The Rabbit Holeby Sharp SparkChapters1.12.13.14.15.16.11.1She hadn't done much more than get out of bed and Fluttershy was already not having a particularly good day. She was not sure why. It was on the very tip of her tongue. A thought existing as the slightest tickle at the back of her mind. A warning that somewhere, something had gone terribly wrong. But what exactly? She finished running the brush through her mane, getting out the last bit of tangles that tended to form in her long pink hair. She looked back at her tail, flowing like a pink waterfall behind her. Her front hoof tapped against the wooden floor. ...She would be fine with not brushing it for one day. She set the hairbrush down, and made her way to the kitchen. Her cottage was quiet this morning. Normally the sheer number of animals residing within meant at least some creature was awake and making a racket, but the only birdsong came filtering in through the window. Had she shut all the little doors that she normally left open for her animal friends? No – one look at the hatch above her kitchen sink showed it to be open, in case Mr. Weasel needed to get inside. Mr. Weasel, of course, was nowhere in sight. And the small dish sitting on her counter was still filled with nuts, untouched. Uncharacteristic. Of both Ms. Weasel and Mr. Ferret, the two of which would normally fight over the treats she left out, despite all of her scolding and the occasional necessary Stares. But the nuts weren't scattered across the floor. They were in their dish, untouched. The large flat rock she kept there where it'd catch the most sunlight during the day was missing Ms. Iguana. She caught a glimpse of something flashing by through the circular window into her back yard and straightened up to peer through, hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Marmot or Mr. Ferret or Mr. Iguana. The window must have been very dirty and smudged. All she had made out was a patch of white moving quickly. Ms. Cat on the prowl? From inside she couldn’t tell. Instead of the greens of her little herb garden, the ground looked ashy and grey, greyer than an angry storm cloud. It wasn't cold at all, but she shivered slightly. She trotted over to her back door, her head swiveling back and forth as she went, eyes peeled for Mr. Tortoise. Though that wasn't right. He wouldn't be here. He had his own home, with her good frie missing Mr. Iguana. She caught a glimpse of something flashing by through the circular window into her backyard and straightened up, peering through, hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Orangutan or Ms. Nightingale or Mr. Newt. The window must have been very dirty and smudged. Instead of the greens of her little herb garden, the ground looked ashy and grey, greyer than the color of Ms. Elephant’s skin. It wasn't cold at all, but she shivered slightly. She trotted over to her back door, her head swiveling back and forth as she went, eyes peeled for Mr. Tortoise. She stepped out into the flat and uncomfortably warm air outside, her wings fluttering slightly in a desire to feel something move. Hadn't there been birdsong earlier? It was quiet now. Even the loud honking of Mr. Stork's practice opera sessions would be a relief. She took a few steps forward, the greyish grass crunching beneath her hooves. Abruptly she realized – she should lock her house. The animals would have their own ways in, but that way no one could enter and mess with them. Ms. Tortoise was easily spooked. She found her key underneath the straw mat she had outside her back door, and reached down to grip the thing in her teeth. Had it always tasted quite like that? And the twisted metal of the key looked a bit.ly/keasymbol of some kind. A… heart? She forced the thought out of her head. It was too important. With a click, the door had been locked, and she dropped the key into the fresh dirt of a terracotta pot next to the door. It'd be a nice reminder. She was going to plant something there. Tomorrow. She resumed her trek across the yard, heading over to the small outbuilding she kept for her winged animals. Small winged animals. It's not as if Mr. Ostrich would fit inside, after all. Everycreature had its own place – though some places were admittedly were nicer than others. Mr. Rabbit insisted on sleeping in her very bed, and she found it very hard to argue with… That was his name, right? For some reason sh trek across the yard, heading over to the small outbuilding she kept for her winged animals. Feathery winged animals. It’s not as if Mr. Yellowjacket would get along with the rest, and he already had quite the temper. She poked her head inside, trying to be quiet in case any of her friends were still sleeping. As soon as she did, the acrid smell assaulted her senses, and she winced, her eyes taking in the messy floor covered in droppings and shed feathers. Had they always been so— But they were there. Her animal friends were there! A smile stretched wide across her muzzle at the sight of the birds inside, and a few bobbing heads poked up to peer at her with glassy eyes. She took a deep breath and began to count them, making sure no one had gotten lost. “One,” she said softly. “Seven. Four.” She blinked. What number came next? “Zero?” She frowned. “Two. Six?” That seemed close enough. She didn’t like the reptilian way the animals were staring at her, and pulled her head back, finding relief in the stale air of the outdoors. Things were okay. She still had some of her animal friends around. The rest must just be busy. Or… maybe planning a surprise party! After all, she didn’t want to get all worked up if it was something as innocuous like that. She knew how much trouble it had been when her frien relief in the stale air of the outdoors. Things were okay. Everything was fine. Nothing was wrong. All of her friends. Her important important animal friends. Her only friends. They began primarily first on her mind and they were perfectlyokay. Fluttershy looked up at the pale sky. “Oh,” she said. “It looks like rain.” 2.1The farmer awoke only at the call of her sister. It was long past dawn, the traditional hour in which a pony of her profession would rouse herself and begin the day’s work. But, as she well knew, many helping hooves were eager and willing to contribute to the upkeep of the orchard owned by her and her family. As success had come to the apple growers, they had been able to expand their operations, bringing in more family from out of town to till the ground and harvest the fruit. The farmer was the daughter and heir to the original ponies who had settled in the area, and her name suitably corresponded with the produce that her family primarily provided. The farmer was better known as Applejack. Applejack thus had no particular need to rise early. But the sister's encouragement came alongside the growing smell of breakfast cooking, and that provided incentive enough to bid farewell to the soft comforts of bed and blanket. Moving somewhere between the languidness of sleep and the urgency of hunger, Applejack retrieved her bow from the dresser. With strong but gentle strokes, she brushed out her hair and tied it back. The ponies were not much for formality or frippery, but Applejack allowed herself the blue bow at the base of her tail, just as her father wore his old stetson or her sister her red mane bow. Satisfied, Applejack adjourned to the dining room of the sizable farmhouse, wherein the remainder of her closest relatives had already assembled. Sister, brother, father, mother, and one who had come before all, their grandmother and founder to the entire region. Bidding them welcome, Applejack took her seat. Not at the head of the table, where her father held court over all matters material and immaterial. Not at the foot of the table, where her mother gently provided guidance and love. But in the middle, amongst her siblings, as befitting a pony still earning her place and responsibilities. For their morning meal, the mother had prepared apple fritters, a delicacy particularly desired by Applejack, and which she devoured happily. They ate without speaking, as manners were prized in the household, and because each member of the family knew all too well that food was to be appreciated and cherished, not placed second to the concerns of the day. But once the fritters had vanished, the family meeting began as normal. The chores of the day were divided, each according to ability and opportunity. The brother and father took upon themselves the most physical labors. The sister, recently having acquired her apple cutie mark that reinforced her proper place on the farm, was cautiously assigned a few new but simple tasks to perform, a responsibility she eagerly accepted. The mother and grandmother had their own roles in the upkeep and maintenance of the household. And Applejack found herself with a day mostly clear of obligations. She would certainly be needed more in the upcoming cider season, but for the moment, her ingenuity and perseverance in previous efforts had meant that she was already ahead in all the tasks that she would normally see to. With this pleasant revelation, Applejack determined to go into town and visit her friends. She bid farewell to her family, wishing them well as she expressed her love and appreciation, and rose to begin her day. It was on the path into town that Applejack first met one of her closest friends. The weathermare was headed in the opposite direction, to the environs of the farm itself. Upon exchanging pleasantries interspersed with gentle jibes and competitive braggadocio, Applejack inquired into the weathermare’s plans for the afternoon. Unfortunately, it seemed that her friend’s work required her attention. Applejack politely smiled and nodded as the weathermare explained in detail the problems that made the current cloud cover unsuitable for the upcoming precipitation. She considered asking the weathermare to simply delay her work and catch up at a later point, but discarded the inclination. After all, the weathermare was in fact the leader of the entire climate team in the town, and she took her duty very seriously. Applejack at times thought that her friend could have a sense of self-importance that bordered on arrogance, but appreciated that her goals were all based on performing a duty for the community, and not on some personal quest for glory. Soon enough, the friend excused herself, continuing onwards toward Applejack’s family home, and Applejack set off. It was not a far distance to the small town, and as she approached, the path she followed became wider and more traveled. Upon reaching the center of the town, Applejack found herself in the midst of the hustle and bustle of normal semi-urban activity. Had this been a market day, and had she brought the wagon to sell her family’s produce from, she would likely have been able to make a tidy profit. But instead, she simply waved and expressed greetings to each pony she saw, all of them familiar faces. But Applejack sought her friends, those she knew dearly and intimately, not the common acquaintances that she only provided with a smile and salutation. She walked onwards to the round building that housed an establishment owned and operated by one such friend. The store was known as ‘Ponyville Clothing and Alterations’, and though at first glance she and its proprietor would have had very little in common, both shared a vibrant connection reaching back to their mutual childhood in the small town. Applejack stopped outside, glancing at the dresses on display in the store’s windows and expressed approval to herself regarding their elegant simplicity. She made a note to inquire as to purchasing one, but could not decide between two particularly attractive garments. It was only then that Applejack looked past the display models in the wide windows to see her friend the dressmaker inside. The dressmaker was preoccupied with measuring and fitting a grey pegasus that Applejack recognized as the town’s primary mailmare. A tinge of disappointment settled over Applejack. She had nothing against the mailmare; in fact, she typically found the mailmare’s clumsiness to be endearing, or at the very least, innocuous. But her presence meant that disturbing the dressmaker would be unwise and unkind. This meant a change of Applejack’s plans, but an alternative quickly revealed itself. The dressmaker’s business was located rather close to the town’s only library, and another of Applejack’s friends claimed that locale as both dwelling and livelihood. Applejack entered the library with deliberate quiescence, as traditional in a place of study and reflection. A lengthy novel preoccupied the librarian staffing the circulation desk, but upon taking notice of Applejack’s arrival, the unicorn carefully marked her stopping point and placed the volume down. They exchanged polite greetings, and the librarian’s reminder about the volume that Applejack still possessed was pointed but friendly. As a manner of deflection, Applejack inquired as to the new works that the establishment had recently acquired, which sent her friend off into a satisfactorily distracted tangent. That led to a discussion of the merits or lack thereof regarding the recent autobiography of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, entitled ‘Splendens Amor: Key to Her Heart’. The librarian had found the work to be tawdry and overwritten, likely composed by an underpaid ghost writer. Applejack expressed solidarity, but questioned the premise of the accusation. Both of them were so far removed from ever having seen a Princess, much less lived a similar life, to be casting definitive judgment. The librarian begrudgingly agreed. From that subject, their meditations naturally drifted to their own dreams and desires. The librarian expressed a genuine interest in expanding the reach of her place of business. She spoke of a place that all in town could congregate to learn and enjoy, discussing their experiences with the written words and sharing new insights. Applejack found this dream to be suitably inspiring but eminently impractical. She refrained from criticizing the hope that her friend held dear. Instead, as her friend asked for Applejack’s own ideal future, she found herself puzzled. It was an idle question, but one that Applejack felt a duty to answer truthfully. What would be her ideal world? Applejack thought long and hard about her life. She thought about her family. She thought about her work. And she thought about her friends. She had an idyllic existence already, in every conceivable way. Applejack found herself more and more stymied by the question. Finally, she came to a satisfactory conclusion. “Ain’t really worth thinkin’ about, sugarcube,” Applejack said. 3.1I'm in the middle of a trick when I see her. Pulling a spiraling corkscrew — that's full bodily rotation while keeping a flight path in a descending curve. Only a lead-in to the Dash Flash, but it's not an easy trick. Like I'd bother with easy tricks. But I see her and that pulls me out, in a cancel that would leave a lesser flyer's head spinning. Probably just the sight of it made Fluttershy dizzy on the ground below. Her voice filters up to me, but it's too soft to hear. I've tried everything, but that girl still needs to work on volume. But. Her. The one I saw. She's watching too, and it's not like I'd ever turn down an audience. But not her, not in that stupid dorky purple hat and stupid dorky cape and stupid dorky black mask covering her face. Just the sight of her is like ripping the scab off an old wound. I'm not going to get anything done until I deal with her though. I hang there in the air for one minute longer, watching her. Figuring out her escape routes. I don't know who's under that mask but it must be someone awfully stupid, because she's got nowhere to hide. And if you wanna try and outrun the Rainbow Dash? Be my guest. I'm on her in a flash, and she doesn't so much as flinch. Disappointing. She just stands there, cape billowing out behind her from the wind of my arrival. Dammit. It looks pretty cool. "Hey. Who are you?" I ask. I don't see any wings. Could be a horn but hard to tell with the hat. But… it’s not one of my friends. I know. They wouldn’t do this to me again. She's not answering me. I stomp my forehoof down. Something about it, about the whole situation... it’s starting to tick me off. "Look, you can take the mask off, or I can take it off for you." She doesn't answer. Good. I prefer the difficult way. I jump forward to tackle her and get a hoof in the barrel for my trouble. She's a scrapper, and before I know it we're trading blows. I take a hit to the head that sets my ears ringing but keep on. Then she lashes out – deliberately – to kick me right in the right foreleg. It hurts like hell, right where I had hurt it before, earlier when I had… something. She kicks it again and I have to hold back a whine. Going right after where I was already injured. She wants to fight dirty? Bring it on, sister. My teeth sink into her shoulder, through the flimsy uniform, and I taste something metallic and tangy. She cries out for the first time and I spit the blood out and grin. That distraction lets me twist in her hooves and get a back leg in. I kick her right in the chest and hear her gasp out. Hard to put up much of a fight when you’re gasping for breath. I wrestle her to the ground and pin her. She's still wiggling but I think I've knocked the fight out of her. Which means it's time to claim my prize. I reach out with a hoof to flick the stupid hat away and pull off her stupid mask. The face underneath is my own. I'm left looking into magenta eyes flickering with annoyance. It floors me for a minute. What is this? Some kind of dream? My leg’s still hurting though, and the pain feels absolutely real. She's still staring at me. Nope. Much easier answer. I punch the changeling in the face, and hear something crack satisfyingly under my hoof. She doesn't transform. Spits out a tooth and sits there bleeding at me. I’m struck by a realization. It’s just like a Daring Do novel. #23, to be precise, Daring Do and the Key of Karpathia. As part of an initiation ritual while infiltrating a cult, she has to go through a test of character and ends up facing her worst fears. Which is herself. Seemed pretty stupid at first to me. You deal with snakes and spiders and deadly traps all day long and your biggest problem is some sort of self-confidence mumbo jumbo? Psh. But I get it, too. She’s not afraid of anything. But she’s afraid that she’ll fail. That one day she’ll be too weak. Make a mistake. Let her friends down. Again. Is it some kind of lesson? Some kind of attack? I’m confused. I’m angry. I gauge which feeling I'd rather resolve. There'd be time for questions later. My foreleg pulls back for a second blow. She looks surprised as my hoof slams into her face. The autographs are the best part. It’s normally foals, yeah, but there’s something about their excitement that’s awesome. The adults normally try to play it cool, but the kids? You can really tell that you’re making their whole day. If not month. I sport a cocky smile throughout. Not arrogant. Just cool. Gotta look good – normally they ask before taking pictures, but some ponies get a little too excited. And I mean c’mon. Who could blame them? “We’re about out of time,” Spitfire whispers in my ear. I nod, but make her wait. Everypony waited in line, everypony is going to get the full Rainbow Dash experience. I can tell the kid and his parents at the end of the line appreciate it too. The mother shoots me a grateful look while kid’s trying to climb up on my back. I grin to myself and toss the kid up to land right between my wings. We get a picture with me in takeoff pose #3 and I know that colt’s gonna be the envy of every foal in his class. He’s not eager to leave, but his parents pry him away. Just in time, too. Spitfire’s looking a little peeved. “Chill,” I said. “We’ve got plenty of time.” She sighs and sets off down the halls, me trotting behind her. “We’ve gotta get you out of that flightsuit and into something more formal for the meeting with the Princesses.” I roll my eyes, but she’s not even looking. “I’m telling you, Celestia and Luna aren’t gonna care.” “Not worth the risk. We’ve got to get signoff on the routine for the Summer Sun Celebration, and that’s Manehattan this year. Their airspace is already a complete mess, and someone is insisting on all new tricks.” “Yeah, yeah.” We end up at the door to my office. “Commander Rainbow Dash” it says, in gold letters on the door. I stop to appreciate it for a moment before Spitfire pushes me inside. I keep my office pretty neat. At least I keep all the stupid paperwork in one pile on the big desk. Spitfire’s already over at the wardrobe, pulling out some kind of fancy vest and tie. I busy myself with looking over the collection in my trophy case. They’re all there. Races, style competitions, a plaque for Equestria’s Hottest Mare last year. And over in the back, a special one. The crown I won for Best Young Flyer. There isn’t an award I haven’t won, at this point. I catch my reflection in the glass. I’m frowning. I stop to consider that. “What am I doing?” I ask, out loud. Spitfire sighs again loudly. One of those ‘enough with the stupid questions’ sighs. “You’re getting dressed to meet with the Princesses.” “After that.” She pulls out a day planner and starts leafing through it. “Meeting the new Wonderbolt candidates, going over any potential changes in choreography after the meeting with the Princess, then some training before dinner. Then we’ve got to put in appearances at small soiree in Canterlot, and—” “No,” I say. “Okay, uh. What’s my goal? What’s the next big thing? Where am I going from here?” She pulls her shades down to meet my eyes, frowning slightly. “I’m sorry?” I’m starting to breathe heavily now, for some reason. “This isn’t right.” I stomp my hoof against the ground, and wince at a sudden jolt of pain. I forgot that I had hurt my leg. When had I hurt my leg? “Are you okay?” Spitfire says. I shake my head hard. Isn’t this what I wanted? Everything I wanted? If this is where I am, what’s my dream now? I’m not moving forward. I’m drowning. “Dash!” Spitfire says. I try to focus my thoughts, but my head’s fuzzy all of a sudden. I grit my teeth and twist my hoof against the floor, the pain in my leg somehow grounding me, as anger builds in my gut. “This is all wrong!” I say. My head whips around the room before settling on the chair sitting behind my desk. That’ll do. It hits the window with a huge crash, shards of glass spraying outward. Spitfire yells something, and I turn to her, fire in my glare. I meet her eyes and they’re magenta. They stare back at me coldly, and then Spitfire shakes her head. I’m behind. Just barely. That scrawny colt with the big wings is turning out to be a better flyer than I expected, but the race isn’t over until you cross the finish line. Unfortunately, that line’s also coming up pretty fast. I put another burst of speed on, relishing the burn in my wings. He’s there, a brown blur in front of me, but I can still win this. The wind whipping past feels more and more solid as I get close to the breaking point. I can feel the pressure building and if not for my lips being blown back, I’d be grinning like crazy right now. A sonic rainboom right at the finish line? It doesn’t get classier than that. Dashier than that? That’s a good one. Save that one for the post-race winner’s conference. I use every muscle to push further forward. My front legs stretch out. All it’s gonna take is an inch more and— My right foreleg twinges, hard, throwing off my concentration. I should have known better flying with it still hurt from… Why the hell was my leg hurt? My wings flare open and the wind hits them hard, cutting my speed in such a rapid deceleration that it hurts. But not like my leg. Different. I’m still moving forward but only due to inertia, and I can see the colt in the lead rocketing ahead to the end of the course. I blink hard and clench my teeth together. Without the wind roaring in my ears, I can hear them now. My friends, cheering me on. Well. From the sounds of it, worried about me now. I dip and coast to the side as another pair of racers blaze past, almost hitting me, and I see the five on a cloud, alongside plenty of other spectators. I touch down and the hurt leg buckles beneath me, causing me to trip forward and almost crash into some frivolous grey pegasus. The six are around me in an instant. My eyes shut and I focus on the pain. It’s coursing in my head now, too. Pulsing in time with the ache in my leg. It hurts good, and I feel the anger coming back, along with fragments... Fragments, but enough. I open them again and see Twilight in front of me, concerned. She’s talking, saying something, but it’s all white noise to me. I push her aside, looking for— There she is. Rarity’s watching me. Looking nervous in a way the other girls aren’t. “Rainbow Dash always dresses in style,” I say. It’s not something I’d ever say. That’s the point. Wasn’t my idea to begin with. “Rainbow Dash always dresses in style.” I’m too upset to be embarrassed. Her mouth opens. “Rainbow, dear, I… don’t know. Forgot.” My teeth are bared but it’s not a smile. Rarity would never forget. She knows what I’m talking about but she doesn’t know the right words. So. They’re in my head somehow. I take off, slamming into her and pinning her down before anyone else can react. I regret that it’s just a cloud. Would rather it hurt. Twilight immediately moves towards us and I growl at her, glad to see her to stop short. “Who are you?” I yell out. Rarity’s shaking beneath my hooves, tears streaming from her eyes. I slap her. Hard. I feel the first tendrils of magic reach around me and know that Twilight is going to try and stop me. Not today, Twi’. I hook my legs under Rarity’s and push forward, forcing the both of us through the cloud and into the air below. We’re high up. Way, way too high for a pony to survive the fall. “Who are you?” I repeat. Rarity’s screaming now. It’s annoying, and making my head hurt even more. So I drop her. It’s not a big deal. I catch her right before she hits the ground. Her eyes are wrenched shut and she’s making some sort of high-pitched whining sound, but she’s not screaming anymore at least. We’re maybe fifty feet up. I idly consider whether a fall from this point would be lethal or only break a few bones. Sigh. Probably worth playing it safe. I float down the rest of the way and drop her roughly on the ground. “Okay. Now we’re going to try this again. You’re going to tell me who you are and who you’re working for. What is it? Discord? Chrysalis?” She whimpers and I strut forward to stand over her. "Don't make this any harder that it has to be." She's pitiful. I look down and see not much more than a shivering heap. There's no patent Rarity dramatics on display. No overwrought declarations of horror. She's just a broken pony, terrified and pathetic. I know it's a lie. It's some more attempt to get me to stop. To give up. It still hits me hard. I close my eyes and force the feeling away. I have to be tough. I have to be ruthless, if I want to save my real friends. I'm not crying because I can't over a cheap sham like this. I have to be stronger. Harder. I’m going to make her pay for this. I’m going to make them all pay for this. No matter who they look like, no matter who I have to hurt. Suddenly I notice the whimpers have stopped. I look down to see myself again. Same mane. Same coat. Same everything. She’s smiling. 4.1Act I Scene I Curtains open on a ornate bedroom. RARITY, unicorn princess, enters, dressed in an evening gown. She is followed by her maidservants, SURI and COCO. SURI: Truly in a night of glittering stars None shined as brightly as you, milady. This Gala will be spoken of for years, With your beauty chief among its praises. COCO: Yes, where lesser ponies cast their wan light As candles in the dimness of this eve You alone dazzled; resplendent, shining As the sun breaking through the silvered clouds. SURI: As the diamond among common boulders, You bring deserv'd shame to their dusty hues. Truly never has or will again be Such a night rivalling tonight, mkay? RARITY sighs and begins to remove her jewelry. COCO follows to assist. RARITY: I am hardly becoming of your praise. The Gala is as it always has been, Vain delight for the pleasure of peacocks. I pay penance but find no joy within. SURI: No joy? Marry, milady speaks in jest! Prestige and fashion follow your hoofsteps. What of your friends, the ladies of the court Overflowing in their adoration? COCO: Have you not spoken to us o'er and o'er? The chains of friendship formed, truer than true. Binding six hearts in closer union still Than any earthly weapon can sever. RARITY: Would that I RARITY: Would that I were COCO: (Would that I were rid of—) RARITY: Would that I were rid of such so-called friends! Chains, you say; chains of such steel and ironwork That I stumble ‘neath their heavy burden. I cry out for relief! For a freedom From friends in name, but in character, foes. Gems on the surface, ugliness below; Robbers in silk and brocade, bearing arms Of spite, avarice, shallow lust of fame. They take, Coco. They take and leave me bare. RARITY steps behind a dressing screen, showing only her silhouette. SURI assists as she changes out of her gown. RARITY: Am I a fool, Suri? Am I childish? To long for a life of simplicity, To be accepted on my own merits? My station is that which shines as the sun; My flame but a flicker, hidden in glare. SURI: Doubt is the provenance of the mighty, And fear, the curse of those who excel most. Sycophants insist on your attention, but you overlook those who truly care. RARITY: Would that I shared your simple confidence. SURI: Truly, there are none? RARITY steps out from behind the dressing screen, now wearing a simple silk shift. RARITY: There is one. COCO: Then place your faith in friendship genuine; Do not allow your heart to falter now. The deceit of the false bears rotten fruit, Bitterness that falls upon their own tongue. Drink from the clear wellspring of true friendship! Thirst no longer, and soothe your wounded heart. RARITY: Friendship yes, and perhaps something greater. A tapping sound comes from the room’s window. SURI: Hark, a sound? COCO: From whence? RARITY: A mouse and nothing more. RARITY yawns with deliberation. RARITY: Your kind wisdom has refreshed mine spirit Yet in body I remain weary still. Pray, allow me to retire early, The better to face the morrow anew. COCO and SURI nod and exit. RARITY pauses, waiting for the sound of their hoofsteps to fade away, then crosses over to the window. RARITY: And what manner of odd bird should this be? A nightingale? But lacking in his song. A raven, croaking dire warning to heed? Come, sweet avian; reveal your plumage RARITY opens the window, and SIR TRENDERHOOF enters. TRENDERHOOF: Tis but a magpie, milady, a thief Attracted by the shine of your presence. But never has this magpie seen the like As that which lies before my lucky eyes. They embrace. RARITY: Oh devilish creature, what shall you steal? For you have already captured my heart. TRENDERHOOF: A peerless treasure by any account, But I am incomplete, unsatisfied. Your love is dearer still than life itself, Yet I am left desiring something more. RARITY: Tell me, what boon do you seek? For surely, All that I have I would give in your name. TRENDERHOOF releases RARITY and stands to gaze out the window in contemplation. TRENDERHOOF: I do not doubt your generosity, And I shall not impugn your character. But what I seek is selfish, vanity, That which is not mine to ever request. RARITY: Trender, tender lover, am I not yours? While you are troubled, I shall find no rest; Tell me, and if it be in my power, With joy I shall answer your entreaty. TRENDERHOOF turns to RARITY and kneels, taking her hoof. TRENDERHOOF: Then come away with me, sweet Rarity. We shall leave this castle and its trappings. Together we will weather life’s trials; I will have no fear with you at my side. Let us venture into the great unknown, Leaving behind the things that hold us back. Cast off the iron shackles of your old life! Take my hoof, and let us begin anew! RARITY: RARITY: TRENDERHOOF: RARITY: Yes, yes, a thousand times more and RARITY: TRENDERHOOF: My love, does caution bind your silver’d tongue? RARITY: Oh, would that I could! Would that I might go with you! It tears at my heart, a pain beyond measure. But by our very natures we are trapped. Trapped in our destinies! Trenderhoof raises a hoof, then lowers it. He gazes offstage for a moment before nodding slightly. TRENDERHOOF: I… I do not understand milady. Of what destiny do you speak? Surely, I have no greater master than your love. RARITY: But Sir Trenderfoot, even now you have been called to battle! To defend this land and its people, A noble goal of sacrifice and service. I simply could not love a stallion Who would put himself above his kinsmen And so I am glad that I have you instead, Sir Trenderfoot, The most loyal and noble of all ponies. TRENDERHOOF: TRENDERHOOF: TRENDERHOOF looks offstage again before gazing at RARITY. TRENDERHOOF: Yes, for it was but an idle fancy, Weakness in an insubstantial daydream. I go from here to battle and the war, And pray that you will await my return. RARITY: For ever and a day. TRENDERHOOF: TRENDERHOOF: I must go. TRENDERHOOF opens the window and exits. RARITY turns to the audience, silently watching as the curtains close. Act II Scene I Curtains open on the throne room of Castle Unicornia. KING MAGNUM is seated upon his throne, goblet of mead in hoof. DUKE BLUEBLOOD and his hoofservant enter. MAGNUM: Is this guy dapper I see before me? Ho, Blueblood! Come and share a drink, my friend Sit and regale me with tales of your days Though if whisper’d word in court holds truly ‘Tis your nights that all stallions must envy BLUEBLOOD: I fear such tales are rich in amusement But destitute in their veracity Hyperbole, most persistent in form Fabrication and prevarication ...Except the one about the jacuzzi KING MAGNUM glances from side to side before speaking in a hushed voice. MAGNUM: Then the story of two pegasi twins And the great chocolate pudding fountain? Blueblood winks. BLUEBLOOD: A gentleman reveals not his conquests But no, no, a thousand times nevermore! I have mended my ways, Your Majesty In the spring of youth, I turn a new leaf It is for this cause I come before you Bowing in humility for a boon MAGNUM: I must say that I am flattered, my boy But stallions aren’t to my tastes, as it were And I hardly think Queen Pearl would approve BLUEBLOOD: Not that kind of turn! Not that kind of boon! I fear you misunderstand me, my liege It is not your favor I seek this day But one that is undoubtedly yet close MAGNUM: Well, if it be Pearl, I do not approve And you can take your intentions elsewhere BLUEBLOOD: Again you are mistaken, o wise king Let me assure you my motives are pure I seek one thing, not a tawdry affair But the hoof of your daughter in marriage MAGNUM: ...Sweetie Belle? BLUEBLOOD’s hoof strikes his face as he grimaces. BLUEBLOOD: Your other daughter. The one who’s not eight. MAGNUM: Oh, of course! You wish to woo Rarity My boy, that was a test. Which you have passed BLUEBLOOD: Truly you must be the wisest pony Of all the kings of Unicornia ...Who happen to be in this room right now Oh yes, little escapes the royal eye MAGNUM: I believe you mean to say royal we Which we have always found too pretentious BLUEBLOOD: Regardless, it is Rarity I seek 5.1You can’t remember if it’s one sugar or two. You squeeze your eyes shut so hard that it hurts a little as you try really really hard to remember. It’s not like you weren’t paying attention. You’ve been trying very hard. But there’s just so much to learn and… and… it’s not there. You realize you’re hyperventilating and force yourself to take slower breaths. It’s not like a sugar cube is that big of a deal. Except you know that, yeah, it sort of is. Steam’s still rising off of the coffee mug, and another worry hits you. You don’t want to keep Her waiting, or worse, show up with cold coffee. In a sudden burst of activity, you add two sugar cubes and stir. It’s only then that you realize you’ve screwed up again. If you only add one cube, you can bring the other along with you, so that way if you are wrong the mistake can be easily fixed. You can’t take sugar back out of coffee. Idiot. The coffee swirls in the sink as you pour it down the drain and carefully prepare another cup. One sugar in the mug. One in your pocket. Good. Knowing you’re already running late, you pick up the mug and scurry out of the breakroom. Jane from Accounting gives you an odd look as you rush past her cubicle, the mug carefully clasped in both hands at head height, making sure you don’t spill it. Whatever. No one likes Jane anyways. People are in the office to get work done, not to make friends. You keep going and you’re so close. So so close, when you end up walking slightly too fast and your right foot thuds into the back of your left. You go down in a tumble of limbs, the coffee flying everywhere. It’s scaldingly hot as it splashes over you but you barely notice over the raging panic blooming in your head. You screwed up again. Idiot. You screw your eyes shut, trying not to cry as the heels of your palms thud into your forehead over and over. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You’re a disappointment to Her. You’re beating yourself up about this, but it’s necessary. You have to make sure you remember. You have to quit messing up. “A-are you okay?” a voice calls out. You look up to see Jane from Accounting, which doesn’t make you feel any better. She wrings her hands. “I saw you trip. You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” You stare down at the ground, despair and anger focused inwards but still spilling out into frustration. A clammy pair of hands grabs onto one of yours and you find yourself being pulled to your feet. Jane’s pushing you with a gentle insistence towards her cube. Before you know it, you’re sitting down in her chair and she’s rummaging through drawers for napkins to hand you. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything better. You’re kind of a mess. I think your sweater might be ruined.” No, really. Thanks, Jane. You look down to see that she’s right about your sweater. It’s your favorite one, too, purple and fuzzy and comfortable, decorated with a big pink star across the chest. Now it’s covered in splotches of brown, undoubtedly permanently stained. Looking down at it now, you realize with a sick feeling how much of a kid it must make you look like. A kid who can’t even manage to fetch a cup of coffee correctly. The very sight of the coffee-stained reminders of your failure makes you want to get rid of it, burn it. Jane brightens up, a smile cutting across her bland face. “I have an idea. I think the Lost and Found might have some jackets that other people have left behind. Maybe you could wear something else for the rest of the day.” It’s… not a bad idea. Even Jane is apparently smarter than you today. She ducks out of the cubicle and begins rapidly waddling down the hall as you sit and soak in your squishy misery. The coffee has already gone from hot to tepid, but smells as strong as ever. You pull the sweater over your head and end up just dumping it into Jane’s trash can. Yup. Even the dress shirt you were wearing underneath is covered in brown from the spill. Ugh. Your eyes wander around the cubicle, where Jane has entirely too many pictures of herself and her hideously ugly dog. No one else, of course, no boyfriend or family or anything. The closest is a picture of the company picnic a few months ago, and even there she’s standing apart from everyone else. It makes you smile, slightly. Another flicker catches your eye. Jane’s computer has switched onto its screensaver, and you’re momentarily startled. Oh. But of course she would have one of those watercoloury fantasy backgrounds. Something with a pearly-white unicorn rearing back against a starry sky, two differently sized full moons hanging over the horizon. You reach over to bump the mouse and return it to the boring logon screen. You hate unicorns. Thankfully, Jane returns a minute later. “Look what I found!” she chirps, proudly holding up a t-shirt with a sun emblem emblazoned on the front. You begrudgingly admit to yourself that she didn’t do a half bad job. Even though t-shirts aren’t considered proper work attire. You shiver slightly. Extenuating circumstances, right? She can’t get mad at you for that, not when you’re still wearing a company shirt. Hopefully. You’re lying to yourself. She can totally get mad at you for that, and you totally deserve it. You snatch the t-shirt from Jane and start unbuttoning your dress shirt to switch over. You’ve got it halfway undone when you notice Jane with her face blazing red, hands spread over her eyes. Oh. Right. You shouldn’t be stripping in someone else’s cubicle. There really is something wrong with you. You feel heat rush to your own face, but just speed up, quickly taking the old shirt off and shimmying into the new one. “I’m done,” you say. Jane puts her hands down but won’t meet your eyes. You stand up and start to walk away. You have to go. She’s going to be waiting, and… well, wanting her coffee. But for some reason you pause at the opening to the cubicle. Your mouth opens and closes. “I don’t need your pity,” you say. Yes. That’s definitely what you said, because you would have no reason to say thanks. It’s weird that Jane smiles and gives you a quick wave. She’s weird though. That’s why no one likes her. You hurry down the hall, considering for a minute about going back for more coffee, but realizing that you can’t waste any more time. And if you went back for coffee and then spilt it again, then… Not even worth thinking about that. She has an actual office, of course. And even an administrative assistant sitting at the desk outside. She’s an important person. You shoot the secretary a dirty look as she gives you one back in response. Neither of you like each other, ironically for the exact same reason. You’re both a little jealous. The secretary is the lucky one who gets to work with Her all day. Every day. And yet it’s you who’s considered the special project, the one who’s being groomed for an eventual leadership role. As long as She doesn’t realize what an idiot you are and fire you, of course. How is someone who can’t even get a cup of coffee ever going to amount to anything? You gulp as you pause before the huge oak doors. Hand trembling, you reach out to knock softly against the wood. “Come in,” a voice irritably barks out. You push forward and the door swings open as you shuffle inside, head down in shame. “About time,” She says, and you look up. You look at Her and can’t help but feel something swelling inside you. She wears a standard business suit, well cut for her feminine figure. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses sit on the bridge of Her delicate nose. Her glorious hair of red and yellow is pulled back from its normal cascade into a severe ponytail, which is slightly disappointing but does nothing to remove from Her beauty. “ ?” you croak out. That’s wrong. That’s not her name, why would you even say that? A sunset is a thing, it isn’t even a name that… that normal people would have. Her eyes narrow as a frown creases Her face. What’s wrong with you? A muted horror grips your chest. You’ve been saying that all day but you realize for the first time that there might just be something really wrong with you. In the head. “Still?” She says. Of course you expected Her to be here. Why would you expect anyone else? Who even has hair in rainbow pastels? Are you going crazy? You need help. You need Her help. “I thought this was supposed to be taken care of,” She says, staring off into the air. “What exactly is the problem?” Every syllable of her voice is crisply enunciated. Businesslike. It makes you shiver, as fluttery feelings fill your stomach. You stop pounding your fists against the door. You are in the right place. There is no door. There never was a door. You cannot run away. “I don’t care about your excuses,” She says. “I have better things to do than waste my time when you clearly haven’t finished here. I mean, look at her.” Her eyes stare down you like some kind of hawk studying its prey. You can’t stand it anymore. You kneel before your master. You kneel before your master. You kneel before your master. You fall to your knees, face buried in your hands as you futilely try to block out the pain pounding and pounding away in your head. You hear footsteps as She walks forward to stand over you. And then a soft hand rests on top of your head, running through your hair. You feel the tension drain away. You know now. You are nothing. You submit yourself to Her. Your friends will not save you. You understand that giving in will make this all so much easier. You stop fighting. You submit yourself to Her. You accept your rightful place. You obey. You submit yourself to Her. “Don’t fry her brain,” She says sharply, cutting through your thoughts. “I need her to be useful to me, not a vegetable.” You love her now. You know She’s looking out for you. Trying to help you. Trying to save you. You feel an unbounded adoration towards Her. You are happy now. You are at peace. You didn’t bite your tongue, and can’t taste any blood in your mouth. You could spend the rest of your life like this. You crave her touch. “Put her through more cycles. And don’t call me until you’re certain she’s broken.” You have much still to do. You must be better. You can’t disappoint Her anymore. You must be a better person, for Her sake. You smile. You can’t remember if it’s one sugar or two. 6.1
1.1She hadn't done much more than get out of bed and Fluttershy was already not having a particularly good day. She was not sure why. It was on the very tip of her tongue. A thought existing as the slightest tickle at the back of her mind. A warning that somewhere, something had gone terribly wrong. But what exactly? She finished running the brush through her mane, getting out the last bit of tangles that tended to form in her long pink hair. She looked back at her tail, flowing like a pink waterfall behind her. Her front hoof tapped against the wooden floor. ...She would be fine with not brushing it for one day. She set the hairbrush down, and made her way to the kitchen. Her cottage was quiet this morning. Normally the sheer number of animals residing within meant at least some creature was awake and making a racket, but the only birdsong came filtering in through the window. Had she shut all the little doors that she normally left open for her animal friends? No – one look at the hatch above her kitchen sink showed it to be open, in case Mr. Weasel needed to get inside. Mr. Weasel, of course, was nowhere in sight. And the small dish sitting on her counter was still filled with nuts, untouched. Uncharacteristic. Of both Ms. Weasel and Mr. Ferret, the two of which would normally fight over the treats she left out, despite all of her scolding and the occasional necessary Stares. But the nuts weren't scattered across the floor. They were in their dish, untouched. The large flat rock she kept there where it'd catch the most sunlight during the day was missing Ms. Iguana. She caught a glimpse of something flashing by through the circular window into her back yard and straightened up to peer through, hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Marmot or Mr. Ferret or Mr. Iguana. The window must have been very dirty and smudged. All she had made out was a patch of white moving quickly. Ms. Cat on the prowl? From inside she couldn’t tell. Instead of the greens of her little herb garden, the ground looked ashy and grey, greyer than an angry storm cloud. It wasn't cold at all, but she shivered slightly. She trotted over to her back door, her head swiveling back and forth as she went, eyes peeled for Mr. Tortoise. Though that wasn't right. He wouldn't be here. He had his own home, with her good frie missing Mr. Iguana. She caught a glimpse of something flashing by through the circular window into her backyard and straightened up, peering through, hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Orangutan or Ms. Nightingale or Mr. Newt. The window must have been very dirty and smudged. Instead of the greens of her little herb garden, the ground looked ashy and grey, greyer than the color of Ms. Elephant’s skin. It wasn't cold at all, but she shivered slightly. She trotted over to her back door, her head swiveling back and forth as she went, eyes peeled for Mr. Tortoise. She stepped out into the flat and uncomfortably warm air outside, her wings fluttering slightly in a desire to feel something move. Hadn't there been birdsong earlier? It was quiet now. Even the loud honking of Mr. Stork's practice opera sessions would be a relief. She took a few steps forward, the greyish grass crunching beneath her hooves. Abruptly she realized – she should lock her house. The animals would have their own ways in, but that way no one could enter and mess with them. Ms. Tortoise was easily spooked. She found her key underneath the straw mat she had outside her back door, and reached down to grip the thing in her teeth. Had it always tasted quite like that? And the twisted metal of the key looked a bit.ly/keasymbol of some kind. A… heart? She forced the thought out of her head. It was too important. With a click, the door had been locked, and she dropped the key into the fresh dirt of a terracotta pot next to the door. It'd be a nice reminder. She was going to plant something there. Tomorrow. She resumed her trek across the yard, heading over to the small outbuilding she kept for her winged animals. Small winged animals. It's not as if Mr. Ostrich would fit inside, after all. Everycreature had its own place – though some places were admittedly were nicer than others. Mr. Rabbit insisted on sleeping in her very bed, and she found it very hard to argue with… That was his name, right? For some reason sh trek across the yard, heading over to the small outbuilding she kept for her winged animals. Feathery winged animals. It’s not as if Mr. Yellowjacket would get along with the rest, and he already had quite the temper. She poked her head inside, trying to be quiet in case any of her friends were still sleeping. As soon as she did, the acrid smell assaulted her senses, and she winced, her eyes taking in the messy floor covered in droppings and shed feathers. Had they always been so— But they were there. Her animal friends were there! A smile stretched wide across her muzzle at the sight of the birds inside, and a few bobbing heads poked up to peer at her with glassy eyes. She took a deep breath and began to count them, making sure no one had gotten lost. “One,” she said softly. “Seven. Four.” She blinked. What number came next? “Zero?” She frowned. “Two. Six?” That seemed close enough. She didn’t like the reptilian way the animals were staring at her, and pulled her head back, finding relief in the stale air of the outdoors. Things were okay. She still had some of her animal friends around. The rest must just be busy. Or… maybe planning a surprise party! After all, she didn’t want to get all worked up if it was something as innocuous like that. She knew how much trouble it had been when her frien relief in the stale air of the outdoors. Things were okay. Everything was fine. Nothing was wrong. All of her friends. Her important important animal friends. Her only friends. They began primarily first on her mind and they were perfectlyokay. Fluttershy looked up at the pale sky. “Oh,” she said. “It looks like rain.”
2.1The farmer awoke only at the call of her sister. It was long past dawn, the traditional hour in which a pony of her profession would rouse herself and begin the day’s work. But, as she well knew, many helping hooves were eager and willing to contribute to the upkeep of the orchard owned by her and her family. As success had come to the apple growers, they had been able to expand their operations, bringing in more family from out of town to till the ground and harvest the fruit. The farmer was the daughter and heir to the original ponies who had settled in the area, and her name suitably corresponded with the produce that her family primarily provided. The farmer was better known as Applejack. Applejack thus had no particular need to rise early. But the sister's encouragement came alongside the growing smell of breakfast cooking, and that provided incentive enough to bid farewell to the soft comforts of bed and blanket. Moving somewhere between the languidness of sleep and the urgency of hunger, Applejack retrieved her bow from the dresser. With strong but gentle strokes, she brushed out her hair and tied it back. The ponies were not much for formality or frippery, but Applejack allowed herself the blue bow at the base of her tail, just as her father wore his old stetson or her sister her red mane bow. Satisfied, Applejack adjourned to the dining room of the sizable farmhouse, wherein the remainder of her closest relatives had already assembled. Sister, brother, father, mother, and one who had come before all, their grandmother and founder to the entire region. Bidding them welcome, Applejack took her seat. Not at the head of the table, where her father held court over all matters material and immaterial. Not at the foot of the table, where her mother gently provided guidance and love. But in the middle, amongst her siblings, as befitting a pony still earning her place and responsibilities. For their morning meal, the mother had prepared apple fritters, a delicacy particularly desired by Applejack, and which she devoured happily. They ate without speaking, as manners were prized in the household, and because each member of the family knew all too well that food was to be appreciated and cherished, not placed second to the concerns of the day. But once the fritters had vanished, the family meeting began as normal. The chores of the day were divided, each according to ability and opportunity. The brother and father took upon themselves the most physical labors. The sister, recently having acquired her apple cutie mark that reinforced her proper place on the farm, was cautiously assigned a few new but simple tasks to perform, a responsibility she eagerly accepted. The mother and grandmother had their own roles in the upkeep and maintenance of the household. And Applejack found herself with a day mostly clear of obligations. She would certainly be needed more in the upcoming cider season, but for the moment, her ingenuity and perseverance in previous efforts had meant that she was already ahead in all the tasks that she would normally see to. With this pleasant revelation, Applejack determined to go into town and visit her friends. She bid farewell to her family, wishing them well as she expressed her love and appreciation, and rose to begin her day. It was on the path into town that Applejack first met one of her closest friends. The weathermare was headed in the opposite direction, to the environs of the farm itself. Upon exchanging pleasantries interspersed with gentle jibes and competitive braggadocio, Applejack inquired into the weathermare’s plans for the afternoon. Unfortunately, it seemed that her friend’s work required her attention. Applejack politely smiled and nodded as the weathermare explained in detail the problems that made the current cloud cover unsuitable for the upcoming precipitation. She considered asking the weathermare to simply delay her work and catch up at a later point, but discarded the inclination. After all, the weathermare was in fact the leader of the entire climate team in the town, and she took her duty very seriously. Applejack at times thought that her friend could have a sense of self-importance that bordered on arrogance, but appreciated that her goals were all based on performing a duty for the community, and not on some personal quest for glory. Soon enough, the friend excused herself, continuing onwards toward Applejack’s family home, and Applejack set off. It was not a far distance to the small town, and as she approached, the path she followed became wider and more traveled. Upon reaching the center of the town, Applejack found herself in the midst of the hustle and bustle of normal semi-urban activity. Had this been a market day, and had she brought the wagon to sell her family’s produce from, she would likely have been able to make a tidy profit. But instead, she simply waved and expressed greetings to each pony she saw, all of them familiar faces. But Applejack sought her friends, those she knew dearly and intimately, not the common acquaintances that she only provided with a smile and salutation. She walked onwards to the round building that housed an establishment owned and operated by one such friend. The store was known as ‘Ponyville Clothing and Alterations’, and though at first glance she and its proprietor would have had very little in common, both shared a vibrant connection reaching back to their mutual childhood in the small town. Applejack stopped outside, glancing at the dresses on display in the store’s windows and expressed approval to herself regarding their elegant simplicity. She made a note to inquire as to purchasing one, but could not decide between two particularly attractive garments. It was only then that Applejack looked past the display models in the wide windows to see her friend the dressmaker inside. The dressmaker was preoccupied with measuring and fitting a grey pegasus that Applejack recognized as the town’s primary mailmare. A tinge of disappointment settled over Applejack. She had nothing against the mailmare; in fact, she typically found the mailmare’s clumsiness to be endearing, or at the very least, innocuous. But her presence meant that disturbing the dressmaker would be unwise and unkind. This meant a change of Applejack’s plans, but an alternative quickly revealed itself. The dressmaker’s business was located rather close to the town’s only library, and another of Applejack’s friends claimed that locale as both dwelling and livelihood. Applejack entered the library with deliberate quiescence, as traditional in a place of study and reflection. A lengthy novel preoccupied the librarian staffing the circulation desk, but upon taking notice of Applejack’s arrival, the unicorn carefully marked her stopping point and placed the volume down. They exchanged polite greetings, and the librarian’s reminder about the volume that Applejack still possessed was pointed but friendly. As a manner of deflection, Applejack inquired as to the new works that the establishment had recently acquired, which sent her friend off into a satisfactorily distracted tangent. That led to a discussion of the merits or lack thereof regarding the recent autobiography of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, entitled ‘Splendens Amor: Key to Her Heart’. The librarian had found the work to be tawdry and overwritten, likely composed by an underpaid ghost writer. Applejack expressed solidarity, but questioned the premise of the accusation. Both of them were so far removed from ever having seen a Princess, much less lived a similar life, to be casting definitive judgment. The librarian begrudgingly agreed. From that subject, their meditations naturally drifted to their own dreams and desires. The librarian expressed a genuine interest in expanding the reach of her place of business. She spoke of a place that all in town could congregate to learn and enjoy, discussing their experiences with the written words and sharing new insights. Applejack found this dream to be suitably inspiring but eminently impractical. She refrained from criticizing the hope that her friend held dear. Instead, as her friend asked for Applejack’s own ideal future, she found herself puzzled. It was an idle question, but one that Applejack felt a duty to answer truthfully. What would be her ideal world? Applejack thought long and hard about her life. She thought about her family. She thought about her work. And she thought about her friends. She had an idyllic existence already, in every conceivable way. Applejack found herself more and more stymied by the question. Finally, she came to a satisfactory conclusion. “Ain’t really worth thinkin’ about, sugarcube,” Applejack said.
3.1I'm in the middle of a trick when I see her. Pulling a spiraling corkscrew — that's full bodily rotation while keeping a flight path in a descending curve. Only a lead-in to the Dash Flash, but it's not an easy trick. Like I'd bother with easy tricks. But I see her and that pulls me out, in a cancel that would leave a lesser flyer's head spinning. Probably just the sight of it made Fluttershy dizzy on the ground below. Her voice filters up to me, but it's too soft to hear. I've tried everything, but that girl still needs to work on volume. But. Her. The one I saw. She's watching too, and it's not like I'd ever turn down an audience. But not her, not in that stupid dorky purple hat and stupid dorky cape and stupid dorky black mask covering her face. Just the sight of her is like ripping the scab off an old wound. I'm not going to get anything done until I deal with her though. I hang there in the air for one minute longer, watching her. Figuring out her escape routes. I don't know who's under that mask but it must be someone awfully stupid, because she's got nowhere to hide. And if you wanna try and outrun the Rainbow Dash? Be my guest. I'm on her in a flash, and she doesn't so much as flinch. Disappointing. She just stands there, cape billowing out behind her from the wind of my arrival. Dammit. It looks pretty cool. "Hey. Who are you?" I ask. I don't see any wings. Could be a horn but hard to tell with the hat. But… it’s not one of my friends. I know. They wouldn’t do this to me again. She's not answering me. I stomp my forehoof down. Something about it, about the whole situation... it’s starting to tick me off. "Look, you can take the mask off, or I can take it off for you." She doesn't answer. Good. I prefer the difficult way. I jump forward to tackle her and get a hoof in the barrel for my trouble. She's a scrapper, and before I know it we're trading blows. I take a hit to the head that sets my ears ringing but keep on. Then she lashes out – deliberately – to kick me right in the right foreleg. It hurts like hell, right where I had hurt it before, earlier when I had… something. She kicks it again and I have to hold back a whine. Going right after where I was already injured. She wants to fight dirty? Bring it on, sister. My teeth sink into her shoulder, through the flimsy uniform, and I taste something metallic and tangy. She cries out for the first time and I spit the blood out and grin. That distraction lets me twist in her hooves and get a back leg in. I kick her right in the chest and hear her gasp out. Hard to put up much of a fight when you’re gasping for breath. I wrestle her to the ground and pin her. She's still wiggling but I think I've knocked the fight out of her. Which means it's time to claim my prize. I reach out with a hoof to flick the stupid hat away and pull off her stupid mask. The face underneath is my own. I'm left looking into magenta eyes flickering with annoyance. It floors me for a minute. What is this? Some kind of dream? My leg’s still hurting though, and the pain feels absolutely real. She's still staring at me. Nope. Much easier answer. I punch the changeling in the face, and hear something crack satisfyingly under my hoof. She doesn't transform. Spits out a tooth and sits there bleeding at me. I’m struck by a realization. It’s just like a Daring Do novel. #23, to be precise, Daring Do and the Key of Karpathia. As part of an initiation ritual while infiltrating a cult, she has to go through a test of character and ends up facing her worst fears. Which is herself. Seemed pretty stupid at first to me. You deal with snakes and spiders and deadly traps all day long and your biggest problem is some sort of self-confidence mumbo jumbo? Psh. But I get it, too. She’s not afraid of anything. But she’s afraid that she’ll fail. That one day she’ll be too weak. Make a mistake. Let her friends down. Again. Is it some kind of lesson? Some kind of attack? I’m confused. I’m angry. I gauge which feeling I'd rather resolve. There'd be time for questions later. My foreleg pulls back for a second blow. She looks surprised as my hoof slams into her face. The autographs are the best part. It’s normally foals, yeah, but there’s something about their excitement that’s awesome. The adults normally try to play it cool, but the kids? You can really tell that you’re making their whole day. If not month. I sport a cocky smile throughout. Not arrogant. Just cool. Gotta look good – normally they ask before taking pictures, but some ponies get a little too excited. And I mean c’mon. Who could blame them? “We’re about out of time,” Spitfire whispers in my ear. I nod, but make her wait. Everypony waited in line, everypony is going to get the full Rainbow Dash experience. I can tell the kid and his parents at the end of the line appreciate it too. The mother shoots me a grateful look while kid’s trying to climb up on my back. I grin to myself and toss the kid up to land right between my wings. We get a picture with me in takeoff pose #3 and I know that colt’s gonna be the envy of every foal in his class. He’s not eager to leave, but his parents pry him away. Just in time, too. Spitfire’s looking a little peeved. “Chill,” I said. “We’ve got plenty of time.” She sighs and sets off down the halls, me trotting behind her. “We’ve gotta get you out of that flightsuit and into something more formal for the meeting with the Princesses.” I roll my eyes, but she’s not even looking. “I’m telling you, Celestia and Luna aren’t gonna care.” “Not worth the risk. We’ve got to get signoff on the routine for the Summer Sun Celebration, and that’s Manehattan this year. Their airspace is already a complete mess, and someone is insisting on all new tricks.” “Yeah, yeah.” We end up at the door to my office. “Commander Rainbow Dash” it says, in gold letters on the door. I stop to appreciate it for a moment before Spitfire pushes me inside. I keep my office pretty neat. At least I keep all the stupid paperwork in one pile on the big desk. Spitfire’s already over at the wardrobe, pulling out some kind of fancy vest and tie. I busy myself with looking over the collection in my trophy case. They’re all there. Races, style competitions, a plaque for Equestria’s Hottest Mare last year. And over in the back, a special one. The crown I won for Best Young Flyer. There isn’t an award I haven’t won, at this point. I catch my reflection in the glass. I’m frowning. I stop to consider that. “What am I doing?” I ask, out loud. Spitfire sighs again loudly. One of those ‘enough with the stupid questions’ sighs. “You’re getting dressed to meet with the Princesses.” “After that.” She pulls out a day planner and starts leafing through it. “Meeting the new Wonderbolt candidates, going over any potential changes in choreography after the meeting with the Princess, then some training before dinner. Then we’ve got to put in appearances at small soiree in Canterlot, and—” “No,” I say. “Okay, uh. What’s my goal? What’s the next big thing? Where am I going from here?” She pulls her shades down to meet my eyes, frowning slightly. “I’m sorry?” I’m starting to breathe heavily now, for some reason. “This isn’t right.” I stomp my hoof against the ground, and wince at a sudden jolt of pain. I forgot that I had hurt my leg. When had I hurt my leg? “Are you okay?” Spitfire says. I shake my head hard. Isn’t this what I wanted? Everything I wanted? If this is where I am, what’s my dream now? I’m not moving forward. I’m drowning. “Dash!” Spitfire says. I try to focus my thoughts, but my head’s fuzzy all of a sudden. I grit my teeth and twist my hoof against the floor, the pain in my leg somehow grounding me, as anger builds in my gut. “This is all wrong!” I say. My head whips around the room before settling on the chair sitting behind my desk. That’ll do. It hits the window with a huge crash, shards of glass spraying outward. Spitfire yells something, and I turn to her, fire in my glare. I meet her eyes and they’re magenta. They stare back at me coldly, and then Spitfire shakes her head. I’m behind. Just barely. That scrawny colt with the big wings is turning out to be a better flyer than I expected, but the race isn’t over until you cross the finish line. Unfortunately, that line’s also coming up pretty fast. I put another burst of speed on, relishing the burn in my wings. He’s there, a brown blur in front of me, but I can still win this. The wind whipping past feels more and more solid as I get close to the breaking point. I can feel the pressure building and if not for my lips being blown back, I’d be grinning like crazy right now. A sonic rainboom right at the finish line? It doesn’t get classier than that. Dashier than that? That’s a good one. Save that one for the post-race winner’s conference. I use every muscle to push further forward. My front legs stretch out. All it’s gonna take is an inch more and— My right foreleg twinges, hard, throwing off my concentration. I should have known better flying with it still hurt from… Why the hell was my leg hurt? My wings flare open and the wind hits them hard, cutting my speed in such a rapid deceleration that it hurts. But not like my leg. Different. I’m still moving forward but only due to inertia, and I can see the colt in the lead rocketing ahead to the end of the course. I blink hard and clench my teeth together. Without the wind roaring in my ears, I can hear them now. My friends, cheering me on. Well. From the sounds of it, worried about me now. I dip and coast to the side as another pair of racers blaze past, almost hitting me, and I see the five on a cloud, alongside plenty of other spectators. I touch down and the hurt leg buckles beneath me, causing me to trip forward and almost crash into some frivolous grey pegasus. The six are around me in an instant. My eyes shut and I focus on the pain. It’s coursing in my head now, too. Pulsing in time with the ache in my leg. It hurts good, and I feel the anger coming back, along with fragments... Fragments, but enough. I open them again and see Twilight in front of me, concerned. She’s talking, saying something, but it’s all white noise to me. I push her aside, looking for— There she is. Rarity’s watching me. Looking nervous in a way the other girls aren’t. “Rainbow Dash always dresses in style,” I say. It’s not something I’d ever say. That’s the point. Wasn’t my idea to begin with. “Rainbow Dash always dresses in style.” I’m too upset to be embarrassed. Her mouth opens. “Rainbow, dear, I… don’t know. Forgot.” My teeth are bared but it’s not a smile. Rarity would never forget. She knows what I’m talking about but she doesn’t know the right words. So. They’re in my head somehow. I take off, slamming into her and pinning her down before anyone else can react. I regret that it’s just a cloud. Would rather it hurt. Twilight immediately moves towards us and I growl at her, glad to see her to stop short. “Who are you?” I yell out. Rarity’s shaking beneath my hooves, tears streaming from her eyes. I slap her. Hard. I feel the first tendrils of magic reach around me and know that Twilight is going to try and stop me. Not today, Twi’. I hook my legs under Rarity’s and push forward, forcing the both of us through the cloud and into the air below. We’re high up. Way, way too high for a pony to survive the fall. “Who are you?” I repeat. Rarity’s screaming now. It’s annoying, and making my head hurt even more. So I drop her. It’s not a big deal. I catch her right before she hits the ground. Her eyes are wrenched shut and she’s making some sort of high-pitched whining sound, but she’s not screaming anymore at least. We’re maybe fifty feet up. I idly consider whether a fall from this point would be lethal or only break a few bones. Sigh. Probably worth playing it safe. I float down the rest of the way and drop her roughly on the ground. “Okay. Now we’re going to try this again. You’re going to tell me who you are and who you’re working for. What is it? Discord? Chrysalis?” She whimpers and I strut forward to stand over her. "Don't make this any harder that it has to be." She's pitiful. I look down and see not much more than a shivering heap. There's no patent Rarity dramatics on display. No overwrought declarations of horror. She's just a broken pony, terrified and pathetic. I know it's a lie. It's some more attempt to get me to stop. To give up. It still hits me hard. I close my eyes and force the feeling away. I have to be tough. I have to be ruthless, if I want to save my real friends. I'm not crying because I can't over a cheap sham like this. I have to be stronger. Harder. I’m going to make her pay for this. I’m going to make them all pay for this. No matter who they look like, no matter who I have to hurt. Suddenly I notice the whimpers have stopped. I look down to see myself again. Same mane. Same coat. Same everything. She’s smiling.
4.1Act I Scene I Curtains open on a ornate bedroom. RARITY, unicorn princess, enters, dressed in an evening gown. She is followed by her maidservants, SURI and COCO. SURI: Truly in a night of glittering stars None shined as brightly as you, milady. This Gala will be spoken of for years, With your beauty chief among its praises. COCO: Yes, where lesser ponies cast their wan light As candles in the dimness of this eve You alone dazzled; resplendent, shining As the sun breaking through the silvered clouds. SURI: As the diamond among common boulders, You bring deserv'd shame to their dusty hues. Truly never has or will again be Such a night rivalling tonight, mkay? RARITY sighs and begins to remove her jewelry. COCO follows to assist. RARITY: I am hardly becoming of your praise. The Gala is as it always has been, Vain delight for the pleasure of peacocks. I pay penance but find no joy within. SURI: No joy? Marry, milady speaks in jest! Prestige and fashion follow your hoofsteps. What of your friends, the ladies of the court Overflowing in their adoration? COCO: Have you not spoken to us o'er and o'er? The chains of friendship formed, truer than true. Binding six hearts in closer union still Than any earthly weapon can sever. RARITY: Would that I RARITY: Would that I were COCO: (Would that I were rid of—) RARITY: Would that I were rid of such so-called friends! Chains, you say; chains of such steel and ironwork That I stumble ‘neath their heavy burden. I cry out for relief! For a freedom From friends in name, but in character, foes. Gems on the surface, ugliness below; Robbers in silk and brocade, bearing arms Of spite, avarice, shallow lust of fame. They take, Coco. They take and leave me bare. RARITY steps behind a dressing screen, showing only her silhouette. SURI assists as she changes out of her gown. RARITY: Am I a fool, Suri? Am I childish? To long for a life of simplicity, To be accepted on my own merits? My station is that which shines as the sun; My flame but a flicker, hidden in glare. SURI: Doubt is the provenance of the mighty, And fear, the curse of those who excel most. Sycophants insist on your attention, but you overlook those who truly care. RARITY: Would that I shared your simple confidence. SURI: Truly, there are none? RARITY steps out from behind the dressing screen, now wearing a simple silk shift. RARITY: There is one. COCO: Then place your faith in friendship genuine; Do not allow your heart to falter now. The deceit of the false bears rotten fruit, Bitterness that falls upon their own tongue. Drink from the clear wellspring of true friendship! Thirst no longer, and soothe your wounded heart. RARITY: Friendship yes, and perhaps something greater. A tapping sound comes from the room’s window. SURI: Hark, a sound? COCO: From whence? RARITY: A mouse and nothing more. RARITY yawns with deliberation. RARITY: Your kind wisdom has refreshed mine spirit Yet in body I remain weary still. Pray, allow me to retire early, The better to face the morrow anew. COCO and SURI nod and exit. RARITY pauses, waiting for the sound of their hoofsteps to fade away, then crosses over to the window. RARITY: And what manner of odd bird should this be? A nightingale? But lacking in his song. A raven, croaking dire warning to heed? Come, sweet avian; reveal your plumage RARITY opens the window, and SIR TRENDERHOOF enters. TRENDERHOOF: Tis but a magpie, milady, a thief Attracted by the shine of your presence. But never has this magpie seen the like As that which lies before my lucky eyes. They embrace. RARITY: Oh devilish creature, what shall you steal? For you have already captured my heart. TRENDERHOOF: A peerless treasure by any account, But I am incomplete, unsatisfied. Your love is dearer still than life itself, Yet I am left desiring something more. RARITY: Tell me, what boon do you seek? For surely, All that I have I would give in your name. TRENDERHOOF releases RARITY and stands to gaze out the window in contemplation. TRENDERHOOF: I do not doubt your generosity, And I shall not impugn your character. But what I seek is selfish, vanity, That which is not mine to ever request. RARITY: Trender, tender lover, am I not yours? While you are troubled, I shall find no rest; Tell me, and if it be in my power, With joy I shall answer your entreaty. TRENDERHOOF turns to RARITY and kneels, taking her hoof. TRENDERHOOF: Then come away with me, sweet Rarity. We shall leave this castle and its trappings. Together we will weather life’s trials; I will have no fear with you at my side. Let us venture into the great unknown, Leaving behind the things that hold us back. Cast off the iron shackles of your old life! Take my hoof, and let us begin anew! RARITY: RARITY: TRENDERHOOF: RARITY: Yes, yes, a thousand times more and RARITY: TRENDERHOOF: My love, does caution bind your silver’d tongue? RARITY: Oh, would that I could! Would that I might go with you! It tears at my heart, a pain beyond measure. But by our very natures we are trapped. Trapped in our destinies! Trenderhoof raises a hoof, then lowers it. He gazes offstage for a moment before nodding slightly. TRENDERHOOF: I… I do not understand milady. Of what destiny do you speak? Surely, I have no greater master than your love. RARITY: But Sir Trenderfoot, even now you have been called to battle! To defend this land and its people, A noble goal of sacrifice and service. I simply could not love a stallion Who would put himself above his kinsmen And so I am glad that I have you instead, Sir Trenderfoot, The most loyal and noble of all ponies. TRENDERHOOF: TRENDERHOOF: TRENDERHOOF looks offstage again before gazing at RARITY. TRENDERHOOF: Yes, for it was but an idle fancy, Weakness in an insubstantial daydream. I go from here to battle and the war, And pray that you will await my return. RARITY: For ever and a day. TRENDERHOOF: TRENDERHOOF: I must go. TRENDERHOOF opens the window and exits. RARITY turns to the audience, silently watching as the curtains close. Act II Scene I Curtains open on the throne room of Castle Unicornia. KING MAGNUM is seated upon his throne, goblet of mead in hoof. DUKE BLUEBLOOD and his hoofservant enter. MAGNUM: Is this guy dapper I see before me? Ho, Blueblood! Come and share a drink, my friend Sit and regale me with tales of your days Though if whisper’d word in court holds truly ‘Tis your nights that all stallions must envy BLUEBLOOD: I fear such tales are rich in amusement But destitute in their veracity Hyperbole, most persistent in form Fabrication and prevarication ...Except the one about the jacuzzi KING MAGNUM glances from side to side before speaking in a hushed voice. MAGNUM: Then the story of two pegasi twins And the great chocolate pudding fountain? Blueblood winks. BLUEBLOOD: A gentleman reveals not his conquests But no, no, a thousand times nevermore! I have mended my ways, Your Majesty In the spring of youth, I turn a new leaf It is for this cause I come before you Bowing in humility for a boon MAGNUM: I must say that I am flattered, my boy But stallions aren’t to my tastes, as it were And I hardly think Queen Pearl would approve BLUEBLOOD: Not that kind of turn! Not that kind of boon! I fear you misunderstand me, my liege It is not your favor I seek this day But one that is undoubtedly yet close MAGNUM: Well, if it be Pearl, I do not approve And you can take your intentions elsewhere BLUEBLOOD: Again you are mistaken, o wise king Let me assure you my motives are pure I seek one thing, not a tawdry affair But the hoof of your daughter in marriage MAGNUM: ...Sweetie Belle? BLUEBLOOD’s hoof strikes his face as he grimaces. BLUEBLOOD: Your other daughter. The one who’s not eight. MAGNUM: Oh, of course! You wish to woo Rarity My boy, that was a test. Which you have passed BLUEBLOOD: Truly you must be the wisest pony Of all the kings of Unicornia ...Who happen to be in this room right now Oh yes, little escapes the royal eye MAGNUM: I believe you mean to say royal we Which we have always found too pretentious BLUEBLOOD: Regardless, it is Rarity I seek
5.1You can’t remember if it’s one sugar or two. You squeeze your eyes shut so hard that it hurts a little as you try really really hard to remember. It’s not like you weren’t paying attention. You’ve been trying very hard. But there’s just so much to learn and… and… it’s not there. You realize you’re hyperventilating and force yourself to take slower breaths. It’s not like a sugar cube is that big of a deal. Except you know that, yeah, it sort of is. Steam’s still rising off of the coffee mug, and another worry hits you. You don’t want to keep Her waiting, or worse, show up with cold coffee. In a sudden burst of activity, you add two sugar cubes and stir. It’s only then that you realize you’ve screwed up again. If you only add one cube, you can bring the other along with you, so that way if you are wrong the mistake can be easily fixed. You can’t take sugar back out of coffee. Idiot. The coffee swirls in the sink as you pour it down the drain and carefully prepare another cup. One sugar in the mug. One in your pocket. Good. Knowing you’re already running late, you pick up the mug and scurry out of the breakroom. Jane from Accounting gives you an odd look as you rush past her cubicle, the mug carefully clasped in both hands at head height, making sure you don’t spill it. Whatever. No one likes Jane anyways. People are in the office to get work done, not to make friends. You keep going and you’re so close. So so close, when you end up walking slightly too fast and your right foot thuds into the back of your left. You go down in a tumble of limbs, the coffee flying everywhere. It’s scaldingly hot as it splashes over you but you barely notice over the raging panic blooming in your head. You screwed up again. Idiot. You screw your eyes shut, trying not to cry as the heels of your palms thud into your forehead over and over. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You’re a disappointment to Her. You’re beating yourself up about this, but it’s necessary. You have to make sure you remember. You have to quit messing up. “A-are you okay?” a voice calls out. You look up to see Jane from Accounting, which doesn’t make you feel any better. She wrings her hands. “I saw you trip. You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” You stare down at the ground, despair and anger focused inwards but still spilling out into frustration. A clammy pair of hands grabs onto one of yours and you find yourself being pulled to your feet. Jane’s pushing you with a gentle insistence towards her cube. Before you know it, you’re sitting down in her chair and she’s rummaging through drawers for napkins to hand you. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything better. You’re kind of a mess. I think your sweater might be ruined.” No, really. Thanks, Jane. You look down to see that she’s right about your sweater. It’s your favorite one, too, purple and fuzzy and comfortable, decorated with a big pink star across the chest. Now it’s covered in splotches of brown, undoubtedly permanently stained. Looking down at it now, you realize with a sick feeling how much of a kid it must make you look like. A kid who can’t even manage to fetch a cup of coffee correctly. The very sight of the coffee-stained reminders of your failure makes you want to get rid of it, burn it. Jane brightens up, a smile cutting across her bland face. “I have an idea. I think the Lost and Found might have some jackets that other people have left behind. Maybe you could wear something else for the rest of the day.” It’s… not a bad idea. Even Jane is apparently smarter than you today. She ducks out of the cubicle and begins rapidly waddling down the hall as you sit and soak in your squishy misery. The coffee has already gone from hot to tepid, but smells as strong as ever. You pull the sweater over your head and end up just dumping it into Jane’s trash can. Yup. Even the dress shirt you were wearing underneath is covered in brown from the spill. Ugh. Your eyes wander around the cubicle, where Jane has entirely too many pictures of herself and her hideously ugly dog. No one else, of course, no boyfriend or family or anything. The closest is a picture of the company picnic a few months ago, and even there she’s standing apart from everyone else. It makes you smile, slightly. Another flicker catches your eye. Jane’s computer has switched onto its screensaver, and you’re momentarily startled. Oh. But of course she would have one of those watercoloury fantasy backgrounds. Something with a pearly-white unicorn rearing back against a starry sky, two differently sized full moons hanging over the horizon. You reach over to bump the mouse and return it to the boring logon screen. You hate unicorns. Thankfully, Jane returns a minute later. “Look what I found!” she chirps, proudly holding up a t-shirt with a sun emblem emblazoned on the front. You begrudgingly admit to yourself that she didn’t do a half bad job. Even though t-shirts aren’t considered proper work attire. You shiver slightly. Extenuating circumstances, right? She can’t get mad at you for that, not when you’re still wearing a company shirt. Hopefully. You’re lying to yourself. She can totally get mad at you for that, and you totally deserve it. You snatch the t-shirt from Jane and start unbuttoning your dress shirt to switch over. You’ve got it halfway undone when you notice Jane with her face blazing red, hands spread over her eyes. Oh. Right. You shouldn’t be stripping in someone else’s cubicle. There really is something wrong with you. You feel heat rush to your own face, but just speed up, quickly taking the old shirt off and shimmying into the new one. “I’m done,” you say. Jane puts her hands down but won’t meet your eyes. You stand up and start to walk away. You have to go. She’s going to be waiting, and… well, wanting her coffee. But for some reason you pause at the opening to the cubicle. Your mouth opens and closes. “I don’t need your pity,” you say. Yes. That’s definitely what you said, because you would have no reason to say thanks. It’s weird that Jane smiles and gives you a quick wave. She’s weird though. That’s why no one likes her. You hurry down the hall, considering for a minute about going back for more coffee, but realizing that you can’t waste any more time. And if you went back for coffee and then spilt it again, then… Not even worth thinking about that. She has an actual office, of course. And even an administrative assistant sitting at the desk outside. She’s an important person. You shoot the secretary a dirty look as she gives you one back in response. Neither of you like each other, ironically for the exact same reason. You’re both a little jealous. The secretary is the lucky one who gets to work with Her all day. Every day. And yet it’s you who’s considered the special project, the one who’s being groomed for an eventual leadership role. As long as She doesn’t realize what an idiot you are and fire you, of course. How is someone who can’t even get a cup of coffee ever going to amount to anything? You gulp as you pause before the huge oak doors. Hand trembling, you reach out to knock softly against the wood. “Come in,” a voice irritably barks out. You push forward and the door swings open as you shuffle inside, head down in shame. “About time,” She says, and you look up. You look at Her and can’t help but feel something swelling inside you. She wears a standard business suit, well cut for her feminine figure. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses sit on the bridge of Her delicate nose. Her glorious hair of red and yellow is pulled back from its normal cascade into a severe ponytail, which is slightly disappointing but does nothing to remove from Her beauty. “ ?” you croak out. That’s wrong. That’s not her name, why would you even say that? A sunset is a thing, it isn’t even a name that… that normal people would have. Her eyes narrow as a frown creases Her face. What’s wrong with you? A muted horror grips your chest. You’ve been saying that all day but you realize for the first time that there might just be something really wrong with you. In the head. “Still?” She says. Of course you expected Her to be here. Why would you expect anyone else? Who even has hair in rainbow pastels? Are you going crazy? You need help. You need Her help. “I thought this was supposed to be taken care of,” She says, staring off into the air. “What exactly is the problem?” Every syllable of her voice is crisply enunciated. Businesslike. It makes you shiver, as fluttery feelings fill your stomach. You stop pounding your fists against the door. You are in the right place. There is no door. There never was a door. You cannot run away. “I don’t care about your excuses,” She says. “I have better things to do than waste my time when you clearly haven’t finished here. I mean, look at her.” Her eyes stare down you like some kind of hawk studying its prey. You can’t stand it anymore. You kneel before your master. You kneel before your master. You kneel before your master. You fall to your knees, face buried in your hands as you futilely try to block out the pain pounding and pounding away in your head. You hear footsteps as She walks forward to stand over you. And then a soft hand rests on top of your head, running through your hair. You feel the tension drain away. You know now. You are nothing. You submit yourself to Her. Your friends will not save you. You understand that giving in will make this all so much easier. You stop fighting. You submit yourself to Her. You accept your rightful place. You obey. You submit yourself to Her. “Don’t fry her brain,” She says sharply, cutting through your thoughts. “I need her to be useful to me, not a vegetable.” You love her now. You know She’s looking out for you. Trying to help you. Trying to save you. You feel an unbounded adoration towards Her. You are happy now. You are at peace. You didn’t bite your tongue, and can’t taste any blood in your mouth. You could spend the rest of your life like this. You crave her touch. “Put her through more cycles. And don’t call me until you’re certain she’s broken.” You have much still to do. You must be better. You can’t disappoint Her anymore. You must be a better person, for Her sake. You smile. You can’t remember if it’s one sugar or two.
