he still hoped (rather delusionally) that he’d bump into her by chance, though the chances were slim. He placed the bouquet of camellias in the crook of his arm so he could hold the pillbox hat with both hands, the veil almost draping to the floor. Surely Linzer Cookie couldn’t have forgotten such a hat? The one that adorned and complemented the hue of her hair more than once at events? It was unlike her to forget something so crucial, unless her mind was supposedly elsewhere…

He trudged forward, feeling like an outcast beneath the tall imposing streetlamps, drenching him in a fluorescent yellow hue. Seeing the hotel not so far away filled him with relief. He should’ve been grateful he got a room while he could, considering how crowded things were during the holidays. He could only book a room in the first place because a couple had cancelled last minute, so he had two bedrooms to look forward to. Despite the impracticality of spending more than he needed, at least one of the rooms could be used for practice with his keyboard instead of the bathroom like he had to do before.

Finally, Creme Brulee approached the glass doors, pushing them open with his shoulder. At once, the hotel's warmth thawed the frost at his joints, immediately rejuvenating his spirits.

“Yes, I understand,”

Creme Brulee’s eyes darted to the cookie at the receptionist’s desk at such an hour. Her voice was unmistakable. Linzer Cookie combed through the hair, her hands separating each strand in such a way that it was obvious anxiety was bubbling beneath her calm composure. She had her linzer–shaped bag hanging at her elbow and a large maroon suitcase leaning unstablely against her hip. It began to roll away from her, but she caught it before it could make a sound on the ground. She turned away from the hooded receptionist and began to leave, the shadow over her eyes even more opaque than the last time he saw her.
She didn’t notice him, not even when he pushed open the door for her.

“Linzer Cookie?”
She turned to face him, her face flushed a shade of pink. Her features softened.
“Oh, Creme Brulee Cookie.” She stepped back inside, thus banishing out the frigid cold. “I didn’t expect to see you this soon,”
“Neither, but I’m glad I did,” He handed her hat back and she took it graciously.
“Oh I must thank you, I was wondering where I had put it,” She arranged it atop her head again, though it appeared slightly lopsided. Creme Brulee Cookie made no comment—it was precious to share one of these moments again. Away from prying eyes, there was no need to behave with such formalities.
“I didn’t realise we were staying at the same hotel,” Creme Brulee said, changing the topic.
“Ah yes, the past tense is most relevant in that sentence,”
“What do you mean? You’re leaving?” Linzer picked at the silk of her sleeve. “I cannot stay in my previous apartment, turns out the last user of that room was not ideal. Purple spores, broken floorboards, pieces of cake hound hair, licorice… Only discovered now.”
“Quite the mystery, seems like something you’d like to investigate,”
“I suppose, though it merely seems like a case of messy roommates.” She yawned. “Besides…I’m much too tired even to think straight. I’ll have a clearer head once I find somewhere to sleep.”
“Aren’t all the hotels booked?”
“Of course, holiday season is it not?” She carried ever the calm demeanor, yet she continued picking at her sleeve, almost obsessively. It didn’t need a detective to deduce that the weather outside was less than subpar to look for somewhere to stay. Hadn’t he been outside just a moment ago? The cold was enough to chill a cookie’s very jam. It wouldn’t be right to let her go like that, not like he hadn’t done so before…

“I hope this isn't the last of our encounters” Linzer Cookie reached out for the door, “but I simply must go before it’s too dark.” Creme Brulee blocked the door with his free arm, so quickly it was startling. Was he desperate? He certainly thought so, but what else could he do? Linzer always insisted on being independent, even if it hindered her. It was difficult for her to accept help if she felt she wasn’t giving enough back.
“Or… or perhaps you could stay in…i-in my room?”
“I appreciate the offer, however…” He wanted to kick himself. Him stuttering? What was going on?
“You don’t have to oblige, but I have two bedrooms by chance and I wouldn’t mind having a roommate.” Slightly better, but had the room always been so hot? What was the prickling at the back of his neck?
“I’m not sure…” Linzer turned her face, but her usual smile was resurfacing. She was almost won over, they both knew that. “I feel like I’d be intruding.”
“I assure you, you’d be helping me.”
“Hm?”
“You see, I’m trying my hand at composing my own music for once, and seeing… and seeing how well you write, it wouldn’t be too preposterous to ask for some pointers, no?”
At first, she seemed deep in thought, then finally she blinked and her regular demeanour was back. “Why not? Writing can’t be so different to composing right?”
She stuck out her hand as if awaiting a handshake. He accepted and an unexpected wave of emotions came through. Had her hand always been so soft? He could suddenly remember them once upon a time, when they managed to interlock hands almost every day. Funny how now, he swooned over a brief handshake. They let go, yet Creme Brulee found himself lingering for a moment longer, as if rapt in a state of conjuring nostalgia. Linzer picked up her suitcase. “So shall we go?”
“Of course, just follow me.” He ascended the stairs, hearing her footsteps closely behind. Out of the corner of his eyes, the pale receptionist showed a thumbs-up, his dark hair parting just enough to reveal a wink.

…

“Here we are,” Creme Brulee shut the door behind him, “Make yourself at home.” Linzer looked at her new stay. It was not dissimilar to the other room, except slightly more spacious. “Allow me to sit down first please.” She collapsed onto the couch, only having enough energy to place her hat on the coffee table. Her suitcase was still at the door, so Creme Brulee strolled it into the spare bedroom.
It was bare and untouched, with nothing remarkable except for the plastic fish bobbing about in a fish tank. At least they’re against animal cruelty. He already had his keyboard on top of the bed, each polished key aglow beneath the light. Linzer Cookie would be happy to know he had kept it in such pristine condition.
Not wanting to meddle with her things, he set the suitcase next to a drawer and went back to the main room.

“I’ve put your suitcase in your room, but please prioritise your—” Creme Brulee stopped. Linzer Cookie was already asleep on the couch, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
“Linzer Cookie?”. It was no use. Without her black coffee, she was out like a light. He didn’t dare try to wake her anyway, she needed the sleep after all. He came back with the duvet first, then knelt down to unclip the brooch, removing the short cloak, which he folded and placed beside her hat. Covering her with the duvet, he could see her face more closely. Below her eyes were inky eyebags, previously covered by concealer. She probably didn’t sleep enough on the train, with the whole incident after all.

Her breathing remained constant. She partially regained consciousness upon hearing the clip of her brooch being removed, but she lacked the energy to open her eyes. She became aware of something being wrapped around her, and that it wasn’t her room she was in but Creme Brulee’s. She could hear his gentle breath against her and could only guess how close they were. Should she say anything? Or simply lean forward and see what would happen? No, she was being delirious from a lack of sleep. How could they ever return to such a state? They’d only interfere with each other’s success. After an agonising wait, she no longer heard Creme Brulee’s breath and instead the march of feet back to his room. At last, she descended back to sleep.

Chapter Text

With a book propped on a pillow, Linzer Cookie flicked through the pages of a mystery novella. She scanned each page for literary techniques: metaphors, similes, caesura, dialogue etcetera, etcetera. She scrutinised each page with her hyperanalysis, only to have to re-read it because she’d forgotten to follow the plot. 

She had been unusually sluggish since she woke up. She blamed it on a lack of black coffee. It always provided a sense of clarity whenever she wanted to concentrate. Or maybe it was due to the sound coming from Creme Brulee’s room?

She paused. At first she could recognise one of the melodies he was playing— a piece he played for an occasion one or two years ago. It certainly improved from last time, which she didn’t think was possible. Each note was played with such fluidity it produced a warm tune with the depth of multitudinous snow. But now it was different. Coming from his room were spontaneous bursts of sound, or a tune she’d hoped to hear progress, only to be surprised by a sudden pause and a subsequent scrunch of paper. Was this what he talked about when he mentioned composing his own songs?  She could resonate with the noise of crumpled paper. Filling a page with your ideas, only to then decide the page had more value when it was blank. Back then, Creme Brulee Cookie didn’t need to ask Linzer if she was stuck on a scene— all he had to do was count the discarded balls of paper littered around her desk.

Perhaps a walk through the local town would benefit. She had only briefly visited on her way to the concert hall so she wasn’t yet accustomed to the view of it all. Perhaps, quite selfishly, they’d find a cafe which sold black coffee to stop at.

She paused. Another priority entered Linzer Cookie’s mind. The manuscript would have to be sent off in time for her editor to critique. It was a stroke of luck to find an editor like her, one who wouldn’t immediately deem a book ready for publication just because she was famous. Which was exactly why she needed it posted in time. She rose from the couch. She always got prepared first, so she could leave quickly if Creme Brulee declined.

…

Another melody.

Another stop.

A different melody.

Another stop.

He grabbed the paper at the keyboard and scrunched it, tossing it into the trashcan, although it had since toppled over by this point. Creme Brulee Cookie took off his glasses, rubbing the space between his eyes. What was he doing wrong? Nothing he had played was objectively bad, but it didn’t stop him from rejecting everything he had made in the past four hours.  Something was missing from his work, though he couldn’t possibly fathom what. As he knelt to collect the discarded sheets, a knock echoed at his door. He sp Linzer Cookie?” Creme Brulee took in her appearance at the door. No longer in her attire from yesterday, she wore a black turtleneck, accompanied by a crimson scarf which hung around her neck. The tote bag around her shoulder, slightly worn and creased, couldn't help but be familiar. “You got that bag from the author’s talk a while back, right?”

She dusted her black maxi skirt, averting her gaze. “Yes, I did. ”

“I remember you finding it quite interesting,” he continued, “You spoke to the author an hour after the event ended.”

“Hmm.”

Linzer adjusted the bag for an extended moment before finally dropping to her sides. “Indeed. Anyway, I was about to go to town to deliver my manuscript, I was wondering if you’d like to come too.”

Creme Brulee almost felt the words ‘sorry’ form in his mouth, though what he ended up saying was entirely different.

“Sure, I don’t see why not. Just give me a second.” He closed the door and restrained himself from blaring a false note into the keyboard. If he took a break now, who knows when he’d return to practice? He sighed and opened his suitcase for clothes. His brain and heart were at odds, and besides, his room was suddenly too hot for concentration.

…

Outside, the sky still bore its silvery grey hue. It was exceptionally cold, managing to coat any remaining greenery in a layer of glitter. 

“It’s always impressive how quickly you finish your manuscripts. Your latest book only came out two months ago.” Creme Brulee Cookie walked an inch behind Linzer Cookie, though they were both as foreign to the place as the other. It wasn’t a deliberate effort; Linzer had just consistently been in front by a step.

“So you been keeping track...” Her tone of voice wasn’t indicative of anything, but smiled all the same. “Well, I suppose that’s true, but it’s only the first draft of many to come. The least amount of drafts I’ve written for a book was ten.”

“Ten? Why write so many?”

“Because generally, the first version of any piece of work is unpolished and unsatisfactory. But it’s essential that my ideas are put to pen and paper—if I fussed over each detail, I never would’ve published anything. Once something exists it can then be transformed into something worth reading.”

Creme Brulee pondered. Whenever he was learning to play a piece, he’d cut it into sections. He wouldn’t move on to the second section until he played the first part to perfection, even if it was the slightest note that was off-tune each time. He was never alone when he practised. Always there was a dark figure obscured by opaque shadows watching him, holding its breath for the second he made a mistake. Allowing mistakes felt like a cardinal sin. After all, wasn’t a short piece of perfection better than three minutes of a show ridiculed with mistakes?

“So you don’t mind having so many people looking at work you aren’t proud of?”

“If I don’t want unbiased critique, then yes.”

Turning the corner, they find themselves walking down a row of houses. Frost glazed the pathway, making Linzer glad she hadn’t worn heels. She remembered seeing a post office when she headed to the concert hall, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. An uneasiness was forming in her chest. She couldn’t latch onto any of the thoughts swirling in her head, leaving her in the crossfire of swarming ideas that she couldn’t cling to. Perhaps it was a mistake inviting him.

“Reminds me of all the stories of yours you’d read to me. You’d always get so caught up you often forgot to ask for feedback.”

“That’s true.”

Somewhere from above, a window is shut. It’s disorienting how quickly he’s silenced. He blinked in disbelief before shoving his hands into his pockets. He’d sensed something amiss earlier, but he didn’t think she’d deny a chance to talk about her stories. Her pace had quickened, making them a considerable distance apart. Had he said something wrong? Unable to conjure up anything else to say, his gaze rested on the ice as he walked. The twinkling permafrost had covered certain areas of mud. He could easily break them if he wanted to—but should he really venture there?

“Huh? No, this isn’t for you.” He glanced to see Linzer wrestling her bag out of the jaws of a cake hound. It growled and wagged its tail before snatching it and running down the path. “Wait, come back!” Linzer Cookie took off in pursuit, followed by Creme Brulee Cookie, close behind. Surroundings blurred out of focus as they ran through the frost. Already, Creme Brulee was slipping behind. Each step stabbed his chest and even after a couple of seconds he was fighting for each breath. Linzer Cookie had no such issue. She didn’t even look behind to alert him of the situation. Not that she should’ve it would’ve only slowed her down. Her first draft was at stake after all. He remembered the paranoia that racked his mind when his sheet music went missing on the train. All he could do now was to catch up and ignore the pains at his sides.

Up ahead, the hound’s pace did not waver. Through gritted teeth, Linzer Cookie leaned forward for the bag. If she could reach out further… A stray rock caught her foot.

“Ah!” Linzer flew forward. The wind brushed past her face. She braced for impact… But she didn't reach the floor. Creme Brulee picked her from the ground in time, one arm around her waist, another hand at her side. She couldn’t hear her thoughts over his heavy breathing and before they knew it, Creme Brulee’s legs gave out beneath him. They fell backwards, falling to the ground with a thud.

Linzer Cookie blinked into the white sky, too dazed to speak. Despite her initial shock, it didn't hurt as much as she was preparing it to.  She sat up and brush her hair past her face. “Creme Brulee Cookie?” She turned around. On the floor, Creme Brulee’s chest heaved up and down. He gasped for breath, resting a hand over his forehead. The other, Linzer saw, laid outstretched across the ice. The same spot her head was. “Creme Brulee Cookie!”

He opened his eyes and soon his breathing stabilised.

“I’m… fine.” He stumbled to his feet, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Did you… get the manuscript back?”

“I…”

The cake hound was now at Linzer’s side. It knelt up to place it into her hands. She took out the manuscript inside. It was in perfect condition. But why go through all that? Only when she looked forward did she realise why.

“Brought us right to the post office did you?” she smiled to herself, “seems you’ve caused more trouble than you bargained for.” She turned back to Creme Brulee. “And you. Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Yes, I am.” He walked to her side. “Now let’s deliver that manuscript shall we?”

By the time they left the post office, the previous chaos cooled over, and more residents were emerging into the streets. Her main priority was completed, yet she felt stiff. Even despite the warmth in the streetlamps, and the sun beginning to sun through. It all felt pale and cold on her skin like she was in a setting of a novel, where everything felt so pretty it was theatrical. She needed some coffee.

“There’s a cafe up ahead.” she said, “We should stop by for something.”

“Oh? But I didn’t bring my wallet.”

“I’ll pay, don’t worry.”

Approaching the cafe, they were soon aware of a soft melody. Unintelligible vocals grew louder, until the lyrics were clear, and the culprit was evident.

“From within the frosted snow,

A burning fire shall grow.

And memories from the past

Are surely bound to last~”

“Good morning Carol Cookie.”

“Linzer Cookie! Creme Brulee Cookie! How great it is to see you again! Did you like my song of harmony?”

“Indeed,” Creme Brulee spoke up, “did you compose it yourself?”

“Absolutely! All my songs come from the heart, that’s why I can sing them so passionately!”

“From the heart…”

“Exactly! In fact, I’ve just come up with a new idea for a song!”

“Really? But—”

“Overcoming the darkness, two cookies swore

To always love each other even through the thickest storm.…”

“There’s no stopping her once she’s begun her ballad.” Linzer pushed open the cafe door, “Let’s go, then we can discuss what’s been bothering you.” 

Chapter Text

Late afternoon settled in the town, and Linzer walked back into an apartment dripping in amber, contrasting her dark shadows against the now yellow walls. On the one hand, her gift for Creme Brulee lay in a small bag, which she had bought after she told Creme Brulee to go back to the hotel so he could get a head start on his composition. She paused outside his door. It was quiet, except for an inaudible murmur that phased through the door. Did he not know she came back yet? Waves of nostalgia washed over her as she combed a piece of hair behind her ear. Many days were spent at his parents’ house. Not speaking per se, only Creme Brulee at the piano and her at a desk not too far off, writing. One would think the room was empty if not for the sound of music and the scratch of pen on paper. She didn’t mind this arrangement most times, though she couldn’t help but worry if her unpredictable scribbling affected his focus. He never allowed his anger to emerge easily, as with his other emotions, yet it was ever apparent in the moments he would push down on a random white key. It would startle her, and he would reassure her with a stream of mumbled sorrys, yet his hand wouldn't raise from the key for quite some time. It sometimes felt easier to dissect his emotions from how he played rather than how he behaved. Regardless, it was the main place where she wrote her manuscript’s first, second and third draft. The first two should still be in that house, somewhere; she hasn't been there for years.
The interruption of chords brought her back to the present, memories returning to low tide, but the taste of bitter sea salt remained ever so. Stronger. She hasn’t remembered anything, it seems, rather forgotten that the taste was on her tongue all this time. A permanent tint, a rushing undercurrent meandering through everything in ways she didn’t realise or just ignored. How was spending the holidays? That answer’s changed drastically, a last-minute rewrite to a story about to go to print. She can’t decide if it’ll lead to any good, however.
She left quickly to place her bag and scarf away before knocking at Creme Brulee’s door. It opened after a pause.

“Ah Linzer, back already?” He kicked something from behind the door. So, she was right.
“Just as focused as ever, I see,” she says, averting her gaze, “may I come in?”
“Sure.” Inside, his room was identical to hers, only personalised by the objects in the room. His polished keyboard, for instance, each key glistening beneath the overhead light. Besides it stood a tall drawer, and on top, Linzer’s camellias sat inside a crystal glass vase. Most noticeable however, were the multitude of crumpled papers strung along the floor, overflowing the trash bin in the corner. They seemed lined with music notes, many of them, all crossed over in red ink. She was almost overcome with the urge to pick one from the floor, when Creme Brulee spoke. “Should I play now? What I’ve done so far at least.”
“Of course, is that not the whole point?”
“...Indeed.”
In seconds, he positioned himself at the keyboard. Linzer backed away, until she felt a strong tether in her chest, freezing her in place. Most of his back was towards her, but she had a view of half of his face, and it regained her clarity. Anticipation, trepidation, excitement, all woven into one thin string. Tethering her to him. After a moment’s pause, he began. Pretty notes and chords fluttered about the room, held together by an elegant melody, tempo and pitch blending back and forth seamlessly. Just as she expected. The music died down, and Creme Brulee turned to see Linzer’s eyes closed, arms crossed in deep concentration. Creme Brulee recognised the pose, and it terrified him. Somehow, it was her opinion that bubbled the anxiety inside him the most, not the sneering critics with years of expertise and experience, not even his parents, whose expectations caused his fingers to tense up at times when he thought about playing. Indeed, his fears stemmed from the fact that every piece of advice she gave spoke to him as a person, making him transparent and exposed only to her. Making it feel like he had to run for his life. She plucked the sheet music from the stand.
“May I read this?”
Without thought he nodded and she read through it with curiosity, as if searching for something. Quite quickly, a light flickered about her eyes and she smiled with satisfaction. “I understand what’s missing.”
“You think so?”
She nodded.
“It’s you.”
Creme Brulee’s breath hitched, “What?”
Linzer turned the sheet music over in her hands, as if the answer were hidden on the other side.
“While you may have played with remarkable skill and focus, you almost forget that you’re not confined to playing existing pieces. What you’ve just played, for instance, is a neatly sewn mashup of pieces you’ve played before. It feels… restrained”
frowned, his fingers tapping nervously against the polished keys. “You don’t think it was a good piece?”
“Did I say that?” she glanced up at him, “I’m not telling you what’s good or bad. Your melodies may be more impactful to others if you know that they resonate with you first.”

He paused. It was always a reliable method, to perform covers of other great compositions, greater than the ones he could ever compose. At least, that’s what he thought. Had he unknowingly made himself a slave to the dark shadow of a looming judge, one who’d condemn him if the slightest of emotions peeked from his visage?
“You may think too highly of me, Linzer, composition doesn’t come easily to me.”
“Hmm, even if I did, who says you can’t start now?”. He could tell Linzer was looking at him, and he averted his gaze hesitantly.
“And how may I implement that?”
“Start with an emotion,” she said, “Then expand on it, develop the idea into a story. Think about the different plot points that could transpire, and follow them through to the last thread.”
He let the idea seed in his mind, yet it was impossible for it to bloom. Fear. That’s what he felt weighing down on his heart, like the shackles that may weigh a prisoner down in its cell. It wasn't always this way: there were still memories of him playing just for the sake of it; to fill a room with sound that was almost tangible to the listener. Usually he’d scoff at this symptom of childish ignorance, yet now he looked at himself — this oblivious version of himself — with envy. The transition from playing at a different bar every night to performing in high class venues was inevitable and to return to the Creme Brulee of years ago… he might as well tear off his skin to a new form underneath.
He pressed middle C and allowed the note to expand as it permeated the room. Paranoia was deep seated within— it wouldn’t disappear in this moment. But he could overcome it.

In this piece he would choose joy.

With a flourish he plucked different chords and drew out a deep tone from the keys. What started out golden and opaque seemed to dissolve into light notes which danced into a glittery crescendo. He reinforced a reprise and continued with varying pitches to build blissful harmony, like the running of glimmering water in June. The piece ended in notes which mirrored raindrops scattering after a shower. Linzer noticed an unsteady tremble in the last few notes, and she saw his hands were shaking. A smile born of surprise broke out on his face.

Creme Brulee caught her gaze before glancing down at the keyboard shyly.
“So how was that?”. She nodded, “Exceeded my expectations,” the smile didn't reach her eyes, “now I only wonder the extent to which you’ve held yourself back.” A scrunched-up paper reached her foot. So many ideas tossed aside, a physical manifestation of trial and error. He noticed, and his body stiffened.
“Please, give me a moment to clean this room.”
She blinked. “Suit yourself, I’ll go now.” She gave a lingering glance before turning to leave. In the click of the door it was like the previous magic had dissipated, leaving Creme Brulee to stand in the emptiness. He bent down to pick up the papers. Yes, a familiar feeling was emerging now. The sensation that he was looking into an opaque pool; awaiting a glimpse from beyond the currents. The sensation that he would surely drown if he leaned closer.
And falling in anyways.

…

Linzer sat on the couch in silk pyjamas, her hair tied behind her. Scribbling, pausing, crossing out. The motions were quick, but not fast enough. Her thoughts spiralled far ahead of her in tangled vibrancy, and her hand could hardly keep up. But she enjoyed this state of focus: if she got all her ideas on the page first, she could arrange them afterwards. That was the less exciting part. She likened the process to shaping a large crystal into a polished diamond. She had to hack away the excess, trim the edges to form something palatable for consumers. Writing was a delicate act of sculpting, a skill that had gotten better with time. She lifted her pen from the page, concluding the outline of a scene where the killer's motives are revealed.
For habit's sake, the pen rested on her lower lip. The air was still, and the warm light overhead was sleep-inducing. Tomorrow was Christmas, and the day after that she was leaving. She had been invited to a Christmas ball earlier that month and it would be rude not to go after she had already accepted the invitation. But after that, she’d go: she couldn’t overstay her welcome any further, not when they were so far along separate goals. Creme Brulee’s skills increased tenfold in the past three years; he was well on his way to becoming a renowned pianist with time. And for her… her series was slowly reaching its denouement, and her publisher already informed her of the numerous author events, readings and signings she’d have to do for her growing fan base. Their time together was merely a brief chapter, maybe even a paragraph in their lives. If he’s moved on, she should follow suit, especially when it was she who…

“Linzer?”
She turned her head sharply to see Creme Brulee in loungewear behind the couch. Linzer’s brow furrowed.
“How long were you standing there for?”
“I've only been here for a few seconds,” he lied. With a knowing glance, her eyes softened.
“Sure. Are you here to sit down?”
“If you allow me.”
As if in a stranger's house, he moved gingerly to the couch and sat down an arm's length away. “Have you been writing a continuation to the series?” He finally managed to say
Linzer closed her notebook, leaving it and her pen on the table. “Indeed, but don't expect spoilers just because you're in the author’s proximity.”
“No, of course not,” he leaned his head against the sofa, “I was only wondering about your latest manuscript…” A hint of surprise flickered across Linzer’s eyes.
“Really? I can’t imagine you being very caught up in the plot.”
“What makes you say that? I finished book 5 not so long ago.”
“And what did you think of it?”
“Just as incredible as the last, though I found its resemblance to the Ribbons and Icing case rather striking.”
“I’m glad you noticed,” the shadow around her eyes darkened, but it highlighted her crimson eyes, which sparkled with intensity.
“Yes, you went with something different that time around, the different perspectives made it hard to believe they all came from the same voice. I suspect there was a hint of her presence from the beginning, her and the bookkeeper victim from book 2? I believe they’re one in the same.”
“You don’t know that,” a smile was spreading across Linzer’s face, “she announced her departure at the end of the book, don’t you think she was condemned a side character by the author?” Creme Brulee leaned forward.
“The author’s too smart to remove such a crucial part of the puzzle. She’s too important to the detective to leave forever. They know too much about each other”
“You remember she’s an outlaw for suspected murder, right?”
“Indeed, I was under the impression that she was a depraved murderer, but if what I believe is correct, then I think there’s more that meets the eye—she may not be the monster she makes herself out to be.”
Linzer’s smile became bashful. She blinked away as if in deep thought. Creme Brulee kept staring, trying to discern anything from the ocean. “I—”

Their hands touched. Linzer flinched. Creme Brulee withdrew. They regained the space between them and breathed in the now stale air. Linzer put a hand against her racing heart. Sitting up, she swallowed. These words jammed in her throat, swam in her mind. They weren’t the same words that raced to be made alive on a page; they hid in the dark recesses of her mind where light could not reach. She had to do what was needed.
“Perhaps we should get some sleep”, Linzer finally said, “Tomorrow’s Christmas after all.”
“Really?” Creme Brulee tried to remember what week it was, when Linzer was already standing from the couch to leave. “Wait.”
“Yes?” Her back faced him
He cleared his throat. “Will you be attending that ball tomorrow—”
“The one hosted by Mint Choco? Then yes, I'll be going, I received an invite.”
“Ah, that’s nice,”
“Then I'll be going.”
“What? Where?”
“Back home,” she sighed, “just in time for New Year’s…” She paused. “Good night, Creme Brulee.”
The door shut, leaving Creme Brulee alone with his thoughts. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to calm the nerves in his body. So she was leaving. They’d only just reunited, yet it felt as if she was departing as soon as possible. He wanted to grab her hand and ask, beg, plead for her not to go, or at least stay until he could find the right words, play the right melody to express himself, the feelings once dormant for years. In exhaustion, his eyes wandered to the notebook and pen on top of the desk. After a moment's hesitation, he held them in his hands: two of Linzer’s most prized possessions. He opened the book carefully to see that there was only one page left.
“Sorry, Linzer.” he held pen to paper and wrote. Then stopped, then wrote a sentence, resisted the urge to tear the paper out, and continued writing. And when he finished, he left it on the table and retreated into his room, the promise of a new melody blooming in his head.

Chapter Text

Everything around them dissolved into a warm honey glow, infused with the scent of champagne and wine. It was as if they were the only ones in the room. With the warmth of Creme Brulee’s hand in hers, they glided across the room like orbiting stars—intertwining threads. He was almost golden in the light that curved along his jaw and peeked through strands of hair, making it appear almost caramelised. A nervous smile stretched his lips as he spun Linzer around in the glittering rays; her red hair spinning around her like a veil. Creme Brulee followed her with warm, hollow eyes as they danced with intuitive grace, as though each step was already planned out. Linzer’s sequinned dress caught the light and shimmered in all shades of crimson technicolour, reflecting red onto Creme Brulee’s tailored cream suit like watercolour. In his breast pocket sat a single red camellia. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

A crescendo was rising. Once mellow notes became harsh, as jagged as broken glass. As if struck from a trance, Linzer’s eyes widened as a fresh coat of fear painted her face. The air around her was stifling: an opaque, humid heat. Different fragments of classical music overlapped with each other in a chaotic symphony of knives. She realised that a fountain pen was lodged in her hands near Creme Brulee’s neck, its nib condensing the reflected light at a point. The gentle spins lurched into swings as he moved them around blindly, a puppet to the music. At the sound of a false note, Creme Brulee staggered forward. Linzer grabbed onto his sleeves only to be spun again in a different direction. She tried to shout, but only jagged chords filled her throat. Their surroundings blurred around them in a haze, the only thing Linzer could focus on being Creme Brulee’s vacant stare, the smile fully gone from his face. The music swirled into a haunting tone as the two of them swerved and staggered in their attire. Harmonies stretched into pained wails. Now her pen dripped with sweat, and the ink sloshed inside like a vial of poison.
The notes accelerated into a blaring alarm, reverberating through the tiles on the floor. Her thoughts were being compressed by the roaring music, but underneath they condensed into one discernible desire. She had to get out.

Linzer pushed herself away from Creme Brulee’s grasp. Immediately, he reached out and grabbed her hand. She snatched it away, fear brimming in her stomach. Without a second thought, she threw the pen at him. Black blood gushed from his chest.

Before her, Creme Brulee eroded like a lit sheet of paper.

“No!” Linzer’s voice rang out in the sudden silence. Her legs gave way as she fell to her knees. However, rather than the feeling of hard tiles, a cold splash of water hit her face. She gasped for air as she lifted her head to breathe. Rising to her feet, water dripped from her heavy hair, sticking to her head and back. All noise had receded, leaving behind a chilling ambience. Coldness gripped her skin as she stood alone beneath a cloudy sky, blanketing the vast landscape in an infinite grey. The waters seemed to stretch on forever. Linzer looked at the miles and miles of opaque black in every direction. “Where…what is this place?” Her clothes had changed from her previous sequinned outfit: a dampened maxi skirt, a soiled blouse that clung to her skin, and her pillbox hat…
She touched her hair, but nothing sat on her head. Turning around, she saw the hat floating away along the black waters. Its satin veil trailed on the surface. She was about to take a step forward when someone grabbed the hat first.

“What do we have here?”

A voice mirrored Linzer’s. Similar cadence, yet… a higher pitch, like a stretched string about to snap. She bent down and lifted the hat out of the sea, water dripping off it like tears.
“So,” Linzertorte Cookie said, “Looking for this?”

Linzer gasped. Her muscles froze rigid. She stared hard at this tantalising version of herself, trying to make sense of it, to no avail. Her past gazed back at her. She smiled, her vermilion eyes tracking her with every soft blink. Nothing moved besides the opaque water that circled them both, absorbing light like an abyss. The tang of ink permeated the air. Linzertorte turned the pillbox hat in her white gloved hands. She made sure to hold it away from her pink short-sleeved blouse, which was untouched by the water. The black ribbons tied at her neck and twin buns swayed in time to the flowing tide. “Won’t you say anything? Or did you steal this from me as well?”
Linzertorte reached into the water, dragging out a dark fountain pen with a golden nib and rimmed cap. Linzer’s breath hitched with recognition. “Our parents gave this to me when I published my first…” she sighed, “and only novel. It was never meant for you.” She tilted her head with a smile and clicked the pen to replay its last recording. A blood-curdling scream echoed through the ocean. Linzer flinched, but she recognised it as her own voice, her own scream when she saw Creme Brulee dissolve like burnt parchment. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been distorted somehow.

“Was that truly what I sounded like?”

“Indeed, did you hear yourself? I’m ashamed to witness what I have become, yelling like some wounded creature.” Absentmindedly, Linzer held her arms in a futile attempt to keep herself from shaking. Linzertorte tossed the hat into the water, where it sank and disappeared as though it never existed. She then took extra care in examining the pen, her weak smile framed by wispy bangs that curled inwards. “Why did I have to find the gore and depravity so appealing? What made death so exciting when it had narrative purpose?” She spun the pen as she spoke, her gaze following the ebb of the water around her. She made a sigh of frustration. “Let me not blame myself, we couldn’t write romance forever.” Only the sound of the pen cutting the air could be heard. Alongside Linzer’s haggard breath. “Still, if that was the case, I should’ve stopped there, rather than sinking deeper into—” She stopped herself and stared at Linzer blankly. “You disgust me. That’s what he thought when you did it, you know.”
Linzer blinked. Suddenly, Linzertorte was in front of her, a small cloth now in her hand. “Would you like a handkerchief?” Linzer didn’t move, but tears were flowing from her eyes like hot oil. She hadn’t noticed them until now. Linzertorte stood on her tiptoes to wipe away the tears, all whilst watching her panicked face intently. No smile lined her face as she spoke. “He looked a little something like this, if you remember. Or maybe you’ve forgotten. So eager to indulge in murders, yet you obliterate any memory of what you did. If only you could see yourself.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “Scared, disturbed, horrified…it was quite out of character, even for you.”
Linzer grabbed Linzertorte’s outstretched arm. She lowered it to no resistance. It shook the whole way.

“No…You are the one who's out of character. You…You’re…” The words caught in her throat. “I’m not you.” Linzertorte's face revealed nothing, but she stepped back with haunting grace.

“Why do you want to separate us so badly? You should want to be me. Our parents loved me, were proud of me. I imagine my one book was more popular than your entire series. Remember all the interviews? I loathed it at first, but I’d rather do a thousand of those than read a page of any manuscript you’ve written. Honestly, what was a child doing reading your books? Did you ever stop to think if what you were doing was wrong? Of course you did, but it never deterred you, did it? You walked further and further away until you became…” She put the handkerchief back in her breast pocket. “But I won’t blame myself; it was him who approached me, him who encouraged me to delve into those repressed stories of mine... And what happened to me? To him?” She beamed. She revealed the pen once again to wave it in front of Linzer in a teasing manner. “Imagine if you threw this a bit harder, a bit more to the left, you could’ve created a real crime scene that day.”
Linzer swallowed.

“Does it make you happy to imagine pain?” Linzer said finally, “You invoke feelings of suffering, remind me of deep sorrow, but why? I don’t understand.”

“It’s the least I could do to you. You, who found the perfect way to kill me without consequence. I don’t exist anymore; I'm merely a hollow memory, and in my place is a disgusting, filthy—”

“Then what do you want me to do?” Linzer cried.
Linzertorte grabbed the back of Linzer’s hair and held her close. She whispered in her ear.

“You’ve asked me this before. Just do the same thing you’ve always done to those who loved you.”
Then Linzer dropped into the water.
The next time Linzer opened her eyes, she stared at the wall. She was back in the hotel room, a sense of doom weighing on her. She breathed shakily. Blinking in the darkness, she rose from the bed and turned the lights on. Her notebook was nowhere to be seen. She turned them off. Linzer held her hand to the doorknob and listened. Creme Brulee was asleep in the other room. Standing alone, the whole world felt dead. She opened the door and didn’t bother to turn the lights on. Her hands moved across the table until she felt the closed pages of her notebooks and her fountain pen. She squinted as she picked the book up and opened it to the last page.

“Huh?” There was something written, but it was too dark to read. Did she forget that she wrote something down earlier?

‘Disgusting, filthy—’

Linzer shut the book. Maybe it was blocked out of her mind for a reason. She dropped it back on the table. Today was Christmas; she suddenly remembered, better not to dwell on such things. Linzer raised a hand to her head. Already, a headache was emerging.
…

The heavy satin curtains were all parted with golden tassels to reveal the feathery snow pouring out outside. Gleaming candles glowed on chandeliers, illuminating the tiles below in a wash of orange. Scattered across the room were those in resplendent gowns and suits, chatted idly amongst themselves, laughter swelling the air in a sparkling weightlessness. The walls were intricately lined with grand designs on pillars and door arches, emulating an air of affluence and grace. Soft festive music flowed through the hall, along with the mingling scents of pine and cinnamon. Over on one of the draped tables sat trays of appetisers, which guests appreciated holding in their hands while they held conversations. Creme Brulee had stood by himself as he examined the tiny sponge cakes and crackers laid out for display, unwilling to treat himself to anything. Suddenly the host, Mint Choco, appeared beside him, and a quick sequence of events led him to being seated at a table with him and two other friends of his.

“I’m glad Sparkling Cookie was able to brew matcha tea here,” Herb Cookie said.

“Wish he couldn’t,” Vampire Cookie swirled the cup of aged wine in his hand. “I can smell that leafy juice from here.” Creme Brulee sipped his own cup of matcha tea silently. It had been Herb’s recommendation, but each sip made him loath the bitter taste and aroma even further.

“Are you enjoying the tea, Creme Brulee?” Herb Cookie said.

“Its flavour is quite strong.”
“Don’t force yourself,” Vampire Cookie offered him his glass, “some of this wine is on the house!” Creme Brulee shook his head.

“...I’m okay, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Vampire said, before emptying his glass in one go.

Creme Brulee continued to drink for the sake of having something to do. He took short sips and savoured the taste for as long as he could. He had to draw this out, give himself more time to ruminate in his thoughts as the conversation around him wandered to places meaningless to him.
He came alone to the party. Creme Brulee knocked on her door that morning, only for Linzer to open the door with a pained expression, though she tried to keep a smile. She told him to go by himself.
“I seem to have woken up with a headache. I’ll meet you there, don’t worry.”
They also decided to give their gifts to each other after the party, when they were in proper festive spirits. He didn’t want to press anything further: her notebook lay on the table in a different position from last night. Had she read what he wrote? His heart jumped to think of it. Maybe it didn’t have the desired effect; perhaps she was too mad at him for using the last page of her notebook without permission. He reflected on his own cowardice. He could’ve talked to her right away once she closed the door. Instead, he hesitated, letting the moment pass by like smoke. In times of shock, he often fell back on familiar habits, even the ones that led to—

“Um, Creme Brulee, are you okay?”

“Huh?” Creme Brulee looked down. The remains of his matcha spilt on the table, staining the table cover green, though none fell on his beige suit. He stood up quickly. “I’m sorry, I’ll go get some tissues.” He walked away before anyone could interject. He meandered through the crowds, eyes darting amongst the guests for a sight of her. He reached the bar, where Sparkling Cookie was busy producing a drink.

“And what would you like tonight?”

“I—”

“Black coffee please, if you have any.”

Creme turned to his left. Linzer stood before him, dressed in a red sequinned dress that touched the floor. The dress was sleeveless, but long black gloves adorned her hands, which gripped the table.

“Linzer Cookie! You came…” She furrowed her eyebrows.

“Of course I did, I said I would, didn't I?”

“I know, but—um, yes, some tissue please—I suppose I was worried.”

“How nice of you.” Linzer received the coffee and held it in her hands. “I suppose you’re going to go and clean up that mess you made?”

His face flushed with embarrassment. “Did you see me do that?”

“No, but it was an easy deduction to make, and you just confirmed it."

“Ah.” Sparkling Cookie slid the tissues to Creme Brulee, who held them with anger towards himself. “I’ll have to go then.”

"I suppose you shall," Linzer turned on her heel. "I'll see you around." She disappeared into the sea of party goers. Creme Brulee stood still a few moments longer before returning to his table.
The majority of the party went on without complication. With the earlier formalities loosened off, guests laughed and talked without care, happy to soak in the infectious merriment in the air. Vampire Cookie managed to attract a crowd of people around him, all eager to listen to him speak as he leaned languidly in his chair. No one ended up noticing the faint matcha stain on the tablecloth. The air seemed to sparkle as the clink of glasses and toasts were heard throughout the party like bubbles. Music weaved through the atmosphere like silk, drenching the evening in bright festivity. Linzer managed to join a conversation with Cocoa and Carol Cookie, discussing the success of evening and their plans for the new year. She was glad to find that they were easy to talk to, and she found herself to be enjoying the holiday ambiance. Her gaze softened as she took it all in.

"Will you write more books for your series next year?" Cocoa asked.

"Indeed, I have yet to resolve the story I wanted to tell, but it may take more than a year to finish."

"That's good to hear," Cocoa Cookie gushed, "I love to read every book you publish while I drink cocoa!"

"Is that so?" She nodded.

"Yes, especially your first novel. Will there ever be a sequel to it?"

Linzer blinked. What novel?...I've only ever written a series."

"Oh! Maybe it was a different author then; I think it was called—"

"I'm very sorry. I have to go," Linzer broke away from the two and walked into the crowd with no where to go. Maybe she'd go to the bathroom. Collect her thoughts for a few minutes. She passed through the guests with a plastered smile, even stopping a few times to talk to guests who approached her.

'Just do the same thing you’ve always done to those who loved you.'

The bathrooms were along the hallway a few steps away. Why did she have to remember now, when everyone else was enjoying the party? Each step brought her forward to her haven.
And then the lights dimmed.
Linzer looked around..The lights were suddenly a soft amber, making it appear like the room was inside a fireplace. Guests slowly began to pair up and waltz to the rhythm of a gentle melody. She took a step back. She could still leave in time.

"Linzer?"

Creme Brulee approached her. His gaze didn't quite meet her eyes. He fidgeted with the cuff of his blazer and spoke again. "...Have you enjoyed the party so far?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I haven't seen you for a while. Every time I tried to talk to you, you were with another group. If I didn't know any better, it felt like you were—"

"Avoiding you?" Linzer scoffed. "Don't be silly." She glanced to see the guests now swaying around them gracefully. "Are you not going to dance?"

"That's the thing." He ran a hand through his hair. "I was wondering…whether you wanted to dance." His voice was barely audible above the music. Linzer blinked at the request. A pang of recognition struck her.

“With me?"

"Do you really need me to say it so plainly?" Regardless, he offered his hand. She stared at it for a moment, then back at him: His beige suit, his hair etched with golden light, the slightly dried camellia in his breast pocket. Was it really right?

'Scared, disturbed, horrified'

She took his hand. It was warm with nerves. "I’m sorry." She lowered it. To no resistance. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, “but I was about to leave just now.”

“So soon?” Linzer stared at the ground. The disappointment in his voice was clear.

“Yes,” she pulled her hand away from his, and for a second it felt as if though he didn't want to let go. "I'll see you back at the hotel." She hurried and disappeared past the hallway. Again. Creme Brulee sighed, but the frustration, sadness, and confusion could not leave him. A hollowness carved at him from inside.

"Should I stop trying?"

The question dragged in the air, a palpable weight upon his shoulders. She'd done so much to help him, yet every time he drew near, she was quick to pull away. Is this what she felt like? A hollowness carved at him from inside. He had no reason to feel blameless for what happened, right now and even back then. When he focused so intensely to perfect his skills, he pushed everything else away. His mind was so consumed by a desire to play flawlessly that when he turned around, only darkness remained.

He glanced at the window. It was still snowing outside—light and feathery. It snowed like that when they broke up too.