A pony awakened to a brown sky. She had a name; she couldn’t remember it for some reason. It was of no importance in retrospect. To him they were all just slaves. It had been sometime since she had been called by her real name. In truth it had been a long time since she had seen the blue sky, the warmth of the sun, the softness of grass, the lively galas and feasts of the old royals.
Her memories were filled with the wheels of industry, the fires of war, and the suffocating tunnels. Misery was the only thing she could garner through the pain of what measly existence that she and her fellow neighbours could live out.
She was one of the lucky ones though. She had extra food, some semblance of a house and an area of comfort. She did not work in the mines like those poor keratins a couple of miles away or the so called ‘prisoners’ that he kept. They were the unlucky ones. She shuddered even contemplating the horrid tortures they endured every day.
Being one of his maids had its advantages but that disregarded the disgust and the perversion with the job. Once again she had been one of lucky ones in that regard bar the maddening stare he occasionally gave her. It was during those dark moments when suicide had seemed preferable to continuing on.
But she did anyway. Ending it would mean letting him win. She couldn’t do that. Even when she knew she was broken, a puppet to his will. She still held him in contempt, if she could find one way to spite still him and if that was by still breathing and living under his rule then she would continue to do so until her dying breath.
She exited her black, jagged, crystalline house after a meagre breakfast of bread, some oats and light cider. Water was too dirty to drink. Cider had become the only liquid which didn’t taste like ash in the mouth. The bread had been stale but fresh bread had not been available since the dark days began. The oats were luxury that few enjoyed. Once again the job had certain advantages.
He didn’t want his ‘staff’ looking like corpses to his acquaintances and colleagues. He had at least enough royal mannerisms to keep up the appearance of ‘nobility’. It was a farce to those who worked around him. You would find more nobility in a pile of manure.
The walk to the palace was about the most peace she found in the day even when the ash and smoke caused the occasional cough. The surroundings gave little peace to those who had never been within the sad excuse of his crumbling and decrepit ‘empire’.
The factory’s belched fire like a great drake, night and what she could only presume was day, creating spears and armour towards whatever conflict he had now embroiled his nation within again. The machines of wood and metal transported dreadful yet oddly beautiful black crystals on conveyer belts towards the processing plant.
She had no idea what he wanted with them. Originally used for construction the massive amounts he obtained quickly replaced the original sparkling designs to which the old regime was once famed for. Yet it seemed like the demand for the little things had never waned throughout the decades.
Whisperings between cleaning duties suggested that he used it for his black magic to fight his wars. Others rumoured he used them to attempt gain immortality or sustain his power and control. The last rumour terrified her most, the idea that he used them to create or activate weapons of destruction or torture to which he experimented with. It would explain why he was always in need of crystals…and new staff members.
She ducked her head as she passed a convoy of chained ponies. Their heads facing the floor, the shuffling hooves dragged along the black soot and the ghostly rattling of chains. The carts pulled behind them full to the brim with the same horrid crystals. Nothing was spoken. Nothing needed to be. All that could deduced was the scent of pure terror that each chained ponies emanated amongst the sweat and tears of forced labour.
The convoy passed and she carried on. She was just another pony. Nobody cared. As long as it wasn’t a guard then there was little to fear from other ponies. All of them were as terrified as her. All of them lived in fear of his shadow. He was always watching from his balcony. When she was in the palace near his chambers she could sometimes see him just looking out. He looked almost a peace sometimes. It was the only time she saw him genuinely smile. It was unnerving.
The palace itself was a mockery to everything the old empire had represented. Like all houses, the crystals crept around to its highest peak. The glory and hope it once shone all lands was now replaced by hatred and military industrialism, a place where all evils things could now call home under their new king.
It was daunting for the petite mare to approach it. She had always felt like she was being watched even when he was not present on the balcony. The building seemed to have eyes of its own. The entrance was crawling with guards but at least she was recognizable so she did not have to go through the rough and distressing identification process that some of the other maids and servants had go through. The guards rarely touched her. It still did not stop the perverse and transparent glances towards her flank as she passed.
She ascended the stairs towards the main hall. Currently the sounds of a party filled the largely oversized hall. Banners depicted his portrait against a golden sun and moon. It was a goading image towards his greatest foes. For once she smiled; she knew that whatever he did he would never defeat those he hated most. For despite all his power he was but a mortal. Only pure hubris would lead him to such a self-destructive path.
She quickly stepped into a side room designed for servants and nodded towards another pony who like her was preparing for his shift. She couldn’t remember his name either. It was like a heavy fog rested upon her mind. She could only think of the present.
A small hat and a sadly revealing lace outfit made the base of her attire. Just because he was a ‘good’ king did not mean he was above humiliation towards even those who were held in higher regard then the regular 'scum' he regarded and reigned over.
She entered the hall to the unusual sound of laughter and song, ponies, griffins and great horses of the desert lands all amongst the mass within right to the throne of the dread sovereign himself. She would have been surprised had it not been for the fact that all of them were wicked petty tyrants of their own. Chieftains, warlords and rogue generals all sat around enjoying their own wicked company.
At the end of the hall sat the dread lord himself, basking in the petty power plays that surrounded him. He seemed content from the entrance of the throne room. To his left he was in small talk to a great black horse that dwarfed even his form and to his right a griffin adorned in golden ornamental armour with tattoos running across his beak.
The griffin was having trouble with his drink and his laughs rang around the chamber notwithstanding the noise created by the crowd. The horse at least seemed composed but to the trained eye jittery as if something troubled. The king was the king bar his unnerving smile and the occasional flash to green of his deep crimson eyes he never changed from his stoic and upright position. The throne itself was intimidating but almost surreal in its size comparison to the pony that occupied it.
The rowdy and boorish behaviour of the party continued on as if it were the good times all over again. Like a good maid she moved from guest to guest serving drinks and small plates of food, from light salads to disgusting and putrid strips of fillet to the more carnivorous guests. She was quite content to ignore the cat calls, the occasional assault or drunken rage at her, business as usual. That was until a hoof waved her way towards the throne.
She quickly moved with a wine jug in hand towards the throne giving a quick bow before him. He seemed amused. She immediately noticed the two empty cups of guests at the sides of the throne. She then heard the conversation, something about a princess, tactical retreats and possible withdrawal of support. She had learned long ago when to listen and when not to. The king didn’t seem bothered. She was about to take her leave before a voice that haunted her nightmares called out like the echoes of the damned.
“More wine.”
She shifted slowly back to him. With trembling legs she ascended the stairs. Her breath was catching and she was unwilling to face him. Her hoof shook violently to steady the jar. She faced the cup and began the slow pouring process, all the while she felt his eyes on her, slowly inspecting her every feature. Her skin began to crawl.
“Thank you.”
She bowed again before jogging away at pace. She didn’t want to stand near him. He always made her feel sick. Her stomach was churning. She wanted to go hide in a hole and crawl up into a ball and cry. She wanted to die, she wanted to be free again but she couldn’t so she did the next best thing. She went to her spot.
The wine cellar had always been her safe place. It was dank, dark and reeked of old rat urine but it was a place away. It allowed her to compose herself during the bad moments. It was a sanctuary for the other staff members who wished to have a moment to themselves or occasionally meet in private.
Five minutes of solace was enough to regain some semblance of sanity and composure. She straightened her dress, took a deep breath and turned. The sudden appearance of him made scream. She fell back with a terrified face but her voice was cut off by a hoof to her mouth. He then slowly lowered his hoof. She was shaking violently to the point where she felt faint.
“So this is where you hide from me?”
She gave no answer. Even if she could it most likely be a garbled scream or muffled sob. She merely stood paralyzed as she finally encountered him face to face. He was much larger then he seemed and it was unclear whether it was his eyes or his fangs, he seemed to radiate a natural predator’s instinct and cruelty like a big cat toying with a zebra.
“Oh I know it’s always nice to get away from the job. All those unwanted stares and those names they whisper when you’re near doesn’t make it any easier. You don’t need to tell me.”
He seemed to be waiting for a reply as he circled slowly around her occasionally brushing her side with edge of his extravagant cloak or the pitch black tail. She never met his eyes. She just held her trembling stance.
“You know it must be hard for you. It’s hard for me too…eh heh. I know… hmm… that you must live a horrid life eh? Everyday scraping your sad excuse of an existence under my regal gaze, life and death in my hooves yet I raise not a stray hoof to you. Why do you fear me child?” he sat his head on her shoulder. “You and the staff like family in a way.” His hoof traced her mane caressing it slowly. “One big happy family…” Her mind was screaming no as she felt all of her flight instincts kicked into high gear, yet she still couldn’t move. “I would never hurt family…most of the time.” He turned slightly cupping her face with his cold metal hooved shoe. She was leaking tears but she wouldn’t break. Not for him.
“How could something so inferior be so beautiful…hmmm?” Silence lingered as his forked tongue flicked the air. His eyes flashed turning into something like a light grey. “Hath not those lesser then royalty still possess the beauty worthy of it?” His face seemed to contort into a light blue muzzle, a strong smile, a familiar face and memories of a better time. “So young yet…so weak.” The sudden break from fantasy as the smell of ash and tang of metal smacked her nostrils. She snapped out of it. He was still there.
She tried to recoil in horror but was held by a firm hoof. His eyes now flamed with the infamous purple, green and red. His smile bared his fangs at her. A lusting leer directed her way. His muzzle was inches away. Her world was going black.
“Alas no… You are too easy…too lowly to be even worth my time,” he seethed. She was shoved back violently. She expected another vicious blow but it never came. Instead in a moment that caught off guard. He began to dry her wet patches under her eyes. “Shh…dry your tears child; it is unbecoming to be miserable in front of your rightful king.”
“Do you know not what true power is child?”
She didn’t nod just closed he eyes and squirmed as she convinced herself that she was going to be okay and that it would be over soon. “Look at me when I speak to you worm!” His voice boomed and shattered some bottles on the wall causing a large spillage on the floor. She opened her eyes.
“True power knows I can do whatever I want to you and there is nothing you can do to stop me but I don’t for it is the knowledge alone of what I can do is where true power comes from.” She began to shake again, this time due to the cold air that had seemingly seeped into the cellar. “Thus do not fret child, I shall not harm you. The knowledge alone sustains me. Hah you’re nothing but a little amusing toy to me…” He sank down kissed her forehead. “But you are my toy and I dislike breaking my toys…they leave such a mess.” He looked around. “Speaking of messes be sure to take the rest of the day off…but not before you clean up the spillage.” He turned to face the door and adjusted his cloak. “You know…have to keep up appearances and all for the party guests. “ He then began his ascent and only turned back to take one glance back at that pony.
In that moment he saw the very personification of his kingdom sitting idle on the floor paralyzed by indecision and terror of her encounter with him. He smiled.
“Have a wonderful evening.”
The door shut and she sat there wondering when the nightmare would ever end.
Author's Note
I really just wanted to do a dark fic because my brain was kind of bugging me to do so. I was thinking about doing a more explored piece on Sombra since he basically has zero devlopment in the show. I always viewed him as like a Nazi officier, completely corrupt both morally and mentally but with sick twisted sense of royalty or greatness as if he was sort demi-god assigned to look over lesser mortals. Also the pony is unamed because she isn't important to Sombra just another face. As I said in the last line she is basically the representation of the empire at the time of his rule.
Sorry for the mistakes. I was lazy in editing. Might do more chapters if I feel like it.
