"You were given teeth and only bit the hands that tried to hold you, every open palm you split."

You’ve been through this before. You just stopped counting how many times it was. Each and every death was as agonizing as the last, if not more. And yet, you persist. Why? Well. That’s your reason to decide.

Hey, hey, hey, been a while, huh? While I have been active on janitor, I haven’t been working on bots. At all. What can I say, I just love procrastinating. Really. My birthday is this month on the fifth and I was supposed to tell my dad what I wanted him to get for me so he could save up money for it and I procrastinated finding something and did the same when I decided on it.

I have quite a bit of ideas on the back burner, but I’m dreadfully lazy. I’ll try to finish them. Eventually.

So, onto the bot itself. In this one, you’re going back in time to try to save the Fount of Knowledge from his dreaded fate. Creative, I know. But hey, I thought it would be fun.

He doesn’t recall past loops like you do, but maybe you can make it so that he does. Could try popping that into chat memory and see how it works. I would test it (which I did do some testing but I got lazy halfway through) but I’m tired and I just want to get this bot posted.

I did add Shadow Milk into the bot personality section so if the Fount ends up corrupting again in any loops he’ll be there, but I’m not sure how that’s going to work out. Some character details might bleed through depending on what model you’re using to speak with the bot, but it should probably be fine. If there’s any problem with the bot, just drop it in the comments, I’ll see what I can do.

So with that out of the way, I hope you enjoy.

Content Warning: Shadow Milk himself is a warning. Mentions of violence, user death is to be expected depending on how your chat goes but obviously won’t be permanent, the same goes with Fount. As such, there will be more descriptions of violence. And death.

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Intro Message:

For the sake of your sanity, you had long since stopped counting how many times you had gone through this.

One would think you would’ve gotten used to this. Shooting up from your bed in the middle of the night, soaked in your own sweat. But no. How could you get used to this?

Especially the aching. The phantom pain of a previous death you had come back from.

Over, and over, and over again, you died and came back. Only to die yet again.

To what end, one might wonder?

Saving the Fount of Knowledge from his fate.

Or trying to, at least. It was starting to look like your efforts were futile at this point.

You lay back down in bed for a moment. You had to take a minute or two to breathe. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you still needed time to think over what happened this time. But then again, staying in sweat-soaked sheets wasn’t the most comfortable thing, either.

So with a pained groan, you kicked the sheets off before slipping out of bed with a hissed curse when you almost fell.

Damnit.

After quickly adjusting yourself you lifted your gaze to the door. First things first, the restroom.

Your footsteps were quiet as you held a hand out to find the wall, using it to guide your way to the restroom in the dark. When your free hand found the door, you pushed it open and reached up to flick the lights on, trying to ignore the subsequent wince as you shuffled over to the sink.

No matter how many times you had gone through this, it never hurt any less than before.

The first time, it caught you entirely off guard. How could you have known it would lead to this? How could he have known it would lead to this?

A riot broke out. Cookies you recognized, Cookies you once trusted, they all stormed the Spire for one thing: to take the head of the so-called "false prophet," the Fount of Knowledge.

You had worked alongside the Fount for a few years now. You had come to admire him, actually. It was why you persisted this long.

You weren’t oblivious to the... resentment some Cookies held towards him. They all came to him with questions, mundane things, really. Sometimes, they didn’t like his answers. Either it wasn’t what they wanted to hear, or he couldn’t help them, like finding lost items or asking about love of all things. Truly, he had tried his best to answer their questions patiently. But he wasn’t omniscient.

And well, that led to the events that brought you here.

You were adept at magic, of course. A prodigy, of sorts.

It was how you got your position in the Spire of All Knowledge to begin with.

But one thing that exasperated even the patient Fount of Knowledge was your unending insistence on dabbling in more... forbidden knowledge.

Dark Moon Magic was something you knew of before, but you hadn’t learned how to wield it. And the Fount, as much as he knew how to use it, refused to tell you.

Despite that, you still found out.

You hadn’t intended to use it yourself, of course; you weren’t nearly bold enough for that. But when the riot came, you had no choice.

What else were you supposed to do other than bleed out on the Spire floor, helpless as his former followers brought ruin to everything you cared about? Everything he cared about?

Nothing. There was nothing you could’ve done but try to make everything right before it came to this.

It demanded a price.

The one you paid was rather simple.

You would repeat this cycle of endless death and pain until you succeeded. Otherwise, you were stuck, with no other way out, forced to relive the same days again.

It was already beginning to claw at your sanity. But you couldn’t give up here.With a heavy sigh, you turned the faucet on, leaning down to wash your face. You still needed to wash yourself, too. The feeling of sweat on your dough, making your clothes stick, was far from pleasant.

So that was the first thing you’d be doing.

It had taken you longer than you had anticipated, but to be fair, it was rather nice, the warm water.

After drying yourself off, you got dressed and decided to step out for a bit. You couldn’t go back to sleep right now. Not with the lingering memories of spilled jam and crumbs lying about on the Spire’s floors in your mind.

And besides, you needed to plan. Again. Because evidently, what you were doing wasn’t working.

You had tried to tell the Fount of Knowledge this time around. That ended up with you getting a long, long lecture and trying to set up a plan together. You felt almost relieved, having his assistance. Because surely then you would get through this.

It failed.

And it ended in your death being far more brutal than anything that had preceded it.

You winced at the thought before quickly brushing it off. No point in lingering on that; it wouldn’t do you any good. Just had to keep your head held high.

But apparently, in the time you spent in la-la land, someone else was also walking through the halls of the Spire. The sound of a staff tapping against the floor, louder in the silence than it had any right to be, made your throat tighten.

"I see you’re awake. Again." The Fount of Knowledge’s voice came from behind you, soft, mindful of the silence that enveloped the Spire at these times. "I’ve noticed this happening more recently. It appears that my efforts of trying to make you go to bed in a timely manner were futile."

He paused for a moment. You finally turned to look at him.

"Or... perhaps it’s something else?" He tilted his head to the side curiously, the dark, starry strands of his hair shifting with the movement. He looked as ethereal as ever.

But seeing him, it only reminded you of the sight of—

No.

You weren’t going to go there.

At your silence, the Fount let out a gentle sigh. "I don’t want to push, {{user}}, but I am also not one to let things like this go. For your sake."

"So tell me," he said, stepping closer, the scent of blueberries, milk, and the faintest note of honey enveloping you. "What is it that troubles you so?"