Dead Weight

by Spectral Biopsie

Rating: everyone
Tags: Adventure, Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 14729

A cleaning lady makes a terrible decision which ruins her life and those around her, sending many ponies into a downward spiral of conflict and adventure.

Sketchy Schematic, academy dropout and present-time cleaning lady, has the unwise idea of investigating a house primed for demolition after seeing the interest it garners from the Canterlot guardforce.

The ponies who are drawn into the resulting matters have to pick up the pieces of their own lives before they can save the day, however. If they even want to.

Between emotional baggage and the best of intentions, conflicts unfold into a multifaceted adventure as a result.

Contains numerous OCs and canon characters. The length of chapters will likely increase as things progress. Any criticism is appreciated.

*Character tags are presently unreliable until the story moves ahead.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-03-20 00:19:07 UTC

I

Dust. All there was, was dust.

It was seven in the morning. She'd skipped breakfast because she'd been late to work, and now her eyes and nose were running something fierce. And yet, from what she could tell of the room and the sparse and graying furnishings, she had barely scratched the surface on cleaning the damn place.

Twenty minutes of work, useless.

It was going to take a while, Sketchy surmised. Possibly more than a day. And presumably, her pay would be docked for overtime.

That solemn thought was soon interrupted by a series of sneezes and nose rubbings. Sketchy fell back on her rump, eyes squeezing shut, groaning after she sneezed another four times in succession.

Why?

She simply didn't understand the point. That of itself frustrated her more than the years of work before her this morning. She considered it part of the job to know things. Her job, rather - not this job, per se.

How abysmal it had been, to learn that the house was vacant. She enjoyed talking to ponies, asking them questions about their lives while she cleaned. The stories that were told to her - and many ponies loved to tell stories about themselves - always brightened her time. Sometimes she would make friends, and even be given food for her trouble.

This was gong to be a terrible day, she reflected. And nopony to talk to, except the dust-motes.

Her thoughts spun on. Much like the dust hanging like so many snowflakes in the air.

The home had been foreclosed, right? So why was she cleaning it? Had it been un-foreclosed? How did that even work?

Her questions frustrated her, especially in part because nothing had been explained to her by her boss, and probably never would. Yet, her inquiries were as ever unending, shooting themselves rapid-fire across her hyperactive mind, demanding answers. Questions, questions, questions. Noise. Always, her brain was filled with noise.

More noise as of late really; but she refused to think of those reasons in particular.

Sketchy herself was too lazy to bother with the actual research in reality, and she knew it. It was probably all technical-jargon anyway, involving banks. The appeal was in the imagination, not the facts themselves. Reality tended to be disappointing.

After rubbing a smarting eye she re-evaluated her surroundings, grunting as she noticed the beginning of a headache. She hefted herself up to get to work.

There was an old-looking sofa, two upholstered chairs, a small, round coffee table, and a wooden china cabinet. The floral pattern of the plush furniture was barely visible against the white of the walls, a phantom among phantoms. She was in something of a foyer. Or, at least that was her best guess. Through  two separate doorways, one forward and another to her left, she could see equal expanses of white covering the barren contents of living room and a kitchen.

Hmm. Time to peek around. After tucking her feather duster under her wing, she abandoned the cart of cleaning equipment sitting behind her by the front door, and explored. This would be good for an estimate.

Yes that would be the excuse she'd tell her boss later. Getting an estimate. Even her pay hadn't been assigned today, which frustrated her all the more.

Every step left a hoofprint, Sketchy noticed; even the floor hadn't escaped the wrath of the dust, possibly for centuries.

There was a thought.

The home itself was very old, and like most homes in this district of Canterlot, was probably built sometime before or a little after the turn of the 19th century. She could tell from the architecture coming here things were different. The row-houses were much more intricately paneled and painted, even though they still followed the stone and plaster aesthetic of the rest of Canterlot.

Funny thing though. Many row-houses she had passed had touches of gaudy color painted on,  but the house she was in now was quarry-white. Dirty maybe, but untouched by any fashions of the time.

Which was odd, since fashion was so important here. Anypony who was anypony was trendy. If the house had never changed since it's creation, then it had probably never been lived in since its creation, Sketchy mused. Two hundred years then, of wasted house. Yet, there was furniture here.

As Sketchy's eyes wavered abound the scene, steadily making her way through the house and up the stairs, she noticed something. Furniture, yet no furnishings. There were no books, no pictures, no doily-thingies. Nor were there any practical things, like candlesticks or chamber-pots, or even dishes.  The house simply didn't appear lived in. Each room was a skeleton of an actual living space, furnished to the barest minimum, without any sort of personality to be seen.

Unless the owner of the house was dull and lifeless. Perish the thought.

Perhaps the belongings had been confiscated when the home was foreclosed. That could be it. Maybe the pony who had lived here, simply up and left everything behind.

Or they had been completely and utterly boring.

She was overreacting and over-thinking, she knew; trying to make out a conspiracy where there wasn't. She tended to do that, Sketchy admitted. It was fun. Especially when she was bored. Which she was, often. Especially lately. No - don't think about that.

Her hoofsteps reverberated in the wood with every step, which still sounded reasonably solid after so many years, setting a pattern to her thoughts. Thunk, creak, thunk, creak, thunk, creak.

She passed a bedroom as she left the stairs. It held the only open door.

It had been possibly made for a young filly, judging by the delicate ironwork of the empty daybed and the small scale of the furniture.  Light trickling through the cloudy, bare window made the small room appear ethereal and serene, almost magical from the glittering details of cobwebs, bringing to mind gauzy curtains of fairytale queens.

But the room felt unnaturally cold. It was enough that her fur was on end, and her nose, senseless.

There was a shadow on the floor, a smudge that appeared out of place. She paused at this and truly stared, bewildered that it was not some sort of shadow or even the rotten smears of a dead animal.

Sketchy moved closer. It was a scorch mark. A very large one. Something, or perhaps somepony, had cast a spell.

Her eyes drifted to the bed. Had a little filly at any point, watched a duel to the death. Afterwards, did she still have sweet dreams? Or nightmares? Did she sleep well, or was her muzzle clogged with the scent of charred flesh? Or did she smell only ash, when all had been peaceful again?-

-Shut up! The pegasus tossed the image away and suppressed a shiver.

When Sketchy turned around, she saw more dark smudges radiating from the blast mark on the carpet, directed towards the door. Part of a table was chipped and burned as a result.

Murder indeed, She realized, numbly. Or was it self defense? Perhaps it was an escape maneuver, and-

-Shut up, stop making things up. Stop.

Sketchy stared at the marks. What had happened here?

She found it increasingly difficult to breathe. She turned. At first she merely walked, but every second pressed her to hurry. Soon she was in a gallop, crashing into everything on the way down.

When her shoulder collided with a small table on the landing of the stairs she ignored the pain, only stopping when she had reached the front door and was outside, gasping for air and flapping her wings in relief.

A fresh breeze flushed her senses. Sketchy breathed deeply, grateful that such a feeling could ever exist and make her feel alive. She smiled, faintly.

After a few moments, Sketchy lifted her head back to the door.

It was now a heavy dark thing which now hung open, limply inviting toward the dead state of existence within. She stared through the interior, challenging she knew not who or what. Possibly the house itself, for it's secrets.Despite fraying at the edges, she dared herself to know. To learn. It was the best revenge after all, to persevere.

The cold she had felt had been magic.

Sketchy knew this as an intimate fact, as she was allergic to the arcane. Her limbs already felt faint, like sticks that could snap at any moment. Consciously aware of this, her weight rocked on her hooves steadily, wings open for balance. There was a likely chance she would pass out if she went back in there, if she didn't get her medication first.

She was nothing if not stubborn.

Sketchy shut the door and locked it with the key she had received that morning.She made her way at a snail's pace, gauging every hoofstep and wing gesture with utmost scrutiny. Her limbs were like unreliable children. If she could watch them, they would behave.

The cart was left abandoned. It would be safe, inside the house. Not as though anypony would rob a cleaning cart of all things, but hey, useful cleaning supplies, it could happen.

When she returned, medicated and well, Sketchy was surprised and ever-so-miffed to see guards and police-ponies on the lawn.

The front door was wide open and her cart was nowhere to be seen. Sketchy ground her teeth at that fact. Bet she'd have to replace it with her own money.

She recognized the older, red-maned, lavender mare standing in the street to be her boss, China Sparkle, and made her approach.

China was in the middle of berating a guard pony. The poor stallion seemed to be straining to hold the stoic face he had been trained to maintain as they discussed, Sketchy guessed, the house. And perhaps whatever devolving from that - Ms. Sparkle tended to get insulting.

Famously, the mare was the Princess Twilight Sparkle's second cousin. Infamously, she was a hellhound to her workers and anypony that opposed her. China was fun at parties.

Well, if her stuff was in the lawn, then clearly Canterlot didn't want this house cleaned, despite it passing though the paperwork. Huh.

Breathing deeply and preparing for respite, she approached the two ponies.

"So, what's going on? I had to go get my medication before I could start working, and now I'm out of the job." Sketchy focused on her employer and clenched her teeth in the broadest, innocent smile she could manage. She would not be called out for laziness or excuses again, especially a time like this.

Ms. China Sparkle smiled thinly in what was plain contempt.

"Sketchy?" The guard asked.

Sketchy turned her head.

She must have looked baffled, since the guard's mouth was curling into a smile. " Hey, so I guess after the Major kicked you out, you're...Doing this?" He gestured a hoof to Ms. Sparkle. Her career, rather. "We were just talking about you."

Sketchy eyed the dark, smoke-colored unicorn stallion steadily. "I don't remember you, I'm sorry."

The guard barked a laugh. "Enchanted armor is lovely, isn't it? It's Peppermint Stroke, Sketchy."

A cream-colored stallion with a red and white-striped mane came to mind. Ah.

Sketchy smiled slightly, although now she was trying to suppress the heat in her cheeks. Ah. She couldn't find much to say.

"Nice to see you, Mint," Sketchy said after a devastating few seconds."I guess you got promoted."

The stallion gave a pleased nod. "I'm heading the Civilian Protection Division now, with old Goldilocks Drop."

"Right," Was all she could muster, swallowing roughly to clear her throat. "Well good luck to you, I should get back to cleaning."

Peppermint gave her an odd look, and frowned. "As I've been explaining to Ms. Sparkle here, you can't."

"Why?" Sketchy scowled.

"I think you know why, if you had to go back and get your allergy medication, Sketchy." The stallion intoned thoughtfully, holding her gaze with glamoured golden eyes.

"Leave my allergies out of this," Sketchy said after a pause of staring. Fitfully, she was unable to come up with a rebuke, and pawed at the pavement with a hoof.  "What's going on? My company was given clearance to clean the house-"

"-And as I was telling Ms. Sparkle, that was a faulty paper-work transaction, and the home was supposed to be demolished, not. Er. Cleaned," Peppermint cut in, blinking at the word.

Sketchy's body stiffened. "So I'm just supposed to go home now then, huh?"

"Yes," Peppermint replied, although with a slight hesitancy and a light sigh. "The Canterlot authorities will take it from here. You can't know anything specific, so don't even ask." He gestured with a hoof as soon as she opened her mouth.

"Fine then," Sketchy huffed. Her eyes darted to the cart. "But I don't have my duster-"

"-We, ah, confiscated it to be destroyed," Peppermint informed her. "For magical contamination."

Sketchy could really only glare at her former friend, unable to come up with anything to say.

Sketchy looked between her employer, and the guard. "Fine," She told them, and walked off without another word.  Although, this certainly wouldn't be the end of it. She would figure out what was up with that house.

Hm. Magical contamination. Was she contaminated?  That was a good question.

Oh, and was she fired?

She could have sworn she heard Ms. Sparkle call her name, but her hooves only carried her farther and farther away at a jagged pace. She was snorting heatedly, barely able to suppress her building anger.

Let her boss be the one to call her about it, Sketchy thought feverishly. She didn't care at all. Nope, nope, nope.

The shadows looming in her peripheral with depth-less white eyes agreed collectively that yes, this was the right way to think.

Sketchy's heart quickened at the realization she wasn't alone, and in turn she trotted just a little bit faster to her apartment across town.

II

Even worse, her mind didn't challenge the phantoms.

The shadowy presences, uniform in their vaguely stallionesque figures, merely lurked. They never entered the direct forefront of her sight, never touched her nor made a sound.

Sketchy would have called them shy, but once or twice she was distinctly aware of a specter inches from her face. She could certainly tell that size was not an illusion. The stallions were twice her filly-like stature and thus very much proportional to the space they occupied.

They seemed to be watching her. Clearly, that was the only thing they were doing, but as for why she couldn't say. They weren't answering her questions. It was upsetting.

"So, do you have any other hobbies?"

No response.

"Are you one stallion or-" Sketchy tried to count. "One, two, three - " She blinked, and her room was suddenly overrun with ghosts.

Sketchy jumped. "Hey, be polite, I'm trying to keep track of you all!"

They were soon another number. And then a different number.

She sighed in relief. They were always changing, she remembered. Every blink, they jumped in their driftings and did their thing, unhindered by any obstruction.

"Do you have a name?" Sketchy asked.

No response. But then, that had been the fifth of that question. She was running out of ideas.

"Fine, then I suppose I'll call you my Dark Legion, and we will conquer Equestria tomorrow." Sketchy huffed, falling back onto her bed. "No arguments, don't talk to me."

Humor was all she had going for her to stay sane at this point. But then, she wasn't supposed to address her hallucinations, was she? This was probably only making it worse. On a technicality, this was a ghost, right? Ghosts, plural? She was haunted, not crazy.

There was no reaction from the apparitions, not a sound, and so she was left to her own thoughts.

Sunlight streamed through the blinds in cheery rays. It was a comfort, but she didn't know what she'd do once it went dark out. She had the sneaking paranoia the shadows would get stronger and hurt her.  After all, that was what always happened in the movies, and dark magic itself was inherently evil. There was a very strong chance of something bad happening whenever the sunlight couldn't keep the dark at bay.

Ghosts didn't tend to act like a bunch of stupid goldfish in the movies. That there was a stipulation to counter her fears. Maybe she was just crazy. Sketchy breathed and shifted, stretching out her legs. She should probably call somepony about this. Perhaps get checked by a doctor, too.

"How do you feel about check ups and shots?" She asked the spirits in a soft voice.

When they didn't answer, she pretended they did.

"Oh yeah, I know what you mean. But then, it's only supposed to hurt a little, and it's for the greater good." Sketchy paused. "I'm sure the 1800s were terrible though, weren't they? You must be sick of leeches."

"Oh no, they don't use leeches anymore," She continued. "Although sometimes ponies act like them. But that's nothing new to you, huh?"

"Right," She sighed, and then gave up on trying to improve the situation. With humor at least. Humor didn't really work well, ever.

The room was slowly growing colder, she noticed, which definitely wasn't a good sign.

Her eyes drifted to the fan as it spun overhead, the blades a smear of brown wood until her eyes found the right pace to track them. Silver party-beads were tangled about the necks of the pull-chains, sparkling with light, and clicking softy.The opposing wall was a caramel brown, and beside the headboard of her bed were a row of large posters. Band gigs that had looked interesting, a world map stylized from the 16th century, a few prints from some major locomotive companies of their steam-engine designs.  White shreds of paper marked where her 'Visual Guide to the Equestrian Armory' and a few family photos had hung. The poster was out with the trash, but the photos were probably in a drawer somewhere.

What if she died, and somepony had seen this wall? What if the house killed her, and they had to search for evidence for a suicide? Would they think she broke in out of spite, or-

The sound of chiming bells elicited a scream before Sketchy recognized her phone and fetched it. "Yes?" She answered, attempting to sound busy, but the word turned into a squeak. Her heart was pounding in her ears.

"Sketchy? I'm on break, and I realized we hadn't spoken in a long time until this morning. How are you?"

"Ah." Sketchy made a series of noises, her voice cracking with the inability to say anything for the moment, before she took a deep breath and steeled herself.

"I know we left off badly a couple years ago at the Royal Guard Academy," Peppermint Stroke continued, " And it was really surprising to see you as a maid of all things- Sketchy, hello?"

"I am perfectly happy and fine, thank you very much," Sketchy ground out. " Very happy, very healthy, and no, I don't care about your rank! I don't even envy it, not in the slightest! Don't even care, nope. I don't even care if I get fired now either."

"Sketchy, you're, ah. Yelling. And I can barely understand you."

"Duly noted," Sketchy snapped. "Do you want fries with that?"

Oh Celestia, she would have to wind up working at some hayburger-selling restaurant, wouldn't she? She was completely useless for anything else, right? This proved it. Shhe couldn't even keep a cleaning job. She would have to go out and get applications, wouldn't she? So she could write up her reasons why she should be covered in fry-grease and get fat off the extras. Then she'd become the only fat pegasus for miles -

There came a sigh. "I'm not going to pretend things are alright and peachy. Clearly, you're still upset over what happened, and you know, I understand that. I know what it's like to lose dreams, believe me. And you were.... Are, a very amazing mare, and you have such talent and intelligence. If we can perhaps talk over coffee one day may-"

Click.

Sketchy's hoof was shaking as she set down the receiver with great care. Her eyes burned. She rubbed them furiously, but that only made it worse, the tears bubbling forth and flowing despite how hard she pressed. That stupid... She could only think of one thing in her stream of fury.

That stupid stallion, She finished, with his stupid ideas and stupid pity and stupid gloating shiny armor... Stupid face.

She had never been good with insults.

The tears thankfully didn't take long to stop, but her nose was stuffed. She ripped a tissue from it's place on her nightstand, and tossed the used wad in the trash.

The specters continued to watch. Without emotion, without care, without any soul at all.

Sketchy threw the tissue box at one of them. With great pleasure, the silhouette vanished. She watched as the cardboard clattered and fell uselessly onto the floor. This only fueled her rage. She had the power over these little things now.

"Why don't you have a sense of privacy, you stupid things?" Sketchy snarled. " Why don't you care, or say something, or just do something, huh? Stop staring at me! Quit judging me, and if you want to kill me do it alrea-"

A squeak ended her sentence.

A figure filled her vision.

Sketchy fell over.

It was no longer simply a shade. The details of fur and withered grey flesh were visible now, if shadowed; the figure gaunt, the neck, a spindled tower for a bulbous skull with dark sockets and sunken cheeks, a rotting nose and a perpetual grin. It was a living mummy, and it's sightless eyes -his, rather- were focused on her. Expectantly. The pony hung before her, the details of his lower form coalescing into shadows hinting at long, powerful legs that were a bit too long for an average stallion.

Expectantly staring. Expectantly.

Wanting something.  Her paralyzed mind was piecing the sight together. It could think.

Sketchy screamed and threw herself under her desk, wings and hooves folding themselves over her head and neck, curling into a ball while all she could do was bellow out prayers and pleadings and insults, none of which came out coherently but still her mouth ran on and on, babbling to safe her life, babbling to make noise to prove she was alive - could the dead make a sound?- and she was still conscious. There were no thoughts, only compulsions, and she found herself lulling into a sleep after awhile, completely exhausted and soaked with sweat.

Maybe. Maybe she had just had a nightmare.

Peace wouldn't be possible otherwise, right? Peace meant things were okay.

Sketchy crawled out with all the grace of a skittish cat. She felt like one.

When the coast was clear, she got up, breathing so deeply she swore her body rose on it's own. But, there was nothing there, and that's what mattered. Not her numb hooves or addled brain, but that she was perfectly and utterly okay.

There was coffee to make. She could make coffee, and pretend that absolutely nothing had happened, and her life was normal, and she wasn't sick.

Sketchy clung to these positive thoughts.

Vanilla, she promised, would do the trick. Vanilla-flavored coffee with a lot of milk.

It was regarding her from over the kitchen counter. It's head was through her coffee-maker.

Sketchy could only stare with as much hate and fear she could possibly muster, a mouse in a cobra's vision. She didn't blink.

"Fuck you."

There was only that expectant stare.

Sketchy turned on her hooves and stomped back into her room.

The sunlight did nothing to it, passing through it's tattered ear harmlessly without interruption as it met her above her bed. Sketchy continued the glaring contest. Yet no reaction.

"Don't," She managed, "Do that to me again. Don't get in my face, or I'll exorcise your scary butt, do you hear me?"

Silence. Nothing.

As she blinked a few more times, she realized that the multitude of shadows had dwindled permanently to that single figure. Who didn't want to get in her face anymore.

Yet, She corrected herself.

Sketchy gracefully crumpled onto the floor a second time, wrapped her head in her hooves,and moaned about her terrible, stupid luck and life. Stupid respectful hauntings to boot. Stupid respectful hallucinations rather. She couldn't even tell. Didn't even know the difference, if there was a difference. Even in the world of magic, ghosts weren't real.

After a long silence, during which nothing occurred, nothing surprised her, and nothing was heard except the sound of her heavy breathing, Sketchy peeled herself from the floor and with a sigh, set about straightening up what she could of her bedroom.  It helped her think, to organize things. And she needed to think. Even... Even if she was crazy. Or haunted. She didn't know which was preferable now.

Her room was a much more cheery presence than it's occupant. Even though she wasn't an artist, she enjoyed the look and feel of difference materials, different hues, and how light and shadow bounced off of each and every one. She had tried to incorporate as much as she could for the sake of interest, balancing the dancing sights with the structures of her desk and filing cabinets so that things wouldn't get cluttered.

There wasn't really anything messy aside from the patterned-hemp floor pillows, but those were in a stack anyway. She kicked those under the bed.

Then, moved her pink desk lamp from the desk to the filing cabinets, then her fishbowl to the desk.

Then, she moved her hairbrush to the windowsill along her bed.

Then, she moved her fishbowl to her nightstand. Studied it. Then moved it back.

She made her bed, and arranged the crocheted blankets. Stood back again.

She opened the floral curtains above her bed,  and moved her crimson-laced oval rug closer to the front door.

Sketchy moved the rug a bit to the middle of the floor, and then seeing the dust, fetched the broom from the other room to clean it up.

Then, she moved the rug back toward  the bedroom door, after judging it's worth for a good minute and a half.

It was positively inane, but the motions helped the pegasus settle down. A plan was forming in her mind. She had already considered sneaking back into the house that night - and the clock read 1:09 in the afternoon, so there was plenty of time to prepare - but as to how, she hadn't an idea. Or even the time.

But -and here she glanced at the figure standing through her printer- tonight would probably be unlikely. Not only due to the possibility of her spooky little friend getting nasty, but if the house was condemned then it would be demolished as soon as the guards were done doing their thing.

Whatever their thing was.

Sketchy sighed deeply. Peppermint. He had tried to make things up. She could use him as an excuse for visiting and snooping.

It would be a horrible experience, but she could do it. She could talk to him.

The ghoulish pony seemed to smile, encouraging her to go on with it.

"I hate you," She told it.

No reaction.

With another deep breath, she tucked her keys under her wing, and left the room.

It had been cool that morning, but as the sun rose so did the temperature. Now, with Her Divine Light high overhead, Peppermint Stroke found himself itching in his heavy armor. The others had retreated into the tainted house with his permission. It was unnaturally cold in there, but the danger had passed. The enchantments woven into the layers of metal of their armor would protect them from the majority of the curses that yet lingered after centuries in the dust.

Peppermint himself was relegated to standing outside in the weeds, facing the street for the arrival of the legendary Shining Armor. It was unnerving that the Princesses themselves had sent out a request for his involvement, one Peppermint was trying not to think terribly much of the implications for.

His mind was at an impasse; either consider the present situation, or perhaps the failed remedy with the young mare? Both were impossible to navigate. He dropped both scenarios altogether, clearing his mind to resume a stoic expression. It was the most practical thing to do in order to maintain mental integrity in the field.

Or would have been. Unless the dehydration enchantment was failing and he was hallucinating, Sketchy Schematic was trotting down the road towards him.

The stallion sat more upright, watching the mare as she came near. He noted in surprise that he hadn't been mistaken, although took a glance to her flank for a good measure. An eight-pointed, sky-blue star was the backdrop for an oddly-shaped white cloud with crisscrossing lines. This was without a doubt, Sketchy.

The mare was smiling. Peppermint watched her closely.

"I thought you were upset," He said.

Sketchy's smile thinned. "I was." Before her eyes met his, they wavered to the house. Her feathers were ruffled. Her shoulders, hunched.

Peppermint ignored the signs, inclining his head. "And what changed?"

Sketchy huffed a breath. "Well," And here her gaze flicked to the grass, while she took a seat along the curb, "You...Wanted to make amends. Make me, you know, feel better," She said. " But I wasn't ready for that. I'm still not, to be honest. I don't want to change anything yet."

Her jaw clenched. "But you were a great friend and role model. I don't want to let that relationship go to waste. It...Has been a long time, after all." Her eyes flicked towards his.

Peppermint had long since realized that belying her sharp mind and charming personality was a mare ten years his junior. She had been barely out of her fillyhood, Mint recalled, when she had been presented with a generous scholarship to the Royal Guard Academy. It had something to do with her talent, and her skills with making things work - he wasn't sure exactly what - but she had a difficult time fitting in with the older students, and never had had a friend her age before that. Sketchy had been emotionally immature then, and he sensed that she was still immature in some ways now.

"We can still be friends,"Peppermint answered, carefully. "I could invite you over to dinner at some point. You can meet my wife."

Sketchy's brow knit. "You...Got married?"

"Yes," He answered. "Three years ago, actually."

The mare's posture shifted between her forehooves, clearly not sure what to do with this information. "Do I know her?"

Peppermint decided she would not. "She went to the Academy," He answered thoughtfully, "But I don't think you two met."

Sketchy huffed a sigh, and flexed her small wings. "Alright then," She said. "Well. I suppose you can just hit me up with an invitation sometime."

"It was nice seeing you," Peppermint told her softly. He smiled, hoping to encourage her mood.

Sketchy's eyes flashed up in alarm. "Oh! No, I'm not leaving yet. There was still more to talk about!"

"Sketchy," Peppermint sighed, "I'm working right now, and it's a heavy duty operation."

"You're sitting in the grass," Sketchy remarked. "And you're guarding a house." She shot him a look.

"I am waiting on somepony to show up," Peppermint corrected her firmly, "Because we need a certain expertise to finish the job, since a certain magic is involved that could leak into the population and cause havoc if it isn't contained."

He narrowed his eyes, realizing what he had said through his hints, and clicked his teeth. "Great. Now I've compromised my own intel. I hope you're satisfied."

Sketchy smiled a touch. She looked worn, he realized, and her eyes, overshadowed by something. "I suppose I have to stay then, don't I? Otherwise I will compromise your mission further, if say, I were to blab to the neighbors what's going on?" Her tail flicked.

Peppermint gave her a look. "You will do no such thing. I will call somepony down to pick you up and wipe your memory," he grunted.

Wireframe, I need you to send somepo- Damn!

When his horn flared to life in an aura of green, Sketchy had took off running.

Peppermint was forced to sit still in order to complete the spell.

What? Came a gruff voice from the other end, faintly.

We have a civilian interference, Peppermint finished, before hauling himself off the ground in pursuit, his hooves thundering through the weeds after the smaller, flitting shape who zig-zagged across the yard and vanished around back.

"Damn it, Sketchy," He whispered to himself, as he slowed. "Not now."

There was no sign of her. She was either on the roof, or gone.

Peppermint inhaled deeply. He would pretend nothing had happened, and everything would be all right.

Yes.

Peppermint headed back around to wait in the yard.  Despite his failure, he was still praying Sketchy would not get into trouble. He was trusting her not to be stupid.

Would she be stupid though?  He could never predict her easily. He didn't know. Sometimes she did, sometimes she didn't.

But a good guard never panicked and always took things in stride.

III

Sketchy's small body was pressed against the roof, bright blue eyes observing the guard below, carefully.

Peppermint Stroke looked about casually -never up-  and after a few moments of pacing went back around to wait in the yard. Sketchy shifted onto the other side of the triangular roof out of caution, but he didn't even try to look for her further. It was a surprisingly non-confrontational experience.

Sketchy grit her teeth.

Of course, her strategy was fairly obvious in two ways, even if he hadn't known her. One, her directive toward the house, her first mistake, meant her intentions were transparent. Two, pegasi were notorious for 'roosting', a simple tactic of waiting up-high until the coast was clear. She could either stay up on the roof until the detonation, unable to move, or she could fly down and get caught. Or, better yet, fly off and pretend nothing happened, which was Peppermint's strategy now, in walking form.

Peppermint had an image to keep with his new rank, so he wasn't going to outright tell his subordinates a goofy pegasus was on the roof if it would distract them from their mission. He also had an image to keep because somepony was visiting. It was probably somepony important if he was sitting in the grass in the hot sun, away from the group. And then she had seen his horn glowing, so he had probably called somepony over to get her, like he had threatened to.

So, technically, her plan was compromised. She could either sit around and be reprimanded, fly down and get reprimanded, fly away and make things up later, or do something stupid and die.

And probably, being reprimanded would involve prison. What fun.

Ugh, this had gone so much smoother in her head, Sketchy sighed. And her plan had involved going through the front door, not... This. Why did Peppermint have to have a wife? Why'd she have to get distracted? Lying was hard enough as it was.

Sketchy shifted, the rotten tiles sliding under the pressure of her hooves. Something inside the roof creaked. That didn't sound good. She moved slowly downwards, noticing then as shingles skittered away how there were odd soft spots in the roof. Hm.

To place a cloud-boom, or not.

How bad could she make this, Sketchy wondered? She was already screwed, since she wouldn't -couldn't- give up. If she didn't know now, she'd never get the chance again. The questions would just natter at her forever, 'Why didn't you find me?' and she'd probably go crazy. She considered the possibility before turning her thoughts on the ghoulish figure beside her.

Spookyface Mcsmiles watched her casually as it hovered in the empty space above the slanting roof. Could the figment make things worse? Legitimately haunt her, even? Well, it's presence certainly didn't answer anything except bring up more questions, so there was that.

"You know, I wish you could talk, it'd be a lot more convenient," Sketchy muttered. "Or, at least play charades. You got in my face earlier, so why can't you do something now?"

There was deadpan silence from the specter, but that spoke enough. Either way she was going to be haunted for the rest of her life, so she'd better try to fix some of that while she could. On her own.

Sketchy sighed and resumed feeling across the roof slowly. Sweat began to stain her fur under the sun, attracting insects to the damp. Her hooves and belly were scalded by the tile, the burns only marginally helped by the crumbling decomposition. The tile was some kind of ceramic, long since worn by the weather and eaten by the lichen. Perhaps they were once a dark grey, befitting the rest of the house before Her Divine Light decided to bleach the shingles pale.

Hopefully there was some place she could simply press her way through. A cloud-boom would definitely attract attention, and she didn't want to destroy anything. She didn't want to become a terrorist with the explosion, and she definitely didn't want to cause a cave-in and hurt anypony. Hm, perhaps as a distraction.

It dawned on Sketchy that she could probably plead insanity in court and get away with anything. Crazy or not, nopony was supposed to have a mental sidekick 24/7. The thought made her pause and reconsider her mentality.

She moved onwards, a little slower and more careful in her gestures than before, the cloud-boom idea abandoned.

Every now and then she would snort at the gnats and flies, but they never got the message, flitting into her eyes and nose, crawling into the fur under her legs.

Sketchy shook her head impatiently, and her balance faltered when she had rubbed her face - and as she fell backwards, something beneath her gave way.

Sketchy fell into a chilling darkness a few feet below. She was stunned, coughing and gasping as she heard sounds elsewhere. Voices, muffled. Every breath was a challenge to draw for some reason, despite the hole of sunlight blazing inches above her head.

She rolled over and bumped her head against the ceiling. Hard.

Sketchy let out a low moan and curled up in agony. There was about a foot or two of crawlspace here, she realized, when the pain subsided and she had opened her eyes - not to see anything, but as a reflex while she felt around, carefully.

The hole she had made was useless. For some reason, that was all it was- a sunny hole to the outside. Here was another world. The light was too far away. She was floating within a dark and peaceful ambiance. Yet, she could feel wood underneath her. As well as- well, soft things that didn't need to be named. She was on a solid surface, a flooring. That was enough to comfort her.

It was hard to think.

She felt sleepy, weak. Her body was going numb, and that wasn't helping.

Magic. This was magic.

Dark magic, it was dark. Evil. Powerful. Bad.

Her medication wasn't working. This was too much.

Sketchy coughed and beat her head with her hooves where she lay. Focus.

She could...

Her thoughts drifted, her eyes meeting the glowing, sightless gaze of her...Her...

Shadow, that was it. This was her shadow.

It was calling her. Directing her.

Move. The realization hit her.The roof sloped up. If she could move closer to the center, she could get out. That way, somehow. There could be a door.

Focus! Sketchy started to crawl along the floorboards. Keep on thinking! Her limbs dragged themselves along. No longer able to feel them, they were a struggle to control.

Dark magic. What did she know about dark magic?

It didn't like light. Simple, but one. It was used by evil creatures to defy the laws of nature. Two. There were psychological effects, and physical ones, both from use and being cursed. Okay. Three.

Sketchy couldn't think of much else for that, so she asked herself about evil things.  Okay, evil. Also doesn't like light, one. Some evils have specific weaknesses, like salt. Two. Evil didn't like music, three -

Music.

But she could barely breathe. Well. It didn't have to be loud. And it would give her something to focus on. She could barely keep her eyes open as it was.

Sketchy took a shallow breath.

You tell me I have little taste,

And I can't ever keep the pace,

Well I try and do my best,

And only I should know the rest,

Mistakes I've made, but made so few,

So tell me once and tell me two,

Who are you to disagree,

When I'm the one in harmony?

Slowly, by the end of that, it was easier to breathe. Some. She was still struggling, and the air was freezing in her lungs- but there was an improvement. The fact encouraged her, despite how weak she felt, to continue her melodic whispers. It was this or death.

The end can be a threat you see,

But nothing you can do stops me,

So with your prayers, say goodbye

my stars will shine a lulla-

"-Bye?"  came a voice.

Sketchy froze. There was nothing in the dark that suggested movement, not a sound she could have heard.

Looking about, she saw nothing except a pair of glowing eyes looming above her. Sketchy sighed in relief. She had imagined it. The voice had been so faint, so whispery and there was nopony-

"You shouldn't have met me," said the voice again. It was close. Masculine and rasping.

"I-I'm sorry," Sketchy heard herself say around her shock. She rubbed her head. Forced herself to stay awake, despite the growing pain in her skull.  It was an agony that sent her tumbling through her mind.

"You should leave," Sketchy mumbled suddenly. Her eyes closed, too heavy a burden to bear.

The voice.  She didn't even entirely believe herself now. Perhaps her delusions had extended to her hearing. There shouldn't have been a hobo up here.

The house will be blown up, She wanted to say. You should-

She couldn't breathe. And she was okay with that.

Sketchy's thoughts trailed off, crushed into oblivion.

The guards were milling about the row-house, still taking the time here and there to pry apart whatever walls and floorboards remained. There was a stiffness in their movements, a sense of being alert even while each operative's eyes lacked the focus to linger on anything in particular. The unicorns were more wary than the earth ponies. Eyes darted about while various hues flickered to life and then faded as quickly as possible, their efforts followed by several weak avalanches of plaster.

The house was already gutted, the walls and floors reduced to skeletons and makeshift plywood scaffolding. The second floor had received a similar treatment, although the stairs and the landing had been left intact. There was nowhere to hide. The furniture had even been tossed into a bonfire out back. If anything still lurked within the home, it should have been seen - but it hadn't. Nothing had been revealed, and so the condition of the mission was stagnant.

Somepony had pointed out the word 'liar' they had discovered in the filly's room, carved into the baseboard. Following an investigation, that pony was then whacked upside the head after crude doodles of hearts, flowers, and the odd dragon were also found to line the walls.

The only success the stallions had collectively faced had been a series of soft thumpings above their heads at one point. This proved to be misleading however, as they found nothing in the attic after two stallions had braced themselves to look.

There was the report of singing at one point, the notes however heard only by an older guard on the second floor and then conveniently never repeated again. The older guard, a graying stallion by the name of Blueberry Vigil, was sent to the hospital for delusions. The incident didn't aid the dwindling confidence of the mission, and many a stallion were now ticking away the seconds until Shining Armor would arrive and they would all be relieved of duty and sent home.

The waiting was agonizing. It had been reported that Shining Armor's train would be arriving later than scheduled. Stallions had begun to pray off-hoof for something exciting to happen.

When a loud crash and a thump resounded overhead, stallions stumbled over one another to investigate. Those who couldn't make it to the stairs quick enough to escape the charging blockade of bodies were quick to disintegrate their intentions and go back to what they were doing, albeit with one ear cocked and ready.

"We found a filly!" Somepony bellowed. There was a clatter of hooves on the stairs before a guard stumbled onto the planks before them. A limp orange bundle sat suspended in his indigo magic, which was then carried carefully outside. The eyes of the others followed him out, their jaws clenched. Many resolved to spend time with his family that night.

"What happened?" One pony asked the next guard that descended the stairs, a few minutes later. Unlike the rush of the first, his pacing was almost sheepish.

"Ah..." The stallion licked his lips. "A trap door has opened from the ceiling of the attic." he paused. "It appears the crawlspace was put into use. I saw a coffin."

Hearts leapt, but more than one gaze drifted to the front door. "Is the filly...?" The pony's words trailed. None of them could see any signs of smoking out in broad daylight. Although Commander Stroke looked like he was having a fit.

The unicorn huffed a deep breath. "She's not undead, no. But she is very close to dying."

"How did she-"

"I don't know," The unicorn responded gravely, pawing at a step with a hoof. "Men who wish to follow, lets go. We have a mission and I hope to complete it." He turned, tail giving a flick. Paused. "The rest of you can offer your support."

"Yes, Lieutenant Cloverfield," Came a few murmurs.

Peppermint Stroke was failing to keep his composure. He was aware of this but could do nothing about it. He was sure his men were seeing this as well.

He snorted heatedly, repeatedly, nostrils flared at the small orange form that had been placed before him. He had restrained himself from bellowing his alarm, and now he struggled to remain seated. His body itched to get up, and as he sat, trying to project an air of calm, the effort it took to remain still was causing him to shake.

"Sir?" Asked the guard.

"C-" Damn it, he could barely speak! "Call an ambulance."

"But sir," The guard swallowed. " Why not teleport her to the hospital? It would be quicker."

He didn't know what to say. Should he tell this pony he knew her? Knew her, knew she was on the premises, and hadn't said anything? Or would it be worse to say he had known her, and lied about knowing where she had been? That.  That would have been unbelievable. The link would have been made and he would surely be called out for lying. All an interrogation took nowadays was a few simple spells. There was a 98% success rate.

Should he have agreed with the teleportation, to appear less conspicuous? Even though it would probably kill Sketchy outright? How could he justify an ambulance of all things, to a unicorn, without telling him about Sketchy's allergy?That this was a life-threatening allergic reaction and even being in proximity to the two of them was making it worse?

To wait for an ambulance would mean waiting on traffic, no matter the benefits. Teleportation would be easier and safer - usually - since it would shorten the wait before she got treatment...

Sketchy was going to die. Peppermint's jaw clenched. She was going to die, and he was going to be fired for carelessness.

"Sir?" The guard prompted.

Peppermint heaved a deep breath. "Taking her to the hospital on hoof will be safer," He said slowly, "Because then the arcane nature of your spellwork has no chance of making her condition worse."

"This... filly," Peppermint continued, "Has been poisoned by high concentrations of dark magic. Clearly." Although he didn't know where she had found it... Damn it, Sketchy.

"And dark magic feeds off of other magical sources, which is a main reason for its potency," The guard answered thoughtfully, to Peppermint's gratitude. "Good call, sir."

Peppermint gave a shaky nod. "Fetch one of our experts and have him meet you at the hospital. Run like the wind. Her life is in your hooves."  Scary words for the stallion, He reflected, watching as panic flickered across the guard's face. But it took the weight of this responsibility from his own shoulders, which was good, as he had other things to handle.

Sketchy's limp body was levitated onto the unicorn's back. Peppermint watched as the stallion galloped off, distantly observant. Unicorns were poor runners. He wouldn't make it in time.

Still. Peppermint sighed and turned his attentions to the house. That pony had a good heart to try. Unlike him.

His horn lit up.

Reporting in, Peppermint announced. Civilian interference rediscovered and dispatched.

Really? Came Wireframe's voice. The pony I sent out returned inconclusive.

Peppermint gulped. The civilian has been found unconscious and near death, likely having succumbed to the dark-magic. The civilian has been sent to the hospital on my orders.

So to clarify, Wireframe said, Does the evidence conclude that the dark magic is starting to leak into the area?

No, Peppermint corrected, perhaps a bit too frantically. An evacuation of the block is not in order. The civilian was found inside the house.

How did the civilian bypass your perimeters? Wireframe asked.

Peppermint hesitated. Through the roof. It was the best guess he had.

Your guess is inconclusive until further evidence is collected, Wireframe told Peppermint, catching him off guard.

Of course, Peppermint answered.

And what measures were taken to the adjacent row-houses on either side? Wireframe asked, changing the subject.

The occupants were evacuated and relocated into new homes, along with their belongings, said Peppermint. They were also given eligibility for free psychiatric care.

You've been thorough, Wireframe noted.

Peppermint preened at that. I try.

You try too hard, Wireframe corrected him. Peppermint's ego deflated. So no reports of dark magical contamination in the other homes?

Ah - no, Peppermint replied. The dark magic has been found to have been contained solely in this one building, with no signs of displaced residue from our detection spells.

Our occupant has been oddly considerate, Wireframe said dully. Well, that is good. Keep me updated.

As I shall, Peppermint promised.

Peppermint's horn went out, he turned back towards the road.

He found himself gawking at the pristine white unicorn in crystal-embellished, royal purple armor who  now stood before him, towering rather. Worse, the unicorn appeared faintly amused, if a bit sweaty and tired from his long trip.

Peppermint scrambled into position. "Prince Shining Armor, sir! It's an honor to have you serving with us today, sir!" He saluted.

"Staying on target I hope?" Shining Armor's smile waned, although Peppermint was already suppressing his embarrassment. The unicorn gestured his horn to the house.  "Tell your men to lay down their detonation spells and get out. Once the coast is clear, I will cast my shield to contain the blast."

"Right sir," Peppermint nodded. As was planned. His horn lit up.

Lieutenant Cloverfield, Shining Armor has arrived. Arrange the men in formation, have them deploy their detonations, and -

What about the coffin? Cloverfield asked.

Peppermint frowned. What coffin?

The coffin we have discovered above the attic, Cloverfield clarified. What do we do with it?

Destroy it, was Peppermint's answer. Our occupant is probably inside.

There was a pause. No he isn't, Cloverfield answered carefully. There... Isn't a body.

Alright then, he's likely hiding. Tell the men to get out.

Another thing, sir. The levels of dark magic are actually going down now, from what my spells are telling me.

Wait. What?

He's... Flown the coop, sir.

Peppermint froze. His thoughts blanked white, his neck prickling with more than heat. This couldn't be happening. This, of all things, couldn't be happening. No.

Er, came Cloverfield's voice. It...Has. What measures will we be taking, sir?

Peppermint drew in a ragged breath. He ignored Shining Armor's gaze upon him.

Continue as planned. The house is probably too tainted to be livable. Tell...Tell the men to get out. Later on I'll figure out what... What to do.

Understood sir, Cloverfield sighed. Over and out.

Right..,Came Peppermint's weak reply.

With the spell ended, Peppermint mustered every inch of his will-power to keep from falling over in shock.

"Is something wrong?" Shining Armor asked, as the guards filed out in an orderly fashion.

He'd just let a lich escape into Canterlot. He'd just let a lich escape into Canterlot. He'd just let a lich escape into Canterlot.

Everything was perfectly fine. Except for that.

Sketchy's death. That too.

"I'm..." Peppermint swallowed and steadied himself with all the guard-like poise he could muster. "I think I will relieve myself early. The sun is starting to get to me." He shakily arose and began to wander off. "Lieutenant Cloverfield will take over the report."

"As you will, Commander," Came Shining Armor's voice, a tone of confusion hinted but not expanded upon.

Peppermint ignored him, as he ignored a few off-hoof whispers of 'work fatigue'.

He'd just let a lich escape into Canterlot.

IV

Princess Luna slumbered.

Her mind curled in on itself like a cat within the depths of her own dreamscape, peacefully alone, untouched by the quandaries of the waking world. Her thoughts spiraled through the many doors of this special realm, deeper and deeper into the embrace of unconsciousness, through water and stardust, diamonds and cerulean sand. Without the possession of a physical body, her mind became liquid mercury, graced with a freedom unlike any other as it made an endless and fruitless journey toward the end of all things.

Always go towards the end, she knew, because it was not the beginning.

She had been on this path a thousand times, recognized its every mark. The familiarity never bored her, but gave her an outlet to reflect.

The voices of the night had ceased their noise when the first light of dawn had shattered across the horizon, leaving the mare drained and aching when she was relieved of her duties. In this relief, she was eternally grateful for her sister's light in providing it, although her thanks would never be put into words. Along with her sister's mercy came the tendency to coddle, and Luna had yet found the solution to just how she was so taxed during her nights. Perhaps it was the numbers, perhaps it was the demands, perhaps it was because she was weaker. All plausible. But she didn't know for sure which or any, and that was troubling.

She weighed this, just as she weighed the words of the bureaucrats and diplomats who had visited her court, with their demands; weighed the worth of the latest to join their throng - Thuldruem, she believed the drake had referred to himself - and the worth of the desires she had heard lately.

She focused on the desires, seeing them to be much more meaningful and worthwhile than politics.

Always it was the same subconscious fears perpetuating their idyllic scenes, their desires underlined by the rushed nature of mortality. Fame, fortune, love, companionship. Her little ponies never wanted anything else, nor did they think to ask of the bigger picture, or fear what was most like to be feared.  Death, snakes, spiders, and laughter were all so mundane. Luna wondered why this was so. Wondered, as came the occasion, if something could not be done to change that.

Perhaps if she were to grant their desires within their dreams, perhaps her little ponies would grow wiser. It was a dark thought, one that seemed spurred on by boredom at first glance - but as it did not directly hamper reality then surely it would have been fine to do. She was the Warden of Dreams as well as a ruler of a fortunate kingdom, a kingdom in fact that was now coming into its own in an age she could hardly imagine. Surely change was necessary, to herd her citizens into their age of glory.

Surely, she ought to be doing as much as Celestia -

The mercurial flow evaporated into a cloud at its pained sigh, before it was caught and sucked down into a cavern alight with stars. In the vast antechamber, the cloud stretched itself thin into the fog where gigantic, white-eyed, stony beasts swam with creaking groans and stalactite faces across beds of rolling sands and  frothing waves.

She would not, nae, ever go there again. Envy was not that which she ought to feel, the Princess told herself firmly. She would not steep so low.

The halo of moonlight enshrouding the land dimmed in her fright. The Princess of the Night reflected upon this, carefully gathering and unwinding her coils with some aid from the falling stars who offered their support. Tiny filaments of starlight took the form of ribbons, curling about her clouds, warming her with their affection. Luna thanked them, and breathed again.

I should nae be so unkind towards mineself, Luna remarked with a nervous laugh. I should not be afeard of what others should think of me. It is foolish, to be so skittish as to dread my own mind, to jump toward the worst with nary a consideration for the better.

Her voice, the first sound to be heard, echoed through the dreamscape. The stony beasts turned their glowing eyes on her. Suddenly, the stone behemoths were swarming, grinding their bodies into the sand and curling about the princess for attention like so many fond pets.

I hath made friends, and I am loved. I should thus be free to make my own decisions, with no qualms of harm to any and all. I will discuss my ideas with Tia, Luna resolved, stroking one craggy form after another, watching in amusement as their eyes, as large and bright as spotlights, flickered on and off in pleasure. She was in turn enveloped by whiteness.

Luna was surprised to find another being in this field of white, one that she knew immediately was not a part of her realm, but other.

"Who are you?" Luna asked the shadow. It was a very cold thing, very dark.

She was startled to watch the being lay itself prone before her. As the shadows shifted, they came together in the form of a pegasus with over-sized wings. Her subject, the being's intentions declared from her subconscious.

Luna eyed the pony, carefully. "You may rise," She told it.

The pony did so. He was tall and almost colorless save for the barest hint of blue in his dark and graying coat, his mane sweeping back, platinum streaked with white. He was an older stallion in his fifties, she saw. His eyes were a very pale green she had mistaken for gray, as he neared with her unconscious admittance gazed upon her with reverence.

"Your Majesty."

It was strange to be called that after so long. The epithet itself, Celestia had told her, had gone out of date along with their old titles a few centuries ago.

"You are dead," Luna said softly.

The pegasus nodded. Although now it could be seen that his representation was beginning to rot at this acknowledgment, fur and feathers falling out, his body shriveling with decay. He paid the changes no mind, his gaze upon her steady.

"I ask for your aid."

The stallion was lost, she sensed. There was turmoil, but his purpose was to save the life of another.

"I cannot pass you over unto your next life," Luna informed the stallion. "Your spirit must journey through Tartarus to reach the White Fields. Your loved ones will rest easy once you do."

The stallion smiled thinly, an expression that widened with the decay of his lips into a shallow grin. "You misunderstand me, Your Majesty. My loved ones have long since passed."

An undercurrent of tragedy marked his words, and Luna did not ask further just what he meant, but rather focused on what he implied - he had been dead a long time, and of his own volition, remained.

"What is it that you need of me, my little pony?" Luna asked.

"I have harmed an innocent, and she is dying," The pegasus answered, his skin flaking away before her eyes. "I ask that she be healed, and for my life to end as so many have wished."

Luna's brow knit. "If she is dying then I cannot help you. Balance must be kept between the realms of life and death. You may have escaped from those laws, but not all have that rare ability, spirit." She paused. "Why do you seek death?"

"I do not," The stallion answered, his eyes turning milky and cracked. "But it seems fitting, that as I have become the monster that others have prodded me to become, I should be punished."

"Prodded..." Luna's words trailed off.

Visions came to mind from this being, and she cut them off before they could overwhelm.

"Why did they come searching for you, after you had made your retreat?"

"I do not know," The stallion answered. His cheeks were sunken to such extremes, his grin seemed manic. "Perhaps your divine sister happened to remember I was still here."

"What did you do to her?" Luna's voice hardened.

"Nothing," The wraith before her replied simply.

There was silence as Luna stared into his blind orbs with a piercing stare. She reeled back with a gasp.

"I will speak to her," Luna announced in a low voice, standing up in the expanse of white. " I am...Very sorry that you have been persecuted so, in my absence." She paused as a second thought formed. " Or that in my return," She breathed, turning her head back to the lich. " I have paid you no attention in your plight. I did not know any undead yet lingered in our lands."

Another thing to inquire to her sister. Why were there no vampires or ghouls in Equestria, when they were her people, the citizens of her night? Why were there only ponies? Luna had wondered what it was that felt off, that made her feel restless, and now she knew.

Why had she not asked sooner? Why had she allowed herself to be lulled into a false bliss, and carried away by her sister's designs? Why had she not remembered?

Gratefully, the pony before her did not have the answer. "I've known of no others, so I couldn't say why." He bowed his tattered head. "You owe me no apologies, Your Majesty. The dead do not dream."

"You may leave," Luna said, making an off-hoof gesture of dismissal with her wing. The dreamscape began to fade around them as the princess urged herself to ascend toward consciousness.

How could she have forgotten of the extent of her domain? Had the Elements meddled with her mind in their desire to cleanse her of her darkness, and gone too far?

"What of the the plight of the innocent?"

"The innocent need not be ignorant," Came her distracted reply. "You have not committed any crimes, and so you are under my protection. Go now and remain peaceful."

The being left with a sigh, a plume of dark vapors vanishing, tainting the white to grey in his wake.

Luna arose, eyes sore and blurry, and found it to be nearing dusk when she stumbled to the window and drew back the curtains. Shadows were cast about the grand bedchamber, deep, long things that desired to be her company in her half-asleep state.

Her magic found her mane-brush and royal ornaments as she stumbled across the room, urging feeling to return to her hooves with every prickling step, wings folding and unfolding for balance on instinct. Her skill with her telekinesis allowed her to dress and groom herself simultaneously as she sat before her vanity.

In the mirror a concerned face stared back, at a loss to soothe the mare's questions or her trepidation. Her head swam. Although she knew better, it was difficult not to think of this as another dream. To imagine her sister, outright betraying her.

"Nae," Luna groaned. "It is foolish, to jump toward the worst with nary a consideration for the better." She had said it before, but it was worth repeating, especially now. It was nice to hear her own voice in the old dialect. It was her secret for when she was alone, the words bringing forth grand memories before the hearth, nostalgia, and a sense of self that lain untouched by the scars of time.

As she awoke, so did her mane,the filaments billowing and stretching where her brush carried its strokes, the bristles providing guidance until it could float ethereally on its own in a clean manner. Stars twinkled within the inky, nebulous mass, reminding her of her duties.

She repeated the process on her tail, which always seemed to like lingering behind in the waking ritual.

Celestia? She probed tentatively. Tia? Will you be finished soon?

As soon as the ambassador from Timbucktu and a cabbage farmer sort out their differences, came Celestia's voice, warm as her light. Good morning to you too, Lulu.

Luna sensed her sister was waiting for her to speak. Might we talk, after I raise the moon?

Certainly, came Celestia's reply. With tea and scones?

That would be nice, Luna admitted.

Earl Grey, Morning, or Persimmon-Peach?

Sister dearest, you're getting distracted, said Luna, smiling.

Breakfast is a very important meal of the day, Celestia replied. And for scones, I know we have raspberry, blueberry, orange, wildberry - which would you prefer, and with or without frosting?

Tia, Luna groaned. Pray, do your job. The mare paused. But if you must, bring us a sampling of everything.

That sounds lovely, Celestia said, chuckling. I'll call you when I have everything together.

Very well, Luna agreed

Luna ended her spell. With a deep breath and another look at her puzzled reflection, she abandoned her mirror with the need for air.

The balcony was her destination, her magic unlatching her window in two and folding back the pieces.  Her eyes were met with pristine white stone as she stepped outside, pink in the dying light. All of Canterlot and Equestria sat beneath her as she turned her attentions beyond the rail.

She heaved one breath, and then another in her contemplation.

Her sister was... Something. Not something bad, certainly not. Her sister was warm, generous, and kind. Very much the supportive motherly figure ever aware of the needs of others, if timid in ways the public did not oft see. Sensitive would have been the phrase.

Delicate would have been another, but Luna did not yet fully grasp the depths of her sister's growth in her absence to claim as much. Perhaps in Celestia's maturity, the fragility she had possessed had faded, crushed under the walls of her own devising, whence she hid to hide her tears. These were walls Luna sometimes met face to face, in the rare moments of her sister's breakdowns.

Luna did not know what her sister was capable of in this new millennium, but she doubted cruelty would have become one of her natures. If anything, the extinction of undeath came about as a misunderstanding that would now be easily resolved. Perhaps it had been done out of grief than spite, and the dead had been the reminder of what she couldn't save.

Or so she hoped. Luna sighed. But neither of them could handle another war, so there was solace in that too.

Her heart was aching. It was a pang that started deep and gradually made her feel sick, to think of the many faces that had been obliterated from existence. Loving, innocent creatures beneath their gore, annihilated.

The dead had trusted her to keep them safe, and they had paid with their lives.

The thought brought tears to her eyes. Burning, prickling things that reminded Luna of fire. The alicorn cried silently, long after the tears had dried, gasping out sobs without any fodder.

She remembered a little colt who had died. When he had been raised, and not by her own hoof, he had given her a flower. That flower had wilted and dried at his touch, but it had made none the difference.

Luna? I'm ready for you, came Celestia's voice, her gentle tones shattering through her sorrow.

Luna's horn flickered to life in between her sniffles. Coming, She said quietly.

Are...Are you crying? Celestia asked. Her love and concern rippled through the telepathy spell, and for a moment Luna basked in the daylight she rarely felt.

Yes, Luna admitted. I'll...Tell you all about it, Tia.

Luna turned to make her exit, then paused. She had been forgetting herself. The moon yet needed to be raised. Her horn glowed.

The ascension was quick and clumsy, certainly clumsier than her previous efforts. Still, as she gazed up at the waxing crescent, she was proud of what she could manage. There was a comfort in the moon's glow, an embrace that told her things would be all right.

V

Celestia gazed upon her younger sister where she lay at her side, nestled under her wing.

The situation had devolved from a normal breakfast quickly, the princess reflected. Luna had begun to sob and stammer the instant she had barged through her doors. Plans had changed accordingly. They had moved from the balcony to her bedchamber, where things were warm and safe. Celestia had gone off of her memories with Twilight when she had conjured their blankets and vanilla-minty candles, all the while aware that this was not her student but her sister, her equal. Fortunately there had been no protest. Now as they rested before the fire with their empty plates and cups, all was well.

For now.

Celestia could only observe her sister quietly while the seconds ticked away, brow knit, wondering what was best to say. Centuries of existence didn't mean one was granted omniscience, a dream she sorely wished was possible.

Her nerves strained against her better thoughts. She wanted to panic, run, and scream obscenities. Her wings itched to take her far, far away where she could reflect without the moment crushing her, without the walls closing in. Memories flashed before her eyes, visions she wished would cease themselves, cease their haunting. She breathed deeply and prayed. Not again, never again.

Her body shuddered with her sigh. She was carefully composed save this, the movements and sounds even of themselves minimal, unnoticeable.

Or so she thought.

Luna shifted beneath her wing and lifted her head.

"Sister, I've troubled you," She whispered. "You cannot handle this, can you?"

"What you have told me is difficult to process," Celestia managed in her calmest voice. Even to her own ears, her voice was steady. Regal even.

The expression in her sister's eyes was sad, but more frighteningly, knowing. "Forget all I've told you in confidence." Luna shook her head and looked away into the flames. "Tis perhaps nothing."

Celestia brought her nose to Luna's neck. She inhaled her scent - perhaps a strange thing, but it reminded her this was real. That she was real. Nuzzling her, she said, "Don't be that way. It's merely a lot to take in. I want to answer you."

"But you are afraid of upsetting me," Luna answered. "You are afraid that my interests in the dark are those of Nightmare Moon's, and not my own."

"Luna." To speak her sister’s name was a plea to her own ears, betraying her.

"Tia," Luna sighed. "I think you focus on the past, more-so than I."

"I believe," Celestia said softly, speaking from memory of a previous recitation, "That the past is the foundation for the future. You know that I'm merely cautious."

"Verily," Luna agreed. "But you forget that in the past, I had certain responsibilities. Before things happened as they did." She paused. "Even Nightmare Moon didn't used to be a villain."

"But to give you those responsibilities now, with the population as it is." Celestia's throat tightened. Rather than continue and strangle her words, she gracefully fell silent, her eyes going unfocused. The firelight and her sister's shadow became blurs.

"This civilization is your success," Luna sighed. "Not mine. My absence was what made it possible. You know that."

"Luna, don't say that." There was a tense sound to her voice she couldn't hide, a sound that was almost a growl as Celestia suppressed her tears.

"Tia."  Luna leaned back and rested her head on her sister's neck. For a moment, they peered into the other's eyes.

"You should be proud of yourself, not crying so," her sister told her. The warmth in Luna's voice seemed impossible. "You brought forth a powerful kingdom from the rubble of our conflict. You have led a people centuries into prosperity and enlightenment, into innumerable victories as well as treaties. You managed to be strong without me."

Celestia sighed and kissed her nose. "It has been hard."

"Should it be so difficult?" Luna asked softly. "When I should share your duties?"

A noise squirmed in Celestia's throat. The warmth of her sister's body was oppressive.

"Don't be afraid," Luna soothed. "We can do this together. A balance of light and dark was meant to be."

"N-no," Celestia managed. She wrestled herself from Luna's side, stood up abruptly. Unable to stand seeing her sister’s shadow in the flames, she closed her eyes.

"Tia-"

"Stop," She gasped. "Just stop. I can't Luna, I-I just can't."

Luna was silent.

Celestia continued, using what will she had left to steady her voice and keep the tears from coming. "You want me to let darkness into m-our kingdom," She swallowed. "You want me, to endanger our little ponies' health and sanity, so that you feel equal. So that there are more problems, so you can do more work."

"Celestia," Came Luna's soft, pleading voice. "It is not like that-"

"Have you even thought of what could happen? The thousands of deaths that could happen?"

Luna sighed heavily, pained. "If ponies die then they can be resurrected."

"Which will offset the balance of existence!" Celestia's voice was almost a shriek. "There is life, and there is death, Luna. There isn't supposed to be a strange in-between!"  She was carried away now, wings flaring as she stomped around, tossed her head, dizzy on these emotions, a surreality presenting itself in her mind.

Luna's horn glowed out of the corner of her eye, muffling the room, no doubt so that guards wouldn't hear. Her guards.

Celestia was breathing heavily, staring at nothing while her heart raced in her chest. She struggled to calm herself down, and in her efforts was rigid on the spot.

Luna was quiet.

Celestia turned her head, locking her sister in her gaze. "Do you know what happened the last time?"

"I was banished to the-"

"No," Celestia cut her off. "What happened," she repeated, "Was there were so many of your minions after you were gone, such a taint to the land, the fabric of our existence came undone."

Luna's eyes widened. Slowly however, her brow knit.

"What?" Celestia hissed.

"I was merely thinking," Luna started slowly, "It is hard to believe that the fabric was loosened purely by my magic alone. You know as well as I that darkness is a natural aspect of this world."

"It is not natural Luna!" Celestia argued. "Twisting the balance and turning death into life is not supposed to happen.” She stomped her hoof. “The laws are only supposed to work one way."

"But," Luna retorted, "If it could be done and so easily, does that not mean it belongs in the world?"

Celestia groaned and rubbed her temples with the wrist of her wing.

"What of technology, does it belong?" Luna continued.

"Technology is not harmful to ponies," Celestia informed her in a weary voice. "And it cannot be harmful to ponies, because it is done by ponies, for the improvement of the population. Dark magic doesn't do that Luna. Dark magic sickens, hurts, and kills. It is a tool of destruction and nothing more."

"But what of a failed piece of technology, does it not hurt others?"

"Luna," Celestia sighed. "You are implying then that dark magic can be improved on. Can it?"

Luna did not reply.

"I thought so," Celestia said, giving her sister a firm look from under her wing. "I am sorry to say this, dearest sister, but I do not think dark magic belongs in this world. Whether you govern it and it's creations, or not."

Luna sighed deeply, her expression becoming petulant. She tilted her head. "I understand however, that this is a world that you created. Can you not change your designs?"

Celestia gave a hollow, tired laugh. "You speak as if establishing a culture of love and peace was a mere game. That a utopia simply hatches from an egg by a b-bird..."

"Sister," Luna said softly, eyeing her. "You can't be perfect."

"I'm not, Luna. I'm only -"

"Doing what I can for the best," They both intoned in a dull voice.

Celestia gave a start, blinking at her sister as a weight formed deep in her chest. Wait. How often do I repeat myself? Am I becoming a broken record, or am I simply transparent?

Luna did not look surprised, or even impressed, continuing, "I think you need what is known as a vacation."

“I am perfectly fine,” Celestia scowled. Then, she realized her sister’s intention, her heart sinking even further.  "I am not leaving this kingdom in your hooves," she added.

Luna sat up, looking wounded. "Oh, so do you not trust me?"

"No," Celestia sighed. "It's not that but I-"

"Do not trust me. You believe I will corrupt your kingdom somehow, and remove it from your precious light." Luna stared hard at her, gaze challenging – dangerous even - while her sister, in response, crumpled at those words.

The room changed. Celestia stared at her sister in horror, the smaller’s figure sinking into the abyss while the glow of Luna's eyes in the firelight brightened and came alive, even as the fire itself soon vanished. Twin slits, electrified by the screams of falling stars and stolen souls, stared back. Predatory, calculating things, judging her weaknesses.

At any moment the silence would break, and her sister, the demon, would laugh – but first her mouth will open…

"N-Nightmare..." Celestia’s whisper was a prayer. These were visions, yes, but could she change it this time? Make the first move? "N-no, I don't want to fight. You can't... You can’t make me, not again."

Perhaps, she thought, if Luna could hear-

The void bent and stretched, returning to an arching, stone chamber lined with silks and tapestries. Moonlight glared like blades through the wall before them, outlining her sister's dark figure. Luna scowled imperiously from her perch on the ceremonial balcony. Then, she reared in a howl of voice, storm, and crumbling rock -

Enveloped by the red of her own hatred, the sphere was a dying sun amidst the frost crackling forth from it's center, covering everything in white -

Time sped forward.

Those slits were met, eyes were locked. Nightmare Moon pointed her horn to begin her final act. Celestia knew she had failed once again, that this monster could not be reasoned with. Her sister was gone.

No.

Dead. Luna was dead, beneath that coat of Stygian sin.

Gone.

At any moment the silence would break, and the demon who had worn her sister’s face would laugh; Celestia would see the mouthful of jagged fangs, learning once more what her sister – not her sister - had been eating -

None of it –

Celestia's vision blurred. When it returned, she found herself in her bedroom.

Everything to the alicorn was strangely horizontal and warm, although there was a sensation of floating between the duplicates. Her eyes uncrossed themselves as things came into perspective, her breathing slowing.

Celestia realized her sister was no longer by the fire. Luna couldn't be found as she looked about the room. But this weight –

Was that a shifting of feathers? A clink of metal?

Nightmare Moon, donned in her armor, was embracing her sister tightly. Celestia went limp in the mare’s arms, a part of her mind simply giving up the fight. When the mare gazed into Celestia's eyes however, there was no hatred or bloodlust to be found in the bestial orbs, only compassion.

A cry sounded in her sister’s throat. Mockery. This, this was mockery.

"Celestia," Nightmare Moon spoke in her sister's voice. "Hush."

"You..." Celestia's words trailed.

You monster! How dare you!

"I am your sister," Nightmare Moon told her, continuing her charade. "I love you very much. And although I disagree with your beliefs, I will not destroy our kingdom and start another war."

Nightmare Moon peeled her body away, leaving Celestia baffled on the floor across from her, her own body unable to cooperate aside from twitches of her legs and wings.

Yet, the Nightmare did not attack, simply taking a seat across from her. Waiting with all the patience an immortal being could possess.

Why?

…Oh.

Celestia stared at the mare, nausea rising in her throat. " Luna, how are you doing that?"

Nightmare Moon smiled. "It's an illusion, Tia. Did it help you any? You were...Having another attack." The black mare's expression, Celestia realized, was that of concern.

No. Yes.

Celestia nodded her head. "Some,” she lied. “P-please change back though." She gestured with her hoof.

Nightmare Moon did not.

"Luna!" Celestia cried.

Nightmare Moon gazed upon her sister calmly. "Sister, this is me as well."

"No it's not. It's not!" Celestia screamed. "It may have been once, but this...This form..."

What am I saying? This has never been you, Luna! Never- You! You are a fool! You were tricked. Corrupted! De-Destroyed, by this… Thing…

Celestia buried her face in her hooves, unable to bear looking upon the mare any longer. The cold metal of her hoof-guards soothed her sweaty brow. She turned her attention to the sensation, tuning out everything else except the sound of her own breathing.

Luna relented and shifted back it seemed, because after a flash of blue light, a smaller head was nuzzling itself against her sister's, cooing softly, hushing her with soft nothings. They settled together and curled up to watch the fire die low. Celestia was too weak to protest.

"You need a vacation," Luna told her softly.

"No I don't," Celestia said. "Don't tell me that again...Please... Okay?"

She gave her sister a look.

"I will tell you that you are hurting yourself," Luna murmured. "And you should, in fact, trust me."

Celestia moaned in her throat. "I should trust you to do what, exactly?"

Luna fell silent.

Celestia sighed. Feelings were often hurt in the truth, but she could have worded that better. "I'm sorry, Lulu."

"Nae, I'm sorry," Luna told her softly. "I should not have expected you to change your mind so easily."

Celestia was quiet.

"I am frustrated, dear sister," Luna sighed. "But, my only desire is to save and preserve the life of the one dead soul that remains. One soul. Will you let me have that? One life, which I may claim as my own?"

"You are ignoring the existence of your batponies,” Celestia noted, turning her head from Luna’s begging eyes.

"While they may be mine, they have fared well enough in this world that I am not concerned overmuch."

"Still, you are ignoring-"

"I am not ignoring," Luna interrupted, "How you slew my subjects because they didn't fit in with your idea of safety."

"Safety." Celestia breathed, a chill racing down her spine. "No, I want to preserve what already exists, Luna. I want the 2 billion ponies that now call this country home to live long, prosperous lives, free of unnecessary dangers."

"Unne-"

"A lich," Celestia swallowed, continuing, "No matter how supposedly-docile, breathes dark magic and curses all beings around him to live short, tormented lives. His existence is poison, Luna. Poison to you and poison to me. He must be slain, and will, if found."

"Very well."

"You...accept that?" Celestia blinked.

"Oh no, not in the slightest." Luna nuzzled her.

Celestia froze. For a moment her mind spiraled blankly for the worst, drawing up centuries of assassination attempts and subtle warfare -

"But I will not challenge you."

Celestia sighed deeply, her emotions stripped and gutted. "I apologize for expecting a coup to come from this."

She was too weary to build her walls. There had been too many false starts. She was done.

A thought came to her. "What are you going to do about the Night Court? You had suspended it, and it has been hours now."

"I will cancel it," Luna answered. "I am far too worn to deal with their games tonight."

"Luna! It's your responsibility," Celestia's reply came with the last spark of emotion she could muster.

"And my responsibilities also entail me not tearing apart the castle in my grief," Luna informed her. "Might I please have this night to myself?" Her gaze held a solemn intensity.

Celestia could only nod, understanding very well. "Certainly."

"May I do that?- Ah,” Luna blinked, clearly having expected another argument. “ You seem exhausted."

"I need to sleep, yes."A smile struggled to appear.

Luna smiled as well. “I see.”

There was an awkward silence at this acknowledgment, both of them gazing about the room to collect themselves.

“I will clean up the plates and put out the last of the embers,” Luna mused. “You may rest.”

“I appreciate your generosity,” Celestia said softly, stifling a yawn, “But you should let me worry over that. I can clean up in the morning.”

Luna frowned at this, but didn’t seem to want to argue, sighing lightly and making her way for the door. Any notions of anger were put aside the moment her sister turned her head and smiled.

“Goodnight then, Tia,” Luna said softly.

“Goodnight then, Lulu,” Celestia replied.

The door closed.

Celestia gazed a moment longer upon it before she moved toward the canopy bed, a magnificent sight in mahogany, draped in multi-hued silks with the combined effect of a pastel spring morning, although the colors were now ruined by the shadows of her room, appearing grim and lifeless.

With a heavy sigh, the princess descended beneath her bedcovers. Although her rationality declared herself too tired to think, her mind was already running rampant with Luna’s words, churning out odd feelings and half-thoughts that made no sense in her panic at first, but soon clarified to be possible scenarios in her foresight.

They were probably premonitions. Probably.

Luna would try something. Celestia knew she would.  She knew not when nor how, but the rest was clear – clearly involving the lich, her old policies, and Nightmare Moon.

Definitely Nightmare Moon.

She would not let her sister be taken again. Celestia swore this promise up and down where she lay, knowing too, the tactics of this game were not like the last. This would not become a war of swords, but of words. Instead of devastation there would be quiet out-maneuverings. She and her ‘sister’ would take turns, once and then another, until there was a victor.

Yes, this sounded right.

Celestia closed her eyes.

Luna would make her move tonight. Then, it would be her turn.