Stitches

by Hopefullygoodgrammar

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Sad, Gilda
Length: 7269

Gilda died violently and has been resurrected... but she isn't the same, both physically and mentally. Now she has a chance to relive life, but will it be worth it? *Not a sequel to Cupcakes.*

Necromancy.

An art that has been forbidden in Equestria for centuries. The princesses think that they have eradicated it, but they cannot watch over everything all the time.

Gilda was a brash, rude, violent punk who shamed her family with her bullying attitude.

Then she died violently and messily, and her father, distraught, enlists the help of griffon necromancer Melkonis, who promises to bring her back at a high price and bring her back he does, but there are some... issues in the manner of her rebirth.

Now Gilda is a patchwork creature living in a dark cell. She doesn't remember much about her past, but what she does remember has made her long for the outside world.

But, when she takes the opportunity to escape, will what awaits beyond her cell be worth the heartache?

This story is part of the Pony Dreadful 'Verse and is rated teen for gore and dark themes.

Published 2014-07-27 01:20:02 UTC
Last updated 2014-08-08 14:51:26 UTC

Before

It is dark in here.

I have only a small chunk of dim candlelight from which to see and write, so I may have to keep this moderately brief.

My name is Gilda.

That is one of the only things that I can remember from my past. My name, a few blurred faces and names that may or may not go with them, and the agony of my death which, if what my warden says is true, was the result of being pulled under a carriage.

I have no idea what led me to such a fate, but I’m not sure that I want to know.

Sometimes, when I fall asleep, I dream of the underside of the carriage being sprayed with my blood and I wake up feeling like my bones are on fire. I scream and wail until my throat burns and my voice gives out, but no-one comes to my aid.

I’ve been sequestered in this small, windowless cell for what feels like an eternity, and in that eternity I’ve tried my hardest to remember who I was before…before what?

What was I before?

It’s almost all gone, my memories are a dark void with only a few frames of my past life suspended as if in amber.

Who was I?

Was I kind? Cruel? Sardonic? Lascivious? Melancholic? Upbeat? Did I have any friends? Was I loved by someone? Did I love someone back? I know that I have a father, but do I have a mother? How old am I? What did I like and dislike?

All these questions buzz around in my mind like angry hornets, but I fear that they might never be answered.

I know that I have a father, because he is my warden. He brings me books and food everyday, and seems surprised by how fast I devour and assimilate the written word. Maybe I was lazy or stupid when I was normal?

Anyway, Father tells me very little about the past, though he did tell me some things about my resurrection: like the method of which I was reconstructed and the name of the griffon who brought me back.

The method is called “Sewing-Life Necromancy”. Basically it means that the necromancer reinforced by shattered bones with steel, filled my blood with various forms of alkahest, sewed my various tears and ruptures closed, and replaced the parts of me that didn’t work anymore with parts from other donors.

It was quite fascinating and, as for the name of my savior, my father only gave me a first name: Melkonis.

Melkonis, as my father has stated several times over, is one of the last necromancers in Equestria and is also the best one there is, having studied and plied his morbid trade for many years.

Of course, being still curious as to my unseen surroundings, I asked him what “Equestria” was and he provided me with a massive tome of Equestrian history the following day ( at least, I think that a day had passed).

So I learned about Princesses Celestia and Luna came to power, about how Luna fell to darkness and was corrupted, and how she was redeemed by the Elements of Harmony.

The Elements of Harmony interest me greatly. The thought of a sextet of magical artifacts with the power of pure goodness makes me want to learn even more about them, which, by extension, makes me want to learn more about everything.

Maybe I’ll learn all that there is to know, I have been told that my lifespan is far longer than most griffons… or most members of any species.

I have been so enraptured in my studies as of late, but that probably has to do with the sadness that has recently overtaken me.

For the longest time I thought that Father was keeping me here for my own good, reasoning that he wanted to protect me from the horrors of the world and a second death. But now I am convinced that he is keeping me here simply because he cannot stand me.

It took me awhile to see the disgust in his eyes whenever he looked at me. But it was there, it was always there and I wasn’t well-learned enough to see it.

Why does he hate me?

I know that I must look… different, as I have seen the steel braces on my hindpaws and talons, but I’m still his daughter.

Aren’t I?

Gilda stopped her writing when he talon started to shake, and she moved away from the paper when she began to tear up.

Gilda moved to the thick steel door just as the feeding slot opened to expel her dinner, as well as a book on the Elements of Harmony. She was slightly impressed by how punctual the two other people who guarded her cell were; they had never been late in all of her time in the cell.

She picked up her plate and glass and set them on the small table that she used for writing and reading, then she picked up the book, which was titled “An updated history of the Elements of Harmony.”

Gilda read the first few chapters whilst eating her dinner, the descriptions of the all the perils and hardships that these new Bearers faced acting as the perfect escape from her cell, allowing her to envision the sights, the sound and the smells of the world outside. Her fantasy faded fast when she saw the pictures of the current Bearers.

A pink earth pony with a poofy mane.

A white-furred unicorn with elegant purple tresses.

An orange earth pony with a funny-looking hat.

A yellow-furred pegasus who was blushing bashfully.

A purple unicorn who was holding up her element proudly.

And a blue pegasus with the most striking mane out of all of them, manly because of its rainbow coloration.

Rainbow…. Now why does that word seem so… important?

Gilda tried to concentrate on the image of the pegasus, whose name appeared to be “Rainbow Dash”. She willed herself to think and remember, but all that resulted from that endeavor was a headache and an increased sense of depression.

Sighing miserably, Gilda closed the book and went to her bed, curling up on it and closing her eyes as all that she had learned were digested.

She was asleep in a heartbeat, and in her dreams she saw the face of the rainbow-maned pegasus laughing cruelly at her.

Author's Note

And so another chapter in the Pony Dreadful 'Verse begins.

After

I am afraid.

It’s been a while since I took pen to paper, but I’ve been caught in a riptide of exhaustion and depression as of late. I think that it has something to do with that rainbow-maned pegasus whose strange familiarity has been haunting the darkest parts of my mind.

Not only that, but I had a dream that was different from the others and it was different because it wasn’t actually a dream, it was a memory.

A memory of my rebirth.

After Melkonis had done his work and I was brought back I had been unable to remember much of my re-awakening.

But now I can… and it scares me.

I remember a flash of light that was so all-encompassing in its brightness that I felt like had fallen into a sea of bright blue light.

A strange feeling washed over me, I think it was the first true physical feeling that I had felt since my death.

And, if there is a type of agony more potent and horrific than being reborn, then I have yet to experience it.

The pain probably only took me a second to react to in real time, but to my newly revitalized brain it seemed like an eternity of crackling, humming agony.

And so I spent my first few hours screaming, howling and wailing like a banshee. I wanted to die, the pain was my whole world and I couldn’t even form a single thought. It was like I was drowning, being stretched on a rack, burned in a brazen bull and flayed alive all at once.

Eventually the agony subsided enough for me to start thinking, but my thoughts were only half-formed.

Eventually the thoughts became clearer and I was able to question my surroundings and who I was. I examined my surroundings and found that I was laid out on a steel slab at the center of a large room that was filled from top to bottom with the tools of a necromancer.

Grimoires, Necronomicons, lists of the beasts of Tartarus and their names, spellbooks, astrology charts, world maps, wands, needles, thread, a large freezer, casting bones, ritualistic daggers, a heart monitor and several types of cutting implements; it was like a meeting of the past and present.

I tried to get up to examine my surroundings, but my limbs left heavy and stiff. It took a while for me to get my limbs to obey my mind, and each joint felt swollen and raw, though I later realized that that was because my replacement parts were adjusting to my physiology.

After I got used to walking again I proceeded to investigate the room, looking at the knives, playing with the jars of pickled punks and looking at the pictures in the books.

I was in awe of my new surroundings, now looking at them through fresh eyes. But my happiness withered away when I realized that I could not remember anything beyond my rebirth.

I was overcome by this new, unpleasant emotion which made my heart ache and my guts burn, and I sat down and wailed for what felt like an hour, hoping that the water from my eyes would carry my unhappiness away.

Eventually my cries dissolved into pitiful whimpering and sniffling. I had covered my ears to block out the sounds of my sobbing, so I wasn’t aware that someone had entered the room and was now watching me until I felt a gentle talon on my quivering back.

I looked up and stared into the face of another griffon.

The griffon was tall and gaunt, with long arms, black plumage, ruffled gray feathers and a thin, almost effeminate face with a slender and small beak, light blue eye markings that made his piercing yellow eyes seem all the more so, and a high brow that gave him a somewhat imperious air.

“Hello, Gilda.” he said, and I instantly felt my muscles relax at his rich, soft voice.

I tried to reply, but my brain and tongue were still getting used to each other, so I could only coo like an infant. The sounds that I made elicited a wide grin from the griffon, who knelt next to me and shook my talon.

“My name is Melkonis and your name is Gilda. Can you say that?”

I thought for a moment, then I opened my beak and said, falteringly, “G-g-gild-Gildaaah?”

Melkonis chuckled, “Almost, try again.’

This time I managed to say my name with more confidence than I had displayed previously, “Gilda!”

This time Melkonis laughed out loud and clapped his talons together.

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed, his happy tone making me smile, “You’ve retained some of, if not most of, your previous intellect, splendid!”

“S-splendid?” I inquired.

Melkonis patted my head and said, “I see that you’re quite curious about-well...everything, so I’ll have your father give you some books.With any luck you’ve still retained your ability to read.”

The necromancer stood up, but I clung to his waist like a toddler to her mother. Melkonis gently pulled my talons off of his person and admonished me sternly, telling me that he would be back in a few minutes.

So I sat down and waited in sullen silence for him to return.

But he never did.

Instead, my father entered the room. I sat there and studied his proud features as he looked at my new body with what I first thought to be curiosity that matched my own. But, looking back on it now and recalling his features, I can remember the way his throat tightened and his eyes grew cold as he looked at me.

My father was disgusted and saddened by my appearance, and it terrifies me now.

There is something that I should mention about myself: I have never once seen my reflection. The most of my body that I can see are my hind paws and talons, both of which are adorned with thin, well-crafted metal braces that appear to be bolted into my flesh.

It doesn’t hurt, but it seems to inspire that look of disgust in my father whenever he lays eyes on them.

Does that mean that I’m ugly?

I sometimes think of asking my father, but my fear weighs my tongue down and tightens my throat, I’m not afraid because I think that he’ll confirm my fears, I’m afraid because I Know that he’ll confirm my fears.

I must look truly horrific if it can make a griffon who is as steadfast as my father tremble and avert his eyes, but I can at least understand his dislike of me. After all, he wanted his daughter brought back and instead he got me.

I was revived through arcane and taboo means, sewn together like a living quilt and partially rebuilt with foreign limbs; such a description fits in with the definition of the word monster.

I am a Monster.

You cannot possibly comprehend how painful that was to write just now, I had to turn my head because I had started to leak again. I am now 100 percent sure that the leaking corresponds to my mental and physical pain; now I just have to look up the word that goes with it.

I’ve also realized that, although I know now that I look frightening, I still want to see my new body with my own eyes.

Now I am filled with doubt and loathing. I want to see myself, to see what I look like now and to judge for myself. But I know that I’ll never be able to leave this cell.

I am trapped here.

Trapped. That word has begun to make me angry as of late. I may be a monster, but I know that I have every right to be free. I won’t hurt anyone, I just want to see the sun and the moon and the sky and the stars. I want to see blue oceans and green grass, I want to feel the wind beneath my wings and let the grass tickle my toes.

I want to feel the cold rain on my skin and watch the lightning strike through the gray clouds, I want to watch falling stars and see sunsets on the horizons.

I want to fly, to run and to live away from my cell.

I want to be free.

But that won’t happen.

And- upon further thought- maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe the world isn’t what I read about, maybe it’s nothing more than I giant cesspool.

But I hope that it isn’t, I really do.

Now I can hear my father coming down the corridor, I can tell it’s him because of the hesitation in his steps, a hesitation that the servants don’t have, but, then again, they’ve never seen me.

I guess it’s time for me to do some more reading and eating, followed by sleep that I am starting to crave more and more.

Well...technically it isn’t the sleep itself that I desire, it is the dreaming that comes with sleep.

I just hope that I can dream of something new tonight.

Now.

It’s so...odd, I’ve never felt this way before. Sure I’ve felt happiness, but only when lost among the words of a book. But I’ve never felt happiness in this quantity.

But, then again, I’ve never had a reason to be truly happy.

Until now.

I’m free.

I AM FREE!

I can feel the joy flowing through my veins, making my heart soar and making my bones feel like they were made of air.

I am currently sitting near a gurgling stream that winds its way down from the rolling green hills and snakes its way past where I am situated and disappears into the distance.

I can see the sky, too, and it is so beautiful that my eyes have been leaking almost nonstop. It’s so blue and the sun is so yellow and there isn’t a cloud in the sky.

And the smells! I can smell the earth scent of the grass and dirt, the soft, clean smell of the cool breeze that ruffles my head feathers, the strong, musky scent of the animals that have been visiting the stream, though I find it odd that they’re all gone now. The smell seems fresh to me, maybe there’s a timberwolf or something of the like nearby?

If that’s the case then I should leave as soon as possible, though I am loathe to do so considering how breathtakingly beautiful it is, but I don’t know what my limits are.

So I’ll go now, I don’t want to get in a fight with some wild beast.

Gilda finished writing and tucked the piece of paper into the satchel that she had found in the foyer of her father’s mansion.

She got to her paws and started for the thicket that lay to her left, remembering how she got out in the way she did.

She had been reading by candlelight as usual when she had heard the sounds of several individuals getting into a very loud and very heated argument. Gilda had gone to the door and listened in, her longing for the sounds of others overpowering all else.

“I don’t care, Dimitri!” said a high, feminine voice that Gilda vaguely recognized as belonging to a young griffon maid by the name of Martell.

“But we’ve been forbidden to talk to her.” pleaded the one named Dimitri, his voice sounding higher pitched and whiny.

“I’ve known Gilda for five years!” bellowed Martell, “What the master is doing is wrong, Dimitri.”

“But it isn’t our place to question him.” insisted Dimitri sounding closer to the door, “She probably did something really stupid, you know how she is.”

“She may be a bit...crass sometimes, but that doesn’t give the master the right to imprison her like a wild animal!” growled Martell, who sounded like she was just inches from the door.

“I won’t let you enter, you stupid little hatchling!” bellowed Dimitri.

There was dead silence, then a teeth-rattlingly loud lion’s roar pierced the stillness.

Gilda drew back as what sounded like a violent scuffle erupted just outside the door. The griffoness backed away as the door shuddered in its hinges as something was slammed into it hard.

The object was slammed into the door twice more before it flew open and two fighting griffons in a maid and butlers garb respectively came rolling into the room in a flurry of punches, claws and kicks.

Gilda avoided them as they slammed into the far wall, still growling and trying to throw punches. The griffoness took several steps towards the open door, seeing a brighter form of light than she was used to.

She didn’t even realize that the two had stopped fighting until she heard Dimitri whimper.

Gilda turned and laid eyes on the two griffon youths, taking Dimitri’s yellow fur and gray feathers, and Martell’s small wings and parrot-like beak. Of course, as she was examining the two, the two were examining her.

And, judging by what happened next, they didn’t like what they saw.

Dimitri and Martell let out simultaneous screams that blended together to form a cacophonous bellow that made Gilda clasp her talons to her head in pain.

The griffoness stumbled back and let out a pained moan that, to the two other griffons, had sounded like the wail of a damned soul; that sound made them scream louder.

Finally Gilda had heard enough of the damnable roar and so she turned and fled down the nearest corridor, but the screams still followed her and they kept her running until she had thrown open the main doors of the dank dungeons, barely feeling the sudden dry trait the air took on as it was no longer laden with mold.

She erupted through another set of doors and raced into the kitchens. She almost kept running, but then she realized that the screaming had stopped, so she looked up from the floor and found herself looking at a clear night sky framed by glass.

It’s a window… she realized, gazing intently at the full moon and the glowing stars that formed a glittering halo around it, I’ve never seen one before.

Gilda drew closer to the window and pressed her scarred palm against it, feeling the cool condensation on the glass wet her skin.

She smiled, then she felt the sudden realization of her current situation hit her and she turned around to see the splintered door. I got out if my cell, so what am I doing here?! she thought, turning around and looking for another door, which she found and exited.

The griffoness found herself in a darkened dining room complete with a large table and a well-maintained chandelier that hung over the spot where a centerpiece would go; the only light came from a small candelabra with only one lit candle. Gilda paced into the room and immediately spotted the door that led out, though she paused and took the lit candle before she continued.

The door that she picked led to a sitting room, which led to a hallway, which led to a smoking room, which led Gilda to wonder if her past self had had this much trouble navigating the opulent mansion.

She moved past the smoking room and found herself in the most luxurious and grandiose room yet: the ballroom.

It was bigger than the rest of the rooms for obvious reasons, with slick marble floors, two ornate chandeliers that hung from the ceiling from golden chains and an entire wall composed of spotless mirrors.

Mirrors…

Gilda felt her heart leap into her throat when she saw her silhouette multiplied tenfold by the mirrors.

She moved forward slowly, the need to see what could have inspired such fear in Dimitri and Martell smothering her trepidation.

She had to see with her own eyes, even if the sight drove her mad.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps and she was standing a mere foot away from the mirror, but she didn’t have the strength to move any closer, because she saw staring back at her from the polished glass, with the monstrous visage cast in deep shadows by the orange flame of the candle.

The face-her face- was thin and pale beneath her already pale feathers, there were two massive scars marring her soft skin: one ran down the right side of her face, running past her eye-which was silver instead of golden like her left eye-and ending at the base of her neck where it joined an even thicker and more ghastly scar on her neck.

The other seemed to start from the side of her right beak and end somewhere at the back of her head.

The black stitches stood out like back smudges on a white canvas, giving her the impression of gaudy stage makeup.

But this wasn’t makeup, it was as real the tile under her paws.

Gilda’s trembling talon caused the small flame to flicker, making the shadows that framed her face dance horribly.

She felt the the scream bubble up within her throat, but was numb to stop it and it exploded out of her open beak to ring around the room and drive themselves into her mind like red-hot spikes.

The sound, the pain and the abominable sight all blended into a single, excruciating agony that brought her meager dinner up and forced her to her knees; the sound of the metal cap that connected her leg braces adding more pain to the already growing amount.

She looked up and saw more of her maimed and mangled body through tear stained eyes, catching a look at the thick, Y-shaped scar that ran from her chest to her stomach, the multitude of smaller, yet no less ghastly scars that ran across her skin.

She nearly threw up a second time when she saw the monstrosities that constituted as her wings; an amalgam of metal and strings and joints with feathered flesh stretched over a curved frame. She had never felt the need to preen and hadn't even thought of flying but, upon seeing her wings-if she could call them that- she knew that she wouldn't be making any attempts to get off the ground in the near future.

Gilda didn’t even realize that the candle, which had fallen from her grasp, was going out, all she cared about now was running as far away from that horrible monster in the mirror as she could.

And so she ran out of the ballroom, letting the phantom of her tormented scream fade into nothingness.

Now it was sunny, but the chilling reminder of the previous night had frozen her skin.

Gilda stopped and fell to her stomach as the horror returned, bringing with it a tidal wave of acidic self-loathing that pulled her into its dark depths and buffeted her mercilessly.

Why did Melkonis make me like this? she thought as sobs tore their way out of her throat, Why couldn’t he have made me like the other griffons? What will I do now? No one on this earth could possibly want to aid me, not with this face and this body.

Gilda curled up as tightly as she could, the metal braces which had once felt so natural now felt alien and unwanted, like metal leeches embedded permanently into her flesh.

Now I know why Father hates me so much, who could possibly love a monster like me?

Gilda abandoned herself to her tears until the sun was swallowed up by the horizon in a blaze of yellows and reds and purples, and she cried herself to sleep as the moon shone brightly over the countryside.

The Dreaming Castle.

Gilda stood paw-deep in a sea of swirling darkness that stretched on into infinity.

She looked around for a full minute, trying to figure out where she was and how she had gotten there, before she realized that she was in a dream.

I’ve never had a dream like this. she thought as she looked around, trying and failing to see any distinct shapes amidst the gloom. I’ve always dreamed of some piece of my past-usually my death, but I’ve never been to this place.

The griffoness walked forward, hoping that by walking in a specific direction she could find something of interest.

It didn’t take her very long.

It rose up suddenly out of the gloom, almost like it had been there all along, but kept out of her sight: it was a massive, crumbling castle, with jagged and broken battlements like crooked teeth, thin windows with grimy stained-glass coverings that had somehow remained unbroken and a single entrance that she now stood before.

Gilda gazed into the gloom that lay in wait beyond the doorway, feeling a chill creep across her spine.

I’m not sure that I want to go in there, but if I’m dreaming then nothing can hurt me… mused Gilda, maybe I can will it away or change it somehow? I’ve read about lucid dreaming, but can I actually do it here?

She closed her eyes and began to concentrate, but something felt wrong: it felt to her like a tiny voice whispering, begging her not to change a single ruined aspect of the dream castle.

Gilda opened her eyes and then sighed, I guess I’ll go in, then.

The griffoness padded her way into the castle, not feeling anything around her, but hearing the drip of water from some unseen place as well as the sound of her own heartbeat.

She passed through a small, cramped corridor made from grimy stones and passed under a low archway to find herself in a large room that was lit only a by a few sparse torches that glowed an eerie blue.

There wasn’t a single bit of furniture in the room with one glaring exception.

It was a large, circular pit that lay at the room’s exact center, surrounded by a circle of white stones that seemed to glow with some inner light.

Gilda approached it without a second thought.

Soon she found herself staring over the edge of the pit, down into the deep dark fathoms that lay below her.

The darkness shifted, then began to creep up the stone like some kind of living oil, turning the gray stone dark and gleaming as it did. Gilda’s beak fell open as she watched the darkness rise to greet her, not even paying any mind to the odd tingling sensation that was quickly moving up her scarred paws.

What is this stuff? she wondered as the oily shadows undulated before her eyes. The darkness was only a few feet from the lip of the pit, but Gilda hadn’t moved a muscle.

Then something moved in her periphery and she looked down, screaming aloud when she saw the dark tendrils that had materialized from her shadow and were now binding her paws to the floor.

She looked back up just in time for the darkness from the pit to wash over her.

She was surrounded by sights and sounds. They buzzed through the air like hornets and crowded her thoughts, piecing into her brain and filling her with snapshots and disjointed bits of conversations.

She was younger, whole, sitting with a rainbow-maned pegasus under a tree as rain fell around them.
“Thanks for bein’ there, Dash...I just wish he didn’t have to be such a dick about everything *Sniff*”

She was arguing with her father, back when his face wasn’t so lined with hatred.
“Aww-c’mon, dad…”

A harsh rebuke whose sting bled back into her memory.

“Well excuse me for not bein’ an uptight asshole like you!”

After a painful fallout, visiting a grave atop a lonely hill.
“Hey, mom...I’m sorry I haven't visited you in a while… flight camp’s just been a bi-I mean it’s been tough.”

Comforting a sobbing pegasus, the same pegasus from before.
“Hi, name’s Gilda..what’s yours?”

The two standing on a cloud overlooking a mountain range.
“I bet I can beat ya with one wing tied behind my back!”

Her father’s fist flying into her cheek, then her standing over with his blood on her clenched talons, her father howling through a broken jaw.
“That’s what you get, asshole!”

Sobbing on a cloud, the rain falling, the last straw broke.

Then she was watching through blood-filled eyes as a gaunt, haggard griffon took out a glowing object and placed it somewhere inside of her, and the pain as her heart stopped.

Then she woke up.

It took her a few minutes to calm herself as her heart beat out of control, it took her even longer to blot the tears that had been flowing freely down her cheeks like miniature waterfalls.

“Th-those were m-memories.” she said aloud, trying to calm herself, “I-I saw myself….is that what I looked like when I was alive?”

She looked down at her paws and talons, imagining her skin whole and unscarred like it had been in the memories. She turned and walked towards a nearby puddle, obviously the result of a rain that she had slept through, though her fur was only a little bit damp.

Gilda looked down at her body, wincing as her eyes traced the Y-shaped scar on her chest. She closed her eyes and heaved a shuddering sigh.

After a few deep breaths she had calmed down enough to start analyzing the memories.

I was younger, I got in a fight with my father, then I went to see...mother… her thoughts trailed off as she remembered the gravestone, feeling new tears spring to her eyes when she realized that she hadn’t seen a name.

I can’t remember her name or her face. she thought sadly, I hope that she was beautiful.

She looked down at the puddle again, trying to force her mind to remember her mother’s face and name, but that proved useless and Gilda felt anger course through her veins.

“Why can’t I remember her name?!” she roared, lifting her talon up and slamming it down hard enough to create a small tsunami of murky water.

As the water-and Gilda’s temper- settled, she saw something glowing in the water’s depths.

Maybe my punch unearthed something? she wondered, glad for the distraction.

She reached into the water to grab the glowing thing, but her talon met mud and nothing else. Gilda’s brow furrowed and she ran her fingers through the muck, trying to locate the glow, but she didn’t find anything.

“Where are you?” she asked, growing annoyed as she studied the glow.

Then she shifted slightly, and the glow followed her.

Her mismatched eyes widened; the glow was coming from her!

She looked down at her chest scar and gaped at the red glow that was emanating from between the stitches. She raised a finger and pressed the tip to the glowing spot, letting out a gasp when she felt a sharp jolt from the contact.

Then, as she watched, the glow faded away, leaving only the ugly scar.

“What. The. Hel?” she uttered as she ran a pad over the scar, wondering what the glow was.

I guess it’s another mystery that I have to solve. she thought, turning back towards her chosen path. Maybe someone in the nearest city can tell me…. if my face doesn’t scare them off.

Sighing miserably at the prospect of having to deal with more people who would most likely be frightened of her appearance, Gilda began her trek anew.

Maybe I can find a coat that nobody wants. she thought to herself as she moved through the undergrowth, hoping that she could find some shelter when night fell, a glance at the darkening horizon made it clear that a storm was brewing.

A really nasty storm, too.

Small Town Doctor.

Celestia’s sun was just creeping up over the horizon when the frantic knocking awoke Glorio Melkonis from his peaceful sleep.

Growling in annoyance, the thin griffon left the comforting warmth of his plush bed, slipped on his robe and went to answer the door.

Melkonis was not a morning griffon, not by a long shot, but his newest job often demanded that he wake up early. He loathed that part of the job, as well as the part in which he had to listen to a bunch of ponies and griffons whining about some ailment or some perceived ailment; Melkonis often wondered is ponies were naturally more prone to being hypochondriacs than his own people.

The knocking came again, sounding more frantic than before.

“I’m coming!” shouted Melkonis, his voice gravelly from sleep.

The griffon reached his door and threw it open, revealing a whimpering pegasus stallion whose tear-filled eyes and quick, shaky breaths told Melkonis that something very, very bad had happened.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice growing sharp as his higher mental faculties kicked into high gear, trying to predict what would be said.

He wasn’t wholly unprepared for what the answer to his question turned out to be, but it disturbed him nonetheless.

“M-my b-b-boy….” the stallion sobbed, “He-he….”

“What is it?” asked Melkonis in his best soothing voice.

“He’s been murdered!!” wailed the stallion, abandoning himself to his misery.

Oh no. thought Melkonis, That pigeon-winged wimp is going to get snot all over my doormat! How disgusting!

Of course he didn’t say any of this aloud, instead he put on his best comforting face and gently pulled the weeping stallion into a hug. Allowing himself to grimace at the undesired physical contact, but it was necessary in order to keep up appearances. After all, everyone expected the town doctor to be a kind and caring individual, so Melkonis sucked it up and acted the part.

After a few minutes the stallion had cried himself out and managed to tell Melkonis some of what had happened, though it was obvious that he was expected to examine the body in person.

Melkonis held back a small smile: at least the town doctor job also came with the job of undertaker and made him the sole operator of the local morgue.

So it didn’t take much convincing to get the griffon doctor washed up and out of the house, though it took him a few minutes to get his medical supplies together and place them in his bag.

Melkonis allowed the still-distraught stallion to take his time in leading him to the spot where the body had been found.

Which rested in the outlying woods.

The location immediately set of alarms in Melkonis’ head, but he knew that he had to see more evidence before jumping to conclusions.

Melkonis and the stallion arrived at the edge of the woods. There were several very sick-looking ponies and griffons in the garb of the local police who were standing around waiting for him. The knowledge that he was an important figure in the little community made him feel more than a bit self-righteous, though he hid those feelings well.

“Alright, where’s the body?” he asked in an authoritative tone, hefting his bag slightly.

“This way.” said the griffon who acted as the Chief Inspector, leading Melkonis past the other officers. The father of the now-dead foal stayed behind, as was to be expected.

So much for the better, thought Melkonis, I hate having to listen to someone blubber like a hatchling whilst I am at work. It ruins my concentration.

His concentration was lost anyway when they came upon the crime scene and Melkonis saw the body.

The foal had been a pegasus colt, that much was obvious, even though the wings had been brutally wrenched from their sockets. But the rest of his physical characteristics were lost under the sheer volume of mutilation that had been inflicted upon the poor pony; Melkonis couldn’t even guess what the colt’s original fur color had been.

The griffon doctor knelt by the body, studying the bloody voids where the eyes had been, noting that there were already maggots in the wound.

But there’s no smell. mused Melkonis, So that means that he can’t have been dead for more than a few days.

The griffon doctor reached into his bag, procured some gloves, put them on, and proceeded to gently examine the wounds, noting the clean incisions across the stomach, face and chest, as well as the more jagged tears around the legs and back.

It is her. he thought as cold dread settled in his gut.

The rest of the examination went by in a flash: he finished his examination, jotted down a few notes for posterity, and watched as the mangled body was lifted up and dumped dripping into a body bag.

When all that was finished Melkonis returned to his house and sat heavily on his overstuffed chair, feeling his age catch up to him.

She’s begun killing again. I thought that she would have died by now. he thought, remembering the night when She escaped: the torrents of rain, the clouds that obscured the full moon, the violent reaction that the corpse had had to the spell and the way that she had looked at him with her cold, unblinking eyes.

That Gilda griffon was far, far better than any of the others. he thought miserably.

No sooner had that thought formed in his mind then there came a loud bang from his basement.

Melkonis heaved an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his beak, “Of all the worst possible times you have to do this now?” he asked nobody in particular.

With a groan, Melkonis got up and shuffled into his kitchen. He opened his freezer and took out a package of frozen meat, which he warmed up and plopped on a grungy plate. He went to the door to his basement, which was locked with a heavy padlock.

Letting up another sigh, Melkonis took the key from off its place on a nearby jutting nail and unlocked the door. The instant that the door was opened a rush of fetid air hit the griffon doctor full in the face, making him wince instinctually.

He padded down the stairs, stopping to flip the light switch at the bottom. The room was filled with dingy, but still serviceable, light which illuminated the stained concrete, the moldering boxes that had been there since he had moved in, the three rusty slabs that he had procured from the morgue along with several sturdy shelves and several pieces of medical equipment.

On the opposite end of the room stood another door which was made from solid carbon and locked with a series of thick chains. Melkonis casually undid them and then entered the room, flipping the light on and setting the plate on the floor as he moved to face the room’s occupant.

The creature snarled when it saw him, but didn’t move to attack him; it knew full well that the consequences of acting out would be unpleasant.

“Hello, Viktor.” said Melkonis with a smile.

The twisted thing snarled at him through a lipless maw, it’s rotten breath nearly making its creator gag.

Melkonis drew back and fanned the stench away from his nostrils, “I wish I hadn’t fed you that dead dog.” he said through his fingers.

Viktor merely snorted and shifted in his cocoon of thick chains.

Melkonis picked up the plate and set it down a few feet from Viktor’s misshapen head, then watched in disgusted awe as he stretched his neck out to an impossible length-almost three feet- and pulled the greasy meat into his maw with a loud slurping sound.

Well… it’s often said that necromancy yields many varied results, no one resurrectee is the same; they’re like snowflakes. thought Melkonis, smirking at the analogy.

“Sorry about the lack of food, Viktor, but dead animals have been scarce as of late. Probably your sister’s work.”

Viktor said nothing, he just drew his swollen, purple tongue across his yellowed teeth and returned to his previous position, all the while glaring at Melkonis.

How is he able to make his emotions so well known when he doesn’t have any eyes? wondered the griffon necromancer, stepping through the door and slamming it shut, leaving his monstrous creation in the darkness of his cell.

Melkonis retreated back to his upstairs room, taking a tin of tuna and one of his grimoires with him.

A little late night reading never hurt anyone, after all.

As he lay, snuggled up in his blankets, Melkonis thought back to Gilda and the shining success that she had turned out to be.

I’ll have to pay her another visit. he mused, licking the last of the tuna from the tin, I’d love to see how she’s been progressing; maybe she’s even able to read now.

He sighed and closed the grimoire, making sure to hide it underneath his bed. He fell asleep a moment later and dreamed of a world full of perfect, patchwork people, all of whom were bowing to him.