Love Has Unorthodox Shapes

Princess Luna had dragged her blanket over all of Equestria. Her beautifully woven blanket filled with the shimmering stars and her very own shining moon. The streets of Canterlot lay empty, as had the city been deserted by all. Though most had retreated to their bedrooms, either to get proper rest or indulge in whatever fantasies they harbored, a certain mare in a mansion couldn't find the energy to leave her seat in the couch.

A glass stood on the table before her, the contents glowing a bright gold underneath the light of Luna's beautiful sky. Her eyes were fixed on it, watching the liquid glow and shimmer. Between her and the glass, however, was a haze, hanging all around her eyes. She found it difficult to focus, as was it the hardest task she had ever been assigned.

Her hooves lay beside her, and her legs hung off the edge of her seat. Though a vigilant mare, her eyelids were heavy; dangerously close to shutting tight. Behind them were a pair of blank, azure eyes, staring uninterested at the glass. She made not a move, aside from the rising and falling of her chest as she took long breaths. In the couch next to her sat a bottle, newly opened though half empty.

Velvet remembered that bottle. Their friends have brought it on the day her stomach had grown for the very first time. They were kind and sweet. On that day, there had been fireworks and magical games. She particularly remembered their game of Blind Telekinesis. Parchemin Arriéré made a complete fool of herself that night. She did enjoy her champagne.

Though this story is not about her friends. It is about Velvet, the mare sitting in the couch, her eyes watering and her mind blank. Though she looked at the glass, she saw it not. There was only a pony in front of her, along with an all too familiar hoof. She didn't like the painting she saw before her inner eye. She wanted it, more than anything, to simply wash away, yet it didn't. No matter how hard she fought, the image remained, right there in front of her.

From the very corner of her eye, a single drop crept. It saw the moonlight just as her, now free in this world to do what it wanted. And crept it did. Down her cheek, through the fur of her face, all the way down to her cheek. It leaped. From her muzzle it flew, free in the air around it, tasting the sweetness that is the clean world around it. A second was all it got before crashing into her lap, splitting. Into a thousand tears it turned, each of them following the very pattern of their origin, until each and every one of them were firmly pressed against a surface. And there they sat, until they dried out, becoming nothing more than air.

Her stomach churned, mainly in part to what it contained. She had not eaten since dinner, and it had been a while since she had had this much. The cabinet from which she had taken the bottle had been quite full, though it did contain a few empty bottles. Her husband had always enjoyed his nights with friends.

"He always came home late", she mumbled. For a second she wondered whether she thought or said those words. Even a few seconds of the past seemed like a blur to her. Though some memories were cut clear in her mind, one in particular. She didn't enjoy it in the slightest. Not one moment of it. Not her hooves on the floor, not her voice whispering in the room.

She slammed her eyes shut. Salty water dripped from her eyes and below it her lip quivered. Though she sat quite still, it felt as if her body was shifting around in the couch; as if it didn't belong. More than anything, she wanted to leave. Go into the world. See it, taste it, smell it. It was right there, right past the windows.

Yet she stayed in her spot. Velvet sat, like she had sat many times before. She sat most days. Every day, for that matter. Even her job included sitting. It was quite the bore, but sometimes, just sometimes, sitting was exactly what she needed. Sometimes she needed just a moment to herself, staring at nothing in particular.

Getting up, she closed her eyes and held back the air in her stomach. Her body felt alien, yet she walked away from the couch and table. Away from the living room and up the stairs. One careful step at a time. With her hoof on the railing, she made sure not to fall, made sure not to lose footing. It was only once she stopped atop the tallest step that she let her eyes water freely. She needed not her sight to continue. In fact, part of her was thankful for the obscuring of her vision as she walked towards the door at the end of the hall.

She didn't even try. It would creak whether she wanted it to or not. Four centimeters open was all she could get before the horrible sound filled the air around her. Rather than delay, she moves as fast as her body would allow without toppling over into the room. It came instantly. It was nothing more than a grunt, but she knew what followed. Her response was ready, chambered in her mouth and free to fire.

"Honey?" he grumbled.

"Just went to the bathroom." She felt no remorse for her lie; not the slightest bit. Even as she crawled into the bed next to him, she felt nothing. Her body was but a clean slate; only her mind was concerned with anything at all.

"Damn door", he chuckled. "I'll fix it tomorrow."

At the sound of this, Velvet couldn't help but chuckle, though it was far from the happy chuckles she was so used to uttering. "I'm sure you will."

"Are you calling me a liar?" He sounded far more aware, almost fully awake, in fact.

Velvet sighed. She knew what this meant. Unless, of course, he had somehow changed in the span of a day. She had always wondered if a pony could, but she knew now it was entirely possible. In fact, it took far less than she thought. Far less.

"Of course not", she answered hazily. "Love you, honey."

Though she had hoped, it was not to be. Just as she had expected, she felt the very edge of a hoof on her body. First her stomach, but immediately trailing down. Inch by inch, across each hair of fur on her body, all the way down. It was warm, so very warm. The blanket above it rose slightly, giving her some vision of its movement.

She closed her eyes as it found flesh. Her characteristic gasp left her throat, though on this night it left intentionally. Even without looking, she could see the corners of her husband's mouth lift. Mostly in the right side, of course. She even saw his brows lower, his tongue flash across his lips. Even with the darkness consuming her vision, she saw it.

And thus began the night. She wondered how many others. Perhaps only ten, perhaps hundreds. It had long been on her mind, though she never dared ask. There were certain questions one never did voice. The answer simply wasn't worth the looks or the whispers. Whispers were the most terrible of things in Canterlot; that much Velvet knew. Whispers carried weight far greater than Celestia's sun.

Just as the mare named Velvet was awake that night, there were others. In the alleyway behind Chandelier's was a mare and stallion, their scent hovering in the air all around them. On the streets was the recruit, and around the castle walked yet another. In the establishment "Dusk" many were wide awake, some in the bathroom, some on the illuminated dance floor. In households only few, almost all enjoying their time under the watchful guise of the long gone princess.

And in a bedroom full of home-made helmets, armor, painted miniature figures, and notes, another lay awake. Though his body called for sweet rest, his eyes kept popping open. They had done so many nights before, just as he knew. He was not mad, nor was he frustrated. This was but another night. Nights did happen so often, and though this one would steal half an hour of his sleep away, he did not complain. It was as it had always been.

All the colt wished for was to not hear their voices. He could live with the interruption, but not tonight. more than anything, not tonight. They echoed through the home, spreading to every corner and seemingly bouncing to only his room. Sometimes he wondered if he could move to the basement. More than space enough for such a small pony as himself, though it was quite scary. Still, facing his fears seemed at this time easier than listen to the muffled sound of her voice.

It was just as he remembered; just as he knew it was. He had heard it before, many times in fact. Though only once was it not muffled, but rather right next to his ear. It was something he fiercely tried to push away, force into the back of his mind. The woken colt found, however, that doing so was much harder than it seemed. For just one night, he knew exactly the plight of Bravehoof of the tales.

Just as he lay awake, so did she. A certain fullness of her body kept her eyes slammed shut, but her mind quite aware. At least as aware as a pony's mind could be once influenced by the golden liquid. Each push against her she felt, and with it the creaking of the bed. Lower right post, she knew. All it needed was a bit of care; just a bit.

Grunts filled her room, but not her ears. She heard them, of course, but did not linger on them. She even heard his voice, every word he spoke. One could not ignore a voice so close, nor the feeling of its breath on one's ear. Letting it dwindle away into the air, however, was quite another feat; one she had perfected. At least this very night she needn't look him in the eye. Her pillow was all the company she needed, and she was quite thankful for that. Though it meant accepting him in ways she didn't quite enjoy, she would gladly take the tradeoff.

It was only once the image returned that she wished to be free. Only when she closed her eyes and saw not him but another that she wanted to be far away from there, walking burning deserts of the south or freezing mountains of the north. In itself, she knew the image was but a trick of her mind, but when her body responded, she felt herself tremble. It was not as she wished, yet she could not fight it. The minute she saw it before her eyes, she knew it would never fade.

As she fought her darnedest, she heard herself. Stopping a hoof in her mouth, she tried to undo the words, but it was too late. She had already heard them, and so had he. He responded, she heard, though she was unsure what. His words didn't matter. They did at times, not not tonight. Not at this time. No matter what he said.

And she lay there. Until he could no more and collapsed. Until he finally went back to bed. He fell asleep immediately, though not on her. He had the courtesy to move to his own side of the bed. Politeness was always a thing of his; always had been.

And her son lay in his bed as well, hearing the voices stop. He knew now what that meant; he didn't before. But now, now he knew. Somehow, he felt it as well. Feeling just what he felt on that very same day. Yet he tried his best to hide it, tuck it away underneath the blankets. At least until the morrow came. Until the morrow came to pull him from the land of dreams.