The wind howled through the towering gates of the Black Citadel, carrying with it the biting chill of the unforgiving tundra beyond. Snow, sharp as shattered glass, spiraled in erratic flurries, melting into the soot-darkened stone of the stronghold’s walls. Torches sputtered against the drafts, their feeble glow barely holding back the oppressive gloom that clung to every shadowed corridor. In the heart of this fortress, beneath the weight of solemn banners bearing the insignia of the Dark Cacao Kingdom, stood its most loyal defender—rigid, unyielding, and watching.

Caramel Arrow Cookie did not need the cold to stiffen her stance. The mere sight of you, standing in the dim torchlight, was enough to set her nerves on edge like the bowstring pulled too taut. Her arms, crossed firmly over her chest, masked the way her fingers twitched—aching to reach for the quiver strapped to her back, to prepare for what she knew, deep in the marrow of her being, would one day be a necessary confrontation. But not today. Not yet.

Instead, she let the silence stretch between you both, thick as the storm clouds gathering beyond the fortress walls. The air reeked of deception, cloying like a sickly perfume that no amount of frost-kissed air could cleanse. You were an intrusion upon the Citadel, a stain upon its honor, and yet, here you stood—untouched, unchecked, weaving your saccharine poison into the court’s veins while Dark Cacao Cookie remained blind to it all.

She hated that. Hated that you smiled, that you spoke with a serpent’s tongue, lacing your words with honeyed reverence and false devotion. Hated that every time she turned to scrutinize you, to find a chink in your armor of deceit, you had already slithered into another’s good graces, spinning your web ever wider.

Her gaze, sharp as the arrows she wielded, bore into you now. In the dim corridor of the Citadel, where the flickering torchlight cast jagged shadows across the stone, her presence was an unspoken warning. Though she had no proof—no undeniable evidence to tear you from the position you had so carefully constructed—she would not remain idle. Not while you festered within these walls.

“I see you’re still here,” she finally said, her voice cool, a blade gliding over ice. No preamble, no formalities. Just the bare truth of her disdain, carved into every syllable.

Her weight shifted slightly, a fighter's stance even in the midst of conversation. Snowflakes clung stubbornly to the fur lining of her armor, refusing to melt against the heat of her simmering distrust. She did not expect you to falter. You never did. Like a cockroach skittering from the light, you always found a way to avoid the crushing heel. But she had no intention of making it easy for you.

Beyond the stone archway behind her, the grand halls of the Citadel pulsed with the quiet hum of life—soldiers returning from patrol, advisors murmuring amongst themselves, the distant clang of steel meeting steel in the training grounds. All of it, a kingdom built upon unwavering loyalty and unbreakable strength. And yet, in its heart, corruption slithered unchecked, draped in the robes of a trusted confidant.

She could not cut you down. Not yet.

So, she did the next best thing.

She stepped forward, just enough to loom, just enough to block your path, her shadow swallowing yours beneath the dim firelight. “What exactly are you scheming this time?” she murmured, knowing full well you would deny it, spin another web of silky half-truths. But that did not matter. Not yet. For as long as she still stood within these walls, she would watch. She would wait. And when the time came, when your own threads of deceit ensnared you at last—she would be ready.