Slightly More Adult Gifts, Flashfics, Etc.

      Zecora donned her cape and stepped outside. The early morning mist clung to every blade of grass and every leaf, and though the morning sun was beginning to filter through the trees, its warmth had not yet dispelled the dampness that hovered just above the ground in a gentle mist. Wrapping the cloak around her more tightly with a forehoof, Zecora once again visualized that morning's goal in her head. She had been waiting and planning for this day for several weeks, ever since she had come to the realization of what had to be done. It hadn't been easy to accept her fate as the one chosen to perform the task at hoof. But accept it she did. For the good of Zebrakind, for the future of Zebronica, she would do as she had been tasked to. Today was the day she had been called upon by the spirits of her ancestors.

Today was the day that Double Click would die.

When she first heard the voices, she was afraid. They seemed to be coming from everywhere, and nowhere. It took her a few days before she realized the voices were coming from her ceremonial masks, carved in the likeness of her ancestors, and carrying a message of welcome and gratitude to those who would see them hanging on her wall. They also carried, as Zecora was surprised to learn, the spirits of the ancestors themselves, spirits that had ancient wisdom and knowledge that they were all too willing to share with Zecora.

Of course she assumed at first that the voices were coming from her own head, that she was perhaps losing her mind. But the spirits easily convinced her that they were, in fact, their own entity, by revealing to her ancient secrets and hidden information that Zecora herself could have never known. They also showed her, through stories, riddles, and signs, the line of history, extending into the past and the future, and how she could read the lines and see things that had passed, as well as that were to come.

It was by following these lines, under the tutelage of the spirits, that she was able to foresee the coming conflict between Zebra and Ponykind. She saw the confluence of events that would eventually lead to war, and to the death of many good Zebras and Ponies alike. She could easily see the threads of the lives of those in Ponyville cut short by a strategic assault by her fellow Zebras in an attempt to claim the capital. And she could see the counterstrike that would leave her own native land in ruins, annexed and controlled by the Empire of Equestria.

She could not allow these things to pass, and she knew it fell upon her to change the course of history before it could take from her her home, her family, and her new-found friends.

Sadly, though she did not want to accept it at first, she could find only one way to prevent this war from happening. The lines of history all converged on one pony, a green unicorn who was living in Ponyville. A unicorn by the name of Double Click.

The lines of history could not tell her the exact event that would lead to his causing the war. She thought it might have something to do with his connection to the royal family, but she could not bee certain. Therefore, there was no way she could feasibly intervene to prevent whatever event served as a catalyst for the catastrophe. The only solution, and the only way the spirits could say for certain the threads would be unraveled, was to cut the binding point out altogether. Double Click had to die.

Her plan was simple. A bit of poison in his tea would leave him paralyzed, a quick knife cut to his throat would sever his carotid artery, causing him to bleed out in seconds. He was alone in his cottage, his two fiancees currently enjoying their honeymoon together. She knew she only had one shot of this, and though her hooves trembled as she cooked up the batch of poison in her hut, her nerves were steel now, as she trotted into Ponyville. She avoided the main thoroughfares, most ponies still nervous in her presence, as she made her way to Double Click's cottage.

Stealthily, she made her way to the back of Double Click's cottage, locating the window that opened into the kitchen. Glancing in, she saw that Double Click was not in the room, and the running water she could hear faintly in the depths of the cottage told her he was still under the shower. She quickly opened the back door - unlocked, as most the doors in Ponyville were, crime being almost unheard of among the colorful ponies - and emptied her vial of poison into the kettle, already full and sitting on the stove, ready to be boiled for tea. Her mission accomplished, she retreated to the bushes, and waited.

She expected to be nervous, but instead found herself growing calmer and calmer as the sounds of the pony entering the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil, and finally  the whistle of the steam reached her ears.

She finally stood as one final sound emanated from the kitchen - the dull "thud" of a lifeless pony's body hitting the floor.

The poison was a clever one. Activating on heat, paralyzing and slowly killing the victim, she was certain that even if she could not complete her task, the chances of Double Click surviving were almost zero. But almost zero was not enough for Zecora. She needed to be certain. Which is why she re-entered the cottage. It was as she had foreseen, as she had pictured it countless times up to that morning. The green unicorn was sprawled on the floor, legs in varying directions, some unnaturally so, head lolling on the floor, with only a slight flicker of the eyes telling Zecora that he was still conscious, if unable to move or use his horn. The ceramic cup lay shattered on the floor by his head, the levitation magic having cut out mid-sip.

Zecora drew near to him. She could smell the fear coming from his body, barely masked by the floral smell of shampoo from the recently completed shower. Slowly, carefully, she drew her knife. Double Click's eyes grew fractionally wider, his breathing increasing slightly, as she came into his eyeliner with the gleaming metal knife. Slowly, deliberately, she brought the knife to his throat and, saying a few words in her native tongue in supplication to the ancestor spirits, she cut into his neck. The blade went in smoothly, and hot, sticky  red blood shot out of the gash, coating Zecora and the kitchen floor. As she continued to drag the blade across the skin, a second, lighter fountain shot out as she cut the second artery. The blood spurted out, once, twice, then a third time, growing weaker with each beat of Double Click's quickly fading heart. Then, the blood stopped, pooling out rather than gushing. Double Click's breathing grew ragged, and then stopped. His eyes stopped moving, lying lifeless in his skull.

Her job done, Zecora dropped the knife, used a kitchen towel to wipe off a small amount of the blood from her coat, and left the cottage behind. She only hoped that the lines of history wouldn't reconfigure themselves to make another killing necessary. The voices of the spirits were already calling to her, and she eagerly awaited their wisdom.