I Am Demon

by Aquaman

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Starswirl the Bearded, Adventure, Clover the Clever, Sex, Gore
Length: 15057

I am Cold, swirling snow that turns ponies against each other. I am Survivor, the one the Friendfyre spell didn't catch. I am Demon, and Clover the Clever is my Master. *Winner of Equestria Daily's Outside Insight contest*

I am Cold, swirling snow that turns ponies against each other, searing ice that freezes them solid. I am Survivor, the one the Friendfyre spell didn't catch, an exception that proves an impossible rule. I am Fear, Frustration, Anger, Hatred, every emotion my Creator has ever felt. I am her Future. I am her Past.

I am Demon, and Clover the Clever is my Master.

Winner of Equestria Daily's Outside Insight Summer Fanfic Contest.

Featured in The Royal Canterlot Library on March 6th, 2015.

Published 2014-09-14 21:50:08 UTC
Last updated 2014-09-14 21:50:08 UTC

Cave

Cold.

The absence of heat. Darkness inside a cave. Water falling white, soft, crackling blue, loud. It is darkness that I see, the absence of heat that I feel. The ground around me is soft white, splattered. The limbs beneath me are blue, transparent. Words come to me as I reach for them, thought-speak, imprints of what they represent. Meanings. Explanations. Identities.

There is no word for me.

I am Cold.

More words, echoing, outside of me. Mouth-speak. There is still darkness—the absence of light—but I can see the creatures anyway. There are three of them: Yellow, Brown, White. Colorful hair streams from their heads—manes. They stand on four spindly legs that end in rounded blocks—hooves.

I have a mane. I have hooves. Both blue. Both cold.

I am Pony.

“I-Is it over? Are they g-gone?”

Yellow is mouth-speaking. All six of his limbs shiver, four beneath him, two others on his back, oddly shaped, covered in feathers—wings. He is cold, but that is not his word. His body glows in the darkness, shimmers Blue with memory. More words—names, places, thought-speak not from his mouth—reflect from his mind into mine.

He came here with Smart Cookie, with Clover, with Commander Hurricane—Princess Platinum—Chancellor Puddinghead. They were hiding from the cold, fighting something. He didn’t like it. He helped to stop it.

He is Pansy.

I am They.

“I… I think so.” Smart Cookie’s mouth-voice is quiet—whisper. There were others like me before, larger, colder. I don’t remember them. Smart Cookie does. Together with her friends, she chased them away. When she thinks of them, her aura glows Green with thin shadows of Pink.

“Well, good riddance. It’s a miracle we stopped them when we did. I don’t think we could’ve lasted much longer out here.”

When I look at Clover, my mind empties. Her coat is white, her mane is striped green, but all I see of her—inside, outside, all around her body—is Red: flashing, roiling, burning bright like fire. It is not fire, though. Fire is crackling wood, blankets under the stars, naming constellations as he smiles down at you complimenting how well you’ve studied. Fire is heat. Red is not. Red is cold, like me. Red makes me feel awake, alive, ravenous. I want more Red. I want all the Red that Clover can give me.

I am Hungry.

I know the ponies are somewhere nearby, but all I can see is darkness marred by light, Clover’s burning-cold aura reaching out to me. I move towards it, sink deeper into it. Her mind thought-speaks to mine, pouring it full of more words, more expressions ponies make out of them. She is a rope pulling me closer, her memory says, a fishhook reeling me in. I need to find her, but my body feels weak, insubstantial. I sift through Clover’s essence, spread her thoughts out in front of me, search for the motions needed for movement--walking.

I feel the ground soften beneath my hooves, a flash of Pink ripple through me. I am overlarge hooves stumbling across wood, sinking into carpet, tottering into giant forelegs that laugh, hug, wonder how I ever got this heavy. Mouth-speak echoes, silent to my ears, loud in hers: put one hoof in front of the other. I lift one foreleg up, put it down in front of me. The ground shudders, cracks, does not give. I am moving. I am strong.

The three friends—Clover, Pansy, Smart Cookie— are gathering up the other three ponies in the cave with them: Princess Platinum, Commander Hurricane, Chancellor Puddinghead. Their auras are boring, useless to me. They twitch when their sides are nudged, mouth-mumble nonsense as they’re pulled up off the ground. Even though they have hooves, the other ponies put them on their backs to carry. They must not know how to walk very well either.

The ponies leave the cave together, all at once. I try to follow—one-hoof-in-front-of-the-other—but I’m too slow. I see colors, but not shapes. I bump into the walls, trip over boulders, watch Clover’s aura grow fainter in the distance. Soon I can’t hear mouth-voices anymore, just air rushing past me—colorless—wind. I feel tightness in my belly, empty space in my chest. I cover my eyes—where’s the baby peekaboo!—see my own aura glow through the darkness.

I am burning. I am Orange.

I open my mouth, try to speak, hear something slide out that is not words. It is mouth-wind, choking, icicles stabbing at my throat. Why do ponies do this? I glow brighter, stumble. Every aura but Clover’s has disappeared. As I stand up again, she fades as well. Only absence-of-light remains. I can’t see anything.

I am Alone.

Without the minds of the other ponies, I’m lost. No words fill the spaces that sight carves into my mind. No auras but mine shine through the blackness. All that remains is the residue of Clover’s memories, the colored stains left in the places of our joining. I know how to walk, but she knows how to watch where you’re going, pumpkin. She doesn’t see auras at all. She blocks them out.

I look up, lay her mind over mine, create a filter through which my aura cannot pass. A blinding white gleam—sunlight—streams down on me, digs into my eyes, pounds inside my head. It hurts. I push past it, look straight ahead as shapes bloom inside what is no longer an empty void. The sun retreats, dulls, shines yellow after a while. The space around it—sky—is indigo, the ground beneath it white—cold water—snow.

Clover remembers this place, but all she left me are patches of what she saw. There was a storm. Pansy, Smart Cookie, all the others were with her. The sky was lumpy-gray, covered—cumulonimbus—clouds. Wind whistled through the trees, carried clumps of snow that blew her around, dug into her coat. It was very cold. I wish I could’ve been there to see it.

No, I was there to see it. There were dozens of me. I was galloping through the clouds, pawing at the snowflakes, howling against the wind. The ponies ran from me. I pursued them into the cave. They attacked me, drove me away with magic. A flaming heart, burning, melting me into nothing. If Clover remembers, then why can’t I?

Melting. The snow is melting in the sun, trickling down trunks, crystallizing again when it nears my hooves. Clover melted the others that were not me, but I’m still here. Where is here? Where do I go? What am I that is cold but doesn’t shiver, that melts but doesn’t die?

I ask Clover’s mind for the answer, find only dregs left, blurry, soaked with slush. I know enough to see without her help now, but nothing else of her lingers anymore. I blink a few times, make my aura return. I am still Orange, but fading, soft around the edges. I have to find her again. I need to find out what I am.

The sky is empty when I look up. Before I can remember, the others were up there, on top of clouds as they chased after the ponies. They were Not-Me, but I am like them. Put-one-hoof-in-front-of-the-other. I reach out with my hoof, put it in the sky above me. A gray clump—not a blanket—barely bigger than I am—swirls out from the sole, sucks me inside it, lifts me up from the snow. It is freezing inside the cloud. When I pull myself further in, my head sticks out of the front. I am not walking anymore. I am high above the ground. I am like the others.

I am flying.

Trees dot the land below me, green icicles pointing the wrong way. I can see the depression in the snow where the cloud picked me up, the tufts of powder where many hooves packed it down. The trail leads out through the trees, towards an ocean with green waves that crash over each other, caught in winds I’m too far away to hear.

I know where Clover went. I know where to go now. I can’t see my aura, but I can feel it.

I am Yellow.

Clover

In the sky there are no rocks to trip over, no legs that won’t go where I tell them. The cloud cuts through the air as if it isn’t there, slips between snowflakes that would otherwise blow into my eyes. I pass other clouds sometimes, fluffy-white, drifting. They disintegrate as I near them, shear off wisps that join the one I’m riding. After a while, my cloud is twice as big as before, still no slower for it.

I like flying a lot more than walking.

The trail the ponies left behind is easy to follow, even as the sunlight lessens the snow, rubs away the marks they left in it. There’s only one clear path between the trees. Clover ran through it with the other ponies when they first came to the cave. Clover knows the way back now, although she was too Blue to realize it then. I don’t have any other word for what I felt from her, what radiated through her memory when I watched it with her eyes. I know Blue was the color of her aura, but only because I felt from her the same things I felt from Pansy: heart pounding, lungs too small to breathe, running fast legs stretching don’t look back they’re getting closer.

Blue.

There is another word for it, there must be, but I need a pony’s mind to thought-tell me first. As I fly above the trail, the sun sinks lower behind me, marks off the time the day takes to pass—hours—seconds. Ponies use those words to tell them, but which one is bigger? How many minutes make both of them? Why are so many words for time if time is singular, constant?

Mouth-speaking hurts, different words mean the same thing. I don’t understand ponies. At least I’m not one of them.

Whatever the specific word for it is, a lot of time passes before I reach the green ocean, find out it’s not an ocean at all once I’m close enough to see it. The ground is covered with millions of tiny green plants, like pine needles but flatter, a little thicker. A stripe of dirt cuts through them, stretches a little ways back into the forest, extends in a straight line in front of me as far as I can see. In the distance beyond it, something glows on the darkening horizon—not an aura itself, but dotted all over with bursts of color that can’t be anything else. That has to be where the ponies in the cave went, at least must be where other ponies are now. Maybe Clover is there. Maybe she’s still Red.

I can’t wait any longer to find out. I straighten my body out, set my sights on the distant glimmer, hold on as the cloud flashes forward at its fastest speed yet. The ground blurs into a featureless smear. The sky above me seems to narrow, bears down on top of me as the force of my passing tears a jagged white wake in it. Soon I’m close enough to see what lies past the horizon glow: stone towers that separated sky from earth, massive gray walls splattered white with dying sunlight.

The plants below me have changed from green to yellow. Stray auras begin to slide across my vision: some Pink, some Yellow, every so often Green. There are even a few on top of nearby clouds, the same shade as the high-sun sky—Cyan. None of them interest me. I’m not looking for auras anymore. I’m looking for a memory, a pony, a missing piece to complete my puzzle. I’m looking for–

There.

Stones piled on stones—highest room in the tallest—tower—cast a long shadow over the smaller structures below. At the edge of my vision, at the fringe of my mind, there are more auras than ever before. Ponies gazing up, squinting, darkening into Blue. They don’t know what I am. I still don’t know either. I don’t care. Far above them, inside the tower, a lone aura burns for me. Welcoming. Familiar.

My consciousness slots together with Clover's like clockwork cogs, two parts of a much greater whole. When I approach the tower, her aura changes. She is aware of me. She feels our connection too. There is a gap in the stones—too wonderful a view to keep the drapes drawn all day my dear—window. I fit through it with ease, but my cloud piles up outside, falls apart. Without anything to support me, I fall faster than I expected to. Warm ice—sand heated in bubbles—glass—falls around me, shatters on my back. When I stop moving, I look at Clover. She is upside-down, wide-eyed, Yellow. I am on my back, lopsided, even brighter.

I am smiling.

She is not.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

Red, exploding, so powerful it makes my legs weak. Clover’s horn flashes pink. The table next to me evaporates in a burst of black smoke. Chips of wood pelt the walls, stick to my coat in icy brown chunks. When I stand up, Clover screams again.

“Getoutgetoutgetooooout!”

The second blast from her horn hits me square in the chest. It tickles as it passes through me, deliciously cold, strong enough to leave a crater in the wall behind me. Red is flowing out of her, pooling in my belly, freezing me to the core. It’s a hundred times better than flying, a million times better than words or thought-speak or any other aura I’ve felt. I leap forward, try to soak in more. Clover grabs me in midair, pulls me even closer, fills me with so much Red I’m not sure I can hold it all. Her magic snaps my legs out from my body, squeezes tight around my neck. Her horn is sunlight, blinding, pulsing with energy.

“Evil awful unnatural monstrous little–”

Clover clenches her teeth together, bulges her eyes out of her head. My own mouth hangs open. My own eyes are half-lidded. I’m so dizzy I can barely see her anymore. I want her to explode again, fill me up Red until I pop, but she never does. A thunking noise reaches my ears, gentle, repeating. A hoof, knocking against wood.

Clover turns around, lets my head loll to the side. A noise escapes my throat, soft, low-pitched. She’s not quite Red anymore, though her face is still flushed. A new aura shines in the doorway behind her, an equally odd blend of Yellow with Pink.

“Don’t mind me, my dear. Just borrowing a textbook. Carry on with your wanton acts of destruction.”

The pony standing behind her is a stallion—stone-coated—snow-haired—Star Swirl the Bearded. He is much older than Pansy, but when he mouth-speaks he sounds younger, even more Pink. I try to breach his mind with mine, but something pushes me back, a gentle nudge in my head like a hoof steering my eyes away from something I know better than to look at. Star Swirl is smiling at Clover, pointing his eyes at me.

How did he know I would do that?

I know many things, little one. More than my apprentice may think.

“Don’t just stand there, Master! Help me!” Clover mouth-shouts, Red seeping between her teeth. If I reached for it I could just barely catch a taste, but I can’t concentrate enough to try. Star Swirl just thought-spoke to me. He can understand me.

I feel for a way into his mind again. This time I move slower, more carefully. The moment I reach the verge of his thoughts, he guides me away again, back into my own head. A single image—memory?—comes attached: a gray stallion, beardless, setting a pawed animal with floppy ears—puppy—down on a pile of soiled papers.

There’s a time and place for everything, little one. Now is not the time, and my mind is not the place.

“Help with what, my dear? I can assure you, you’ve done quite a spectacular job dismantling that alchemy table without any assistance from me. I’ve been meaning to replace the blasted thing for ages.”

It takes a moment before I realize that Star Swirl’s voice is outside my head again. Once I do figure it out, I hardly mind the change. He’s mouth-speaking to Clover again, making Red pour off her in sheets peppered with tiny flecks of Orange. Orange doesn’t feel quite as good as Red. It’s thinner, grainy, less filling. Still, it’s a nice touch. When I stick out my tongue to catch a few bits, Clover rewards me with an extra-strong flare.

“Not with that!” She jerks one hoof off the ground, points it at me. “With this! With… it!”

Star Swirl looks back at me, strokes his hoof over his beard. “Hmm,” he throat-hums. “It, indeed.”

“I don’t even know how it got in here. I swear we got all of them back in that cave…” Clover’s chest glows, flint against steel, sparks. In her mind she sees Not-Me diving towards her, dissolving into steam as her magic blasts through them. “This doesn’t make any sense!”

“Oh, now you know what I’d say to that kind of talk.” Star Swirl looks at me again. When you think things through, either everything makes sense or nothing does. Clover always forgets that. Maybe you’ll help her remember.

Help her remember. I can do that. She’s remembering him say that right now, a hundred-thousand-million different times, pressing her lips together at the thought. Mine bend upwards again. I’m good at helping Star Swirl. Especially if there’s Red involved.

“Fine,” Clover mouth-speaks. She tries to scrub the Orange off each of her words before it leaves her throat, but I can still see it after she’s done. “Then if you’d be so kind, you explain why and, while we’re at it, how in the ever-widening world of Equestria there’s a fun-sized little Windigo in my sunforsaken bedroom!”

Lightning strike. New page in a book. Math problem, scribbled answer, solved. I was so focused on Clover that I forgot about myself, about the question I’ve had since I first was. Clover’s mouth just gave me the answer. Her mind explains to me how it feels, how I’m buzzing like a honeybee in springtime. I know what I am now. I am brighter-than-Yellow. I am Gold.

I am Windigo.

“I presume through the window, as far as ‘how’ is concerned,” Star Swirl mouth-says. Clover’s aura forms a cloud over her cheeks, covers both her eyes when she looks at Star Swirl. I have to filter her aura out completely just to see what they really look like: hardened, crystal-blue, cold. “As for there being a ‘why’... now that is an intriguing proposition.”

“Any time you’d care to expound upon it, I’m all ears,” Clover mouth-grumbles. I look up towards her ears, but they’re still the same size they were before. I’ll never figure out how pony words work.

“Jog my memory, then,” Star Swirl mouth-says. “To the best of equine knowledge, what is a windigo’s purpose?”

Clover mouth-answers him fast, still looking at me. “Destruction. Torment. Anguish and despair.”

“A little less prosaic, if you would.”

Clover sighs, glances back towards him for a moment. “They feed off the emotions of sentient creatures, primarily those related to anger and hatred. Everything they touch freezes solid, and everypony they come across becomes a parasitic obsession, one that can only be broken by immense magical force or the mortal expiration of the equine host.”

Obsession. Reading a book by moonlight. A stallion chasing a mare down the street. Star Swirl, beard soaked in coffee, snoring atop an incomplete star map.

I’m not obsessed. I’m just hungry.

“What do ponies think of them?” Star-Swirl mouth-asks next.

“They’re characterized as malevolent spirits in folktales, and classified as dangerous magical anomalies by the Platinum Court.” Clover’s throat bobs—swallowing. When she continues, her mouth-voice sounds different, a bit duller.

“For the past several years, they’ve continually encroached further into our land, bringing with them an endless blizzard that’s caused widespread famine and pushed diplomatic tensions between the tribes to the breaking point. Our entire way of life was almost destroyed, and were it not for the peace treaty being drafted as we speak, it would have been.”

Star Swirl smiles. Pink-gleams-Gold on his lips. “To hear the Princess tell it, you deserve quite a bit of credit for that.”

“Spare me, Master,” Clover mouth-growls. “What are you playing at?”

“I doubt I’ll know until the game’s over.” More Orange from Clover, Pink from Star Swirl. He seems to be enjoy being Pink. It just feels odd to me, bubbly, like I’m so light I'm floating away from the floor. I don’t like it nearly as much as Red. “In any case, what do you think of windigos, Clover?”

Clover flashes back Red when she looks at me, but this time there’s something more to it. A whisper behind somepony’s back, the far-off clang of swords. A new aura, darker than Red, stronger than anything else I’ve felt or can imagine ever feeling.

“I think they’re monsters,” she throat-growls. “And I don’t think I understand why you keep stalling me from getting rid of this one.”

Star Swirl hums, a quiet noise, Yellow behind an Orange haze. Clover called me Monster. Monster is teeth gnashing, claws ripping flesh, screams in darkness that will soon be complete. I like the thought of Monster, but I don’t think Monster is me. I have hooves, not claws, plus I have never bitten anything. I click my teeth together, wonder if I could. Clover is too far away to try right now. Maybe later.

“In that case, we’ve come back to the core of the matter,” Star Swirl mouth-says. “Namely, why is this windigo here?”

“Because I missed it when I killed the rest of them…” Clover throat-whispers. Star Swirl’s lips twitch. His aura doesn’t change.

“I mean why is it here? In this room?”

Clover’s horn is glowing when Star Swirl mouth-speaks. Once he finishes, it dies down again, lowers me a bit closer to the ground. Another mouth-noise escapes me, higher-pitched. The thought of killing me made her darker Red than ever. Was that what happened to Not-Me? Is that what being killed feels like? In Clover’s head it’s a horrible thing: blood freezing, bodies growing cold, Red all over. I like being cold, though. I like Red even more. Anything with both those things together can’t be that bad.

“The most recent royal census listed over eight thousand unicorns living in or around Platinum Castle. The other two tribes surely boast comparable numbers themselves.” I can hear Star Swirl thinking, distant echoes in a black void, too muffled to understand. “Windigos feed on emotions, and this one seems no exception. Yet with a countryside and castle both full of thinking, feeling ponies to choose from, what you call a unthinking, unfeeling monster bypassed them all. It came here instead.”

Every word from Star Swirl’s mouth peels slices of Red off of Clover’s aura, replaces them with strips of Cyan. I stretch out with my hooves, try to catch the pieces, can’t reach them in time. They splatter against the floor, vanish into the cracks between the stones.

“What are you say… are you saying it followed me?” Clover mouth-says.

“Yes! Now we’re getting somewhere!” Star Swirl mouth-shouts. I can feel it steaming off him, infecting me. I am Yellow too. I am restless. “And not just followed: pursued. It’s been over eight hours since you and the Princess returned, and only now has this little one found its way to you. Now why do you suppose that is?”

“I don’t…” Clover rubs a hoof against her eye, throat-growls. “I don’t know why it pursued me. It doesn’t know why it pursued me. It’s a beast, a wild animal looking for a meal. Whatever made it think I was worth stalking home is just coincidence–”

“Oh, I abhor that word!” Star Swirl is pacing around the room, waving his forehoof in front of his chest. “Lazy word! Used by lazy ponies! Don’t be lazy, Clover, think! We’ve eliminated impossibilities. We’ve laid out all the parts and pieces left behind, Now all that’s left is to put them together.”

“What is there to put together? It’s a predator and all of us are the prey!” Clover is Red-screaming, squeezing her eyes shut, tightening her magic like a vice around my neck. Her mind told me breathing was important back in the cave. Now I don’t seem to need it. I think that’s a good thing. It was hard to remember to keep doing it all this time. “That’s all there is to it! This thing’s the problem, and I’m the solution!”

As Clover yells, Star Swirl is quiet, shaking his head. “A problem is never truly solved until you know its source. We know why the windigo’s here now, but I spoke too soon before. We don’t know how it was there then, close enough in that cave to bond with you in this way. The Friendfyre spell destroys every windigo within its blast radius. If it’s properly cast, a sole exception like this little one here is impossible. Once we eliminate that option, what else is left?”

“It…”

Clover’s aura changes in a blink of her eyes. She’s not fully Green or Blue, somewhere halfway in between. “It wasn’t there until after the spell was cast,” she Turquoise-mutters. “It didn’t exist until after the spell was cast.”

“And what makes windigos come to exist?”

Clover is silent for a long time. I hear her thought-speak her answer long before she says it aloud. “You think it was me,” she whisper-sighs. “You think I hate windigos so much that… that I created one myself.”

Star Swirl’s chest is a mess of colors, Yellow on top of Gold encircled by White, like a miniature sun without any heat. I’ve never seen White before. It makes my chest squirm, my legs rubbery. It feels like I shouldn’t be feeling it. When I turn away, I can feel Star Swirl looking at me.

You’ll understand someday, little one. For her sake, I hope you both do.

“I wouldn’t call it a conclusion,” he mouth-says. He’s looking at Clover now. She’s looking at the ground below me. “It’d take a magician of immense power and mental fortitude to manage something like that alone, and moreover there’s plenty more we can do to look into the matter in the meantime.”

Star Swirl blinks his eyes, pushes out a sigh. “But since you asked… yes. That’s what I think.”

Clover’s magical grip loosens, lets go of me in midair. I fall before I can catch myself, land hard on my rump. It doesn’t hurt, just shocks me, makes me lose my connection to her mind for a moment. Her head hasn’t moved by the time I look up again. Now she’s staring down at me. Something is shifting inside her, changing, coming to a head.

Even separated from her I can feel it, rumblings at the start of an earthquake, wind picking up before a storm. I’m in the middle of standing back up when it hits me all at once, blinding, titanic. We are swirling chaos, endless night, blood-rivers soaking scorched earth. We are eternity crusted on bleached bones, infinity compressed into two halves, one soul. We are sightless. We are darker-than-dark.

We are Black.

It blots out the room behind her, oozes from every inch of her coat. Each pulse of her heart sends sprays of it showering off her, not just at me but everywhere. I am frozen, struck dumb, spellbound. I can think of nothing else but her, Clover, Master, Goddess. Her eyes bore into me, hollow me out, wipe my mind of any thoughts but here, now, her.

This is not Red. This is not just a word, just an imprint of something physical. This is Hate. This is loathing, disgust, ecstasy. This is what I was meant for. This is what Clover—my master—my creator—can provide for me.

Because she Hates me.

I think I Hate her too.

“So what am I supposed to do?” Clover mouth-whispers.

Nothing. Don’t change. Just like this. Forever, please.

“Well, what anypony does in a situation like this,” Star Swirl mouth-replies. “Give it a name.”

Stop talking, Star Swirl. My name is Windigo. I know that. Clover knows that. Clover is staring at you now, opening her mouth. Her Hate is receding, pulling away from me, being painted over all shades of Blue. Stop it! Get your own!

“Wha… what are you… you want me to keep it?” she mouth-sputters. “Why in… flaming Tartarus would I want to keep it? Why would I even want it near me?”

Because Star Swirl won’t be here. Because he won’t hog all the Hate. Because I can do whatever you want, whatever it takes to keep it all for me till the sun burns out. Don’t answer that, Star Swirl.

“I can’t imagine you would.” Damn you, Star Swirl. Damn your Pink face—your eye-smile—your smirk. “Be that as it may, I’d wager you don’t have much of a choice in the matter by now.”

Never mind, Star Swirl. I forgive you. Clover’s looking at me again with narrowed eyes, with pure Hate writhing inside her. “Wait, it… oh, stars,” she mouth-says. Her eyes are a bit wider now. “Oh, stars above, no. Don’t tell me that. Don’t tell me because I hate this thing… it’s not gonna leave.”

“Unless it manages to find somepony else who hates it more,” Star Swirl mouth-tells her, shrugging, still smirking. “Which is, in the interest of being both cordial and succinct… unlikely.”

“AAAAAARGH!”

When Clover is done screaming, she slumps flat on the ground, clamps her forehooves over her head. I walk closer to her, stand within inches of her nose, can’t help but bask for a moment. When I stretch my hand out to nudge her back up, she jerks her head away, yells again.

“Don’t touch me, you filthy little…”

Clover sees the look on my face, realizes something. “That just made things worse, didn’t it?”

I lean forward on my hooves, shiver as a burst of Hate rolls down my spine. Clover mouth-moans. “This is a nightmare. This is my actual, literal nightmare.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad.” Star Swirl sidles up to her side, pats the back of her head with his hoof. “It may feed off hatred and despair, but it’s far from hateful itself, nor does it seem to bear any ill will towards you. After all, it was only born today, and it has you to thank for that. Goodness, it may even think of you as a mother!”

Clover mouth-moans again, louder. Mother. Mother is childbirth, weaning, nursing to health. Mother is hot breakfasts on chilly mornings, warm hugs on cold nights. Mother is the one who protects you, guides you, cares for you when you’re sick. Mother is Love.

Clover created me, but I was not born from her. She taught me everything I know, but she is not warm, does not Love me. She is cold, Black. She Hates me.

She is not Mother. I wouldn’t want her to be.

“Or… perhaps not,” Star Swirl mouth-mumbles. He twists his lips, pats Clover’s head again. “In any case, you wouldn’t be the first mortal pony to find themselves in the company of spirits. In fact, many powerful magicians have taken on dæmons as assistants or… even companions!”

Clover moves one hoof, peers out at me from behind the other, meets my eyes as I meet hers. For a breath of a moment, our minds coalesce. What was that word Star Swirl used? I’ve never heard it before. Clover knows it, but in her thought-speak it sounds different:

Demon.

Shade of the night. Bowels of the earth. No sun, no heat, no mortal life. Demon is what keeps children in bed at sunset, adults off the road at night. Demon is punishment for murderers, penance for thieves, a hundred scary stories whispered by a thousand sleepless ponies. Demon is chaos. Demon is a chill down your spine. Demon is Fear.

I like Demon. I like it a lot.

“I’m not gonna name it,” Clover mouth-says. “I won’t kill it for your sake, Master, but I’m not keeping it either. I’ll find a non-lethal way to get rid of it, and until then we’ll just… I’ll survive. Try not to… indulge it too much.”

She sighs, stands up, brushes herself off. Little rivulets of Hate laced her words together, just enough for dessert. She’s holding it back now, trying to remain calm, but for now I don’t mind. I’m sure there’ll be more later.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Star Swirl mouth-says. He blinks one eye at her—winks—then turns to me. He lifts one hoof—a wave. Pleasure meeting you, Demon. Go easy on her, if you would.

I look down at my own hoof, lift it up in the same gesture. Star Swirl is the oddest pony I’ve ever met. I don’t Hate him like Clover Hates me, but I guess he’s all right.

We watch Star Swirl turn on his hoof, start off towards the door again. He hums as he trots, Pink as I’ve ever seen him. When he reaches the doorway, he stops, knocks his hoof against his head.

“Oh, fiddlesticks, before I forget…” he mouth-says. “Two things. First of all, in light of this early morning’s events, Princess Platinum has issued a royal decree declaring you official magical liaison to the crown and hero to the ponies of all three unified tribes. They’ve also decided you’ll be known as ‘Clover the Clever’ henceforth and forevermore, in light of your arcane brilliance and tenacity in repelling the windigo hordes. Not what you’d have preferred, I’m sure, but yours truly ended up with ‘the Bearded’, so count your blessings. Anyhoo, there’ll be a ceremony or somesuch thing tomorrow evening at sundown, so keep a gown clean for that, I suppose.”

“Perfect.” Clover smiles as if she’s one thing, lights up inside as another. I don’t get it. “And the second thing?”

“The second thing… oh, yes!” This time, Star-Swirl winks at me. “Windigos gather information and communicate through a form of emotional synesthetic telepathy. So in other words… Demon here can read minds. Do prepare for that.”

“Demon can… wait, what?”

Star Swirl is gone before Clover finishes yelling after him. I watch him through the floor for a moment, follow his aura as it descends in a spiral towards the bottom of the tower. Clover distracts me soon after. Her aura is flaring again, Black as before. I knew it’d be back. I knew she still had it in her.

“I hate you,” she mouth-tells me. I look up, meet her eyes with mine, smile.

“Monster,” she throat-growls. She stalks away across the room. I follow her, bounce along between the Black hoofprints she leaves on the floor. I am not Monster. I am Windigo. I am Demon. Clover is wrong about my name. Aside from that, she’s absolutely right: as far as I’m concerned, everything is perfect.

Mother

I am six days plus five hours plus twenty-three minutes old when I see Not-Demon for the first time.

It’s not like the other windigos I don’t remember, the ones I called Not-Me before. It doesn’t fly inside roiling black clouds, Fury-howl at any pony who passes by. It doesn’t do much of anything. It just stares, cocks its head when I do, turns around when I look away. I don’t think Not-Demon is very smart. Still, it’s the first thing I’ve ever seen with my own eyes that looks exactly like me.

Not-Demon lives inside a slab of glass framed in gold, set into the back wall inside Clover’s wardrobe. Usually she leaves her wardrobe closed. Today it’s open. Her gown from the ceremony dangles from the top of the door. It’s wrinkled, spotted, collecting ice crystals along the hem where it nearly brushes my mane.

I’ve grown taller since I first came here. I’m not sure why. Clover thought-says that pony foals grow fast once they’re born, but I’m not a pony or a foal, nor—I’ve come to decide—a windigo really. The others were windigos, the ones before me. They looked like me, but they were different sizes, all bigger, taller. Not-Demon looks like me too—identical in height, width, every other way—but it is not the same as me. I am different. I have a name.

I am Demon.

When I raise my hoof, Not-Demon raises its. It does that every time, mimics every motion I make. Next, though, I try something new. Instead of lowering my hoof, I push it forward. I want to touch Not-Demon. I want to know if it’s cold like me too.

My hoof reaches the glass, bumps against it. Fog spreads from the contact, crystallizes, covers up Not-Demon’s entire foreleg. The glass groans, crackles, pops. Jagged lines spring up from nowhere, a spiderweb frozen in ice. Not-Demon’s face is sliced across its snout, each half offset a bit. It doesn’t seem to feel any pain. It rubs his nose to make sure, at the exact same time I rub mine.

“Stars above, what’d you do now… oh. Excellent. That wasn’t expensive at all. Saves me the trouble of wrapping it up, I guess. Thanks a bundle, you little hellspawn.”

It feels like it’s me who’s been cut in half. I can sense Clover behind me—sip from the fountain of Hate spilling off her cheeks—but in front of me there’s a Not-Clover too, right next to Not-Demon. I swivel in place, look up at Clover, whip back around to the glass. Not-Clover’s jaw is clenched too. When she sighs in the glass, I hear it come out from Clover’s mouth behind me.

“It’s a mirror, idiot,” she mouth-says. “That’s not you in there, it’s just your reflection. That’s all I use it for…” Her eyes close, leak out more of her aura. “Or, actually, let me rephrase that: that’s all I did use it for. Until you broke it. Because of course you did.”

Clover shakes her head, mouth-mutters something I can’t hear. In the glass—mirror—Not-Clover walks back towards the trunk laid open behind me, nudges an emerald pendant off its rim, presses her forehead against the wall above it. Clover has been putting things inside the trunk all day—packing. She has been Orange all day too.

I know what Orange means now. I know what lots of different auras mean. They have words too, just like things pony eyes can see. I learned Black first—Hate—because it’s my favorite, the one Clover glows with the most. She likes Orange a lot too—Frustration. When it’s dimmer, it’s Disappointment. When I break things, sometimes it gets brighter.

It took most of the week—tomorrow will be my first full one with Clover—for me to learn all the words for auras. Clover’s mind isn’t as easy to join with anymore. After I met Star Swirl five days plus twenty-one hours ago, her mind became like his, blocked off, hard to hear properly. Where the barrier around his mind is gentle, hers is brute force, a brick wall encased in Red-hot steel.

She isn’t as good at it as Star Swirl is, though. Sometimes I can get past her, slip in through cracks in the mortar of her wall. That’s how I learned all the other auras. That’s how I learned about Anger, Surprise, Pride, Shame, Confusion. What Pansy felt after the other windigos before me were gone was Fear. What Smart Cookie felt was Relief, mixed with a bit of Happiness—Star Swirl’s favorite. Sometimes I see ponies outside with auras that mix several colors together, like rainbows swirling in soap bubbles. When other ponies see me, they mostly just have Fear. Fear isn’t as nice as Anger, but it’s pretty close.

The windigo in the glass—reflection—doesn’t have an aura. That’s how I know for sure it’s Not-Demon. I am Orange-Yellow—Curious. It means Frustration mashed inside Excitement, thinking about a problem, two solutes forming a solution. I have never seen a mirror before. It’s probably a good thing that Clover mouth-told me what they were. I can still hear her thought-speak sometimes, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

I can’t see Not-Demon very well anymore. The glass is obscured, ice crystals criss-crossing cracks. In the background, a shadow looms over the threshold. Somepony’s coming up the stairs, walking without sound. I can’t tell who yet. The mirror doesn’t show his aura. Not-Clover glances over her shoulder, tightens her jaw, smiles.

“Hey, Al. Fancy seeing you up here.”

I turn around, see Purple rippling in the doorway. Alfalfa—Clover calls him Al—waves as he walks in, stumbles up the last step. His mane is yellow, his coat tan. Wheat growing in a dried-out field. He’s Star Swirl’s other apprentice. He’s smiling, showing all his teeth.

“Yeah, it’s a… a hike, yeah.” He glances at me, shudders with Fear for a moment, flashes back Purple when Clover cocks her head. He’s the only Purple pony I’ve ever seen. It’s one of the few auras I haven’t figured out yet. I've never seen Clover or Star Swirl have it. Alfalfa only has it when he’s around Clover. His mind is much easier to hear than Clover’s, but still Confusing, still mostly images without words.

Purple is not quite Scared or Happy but rather somewhere in between, sometimes Clover casting a spell but other times Clover lying on her bed. Purple is bodies pressed together, lungs struggling for air, her eyes rolling back into her head. Purple is euphoria. Purple is heat.

I don’t understand it at all.

“So are you just working out, or…” Clover’s mouth-voice gets higher as she trails off. Working out means exercise, muscles aching with exertion. Alfalfa doesn’t remember jogging or doing pushups today, but he is sweating a little.

“Ha! Heh-heh…” Alfalfa mouth-laughs like he can’t breathe. Purple seems to cause him pain like that a lot. “N-no, not right now. Just, ah… y-you need any help packing?”

Clover smiles again, but she’s not Happy. She does that a lot, makes her face not match her aura. I don’t understand that either. “That’s… very sweet of you, Al, but I’m fine,” she mouth-says. She turns toward me, crumples her brow. With me, her face always matches her aura. “The Master of Chaos over here is about all I can handle.”

Master. Ruler. Controller. Clover is my Master, but she calls me Master too sometimes. Star Swirl is Master of Clover is Master of Demon is Master of Chaos. Lots of words have more than one meaning like that. I don’t know why. I just don’t think about it much anymore.

“Geez, it’s still here?” Alfalfa doesn’t look at me when he mouth-speaks, stares instead at the mark on Clover’s flank. It’s a four-leaf clover, green, means she’s lucky. I know Alfalfa remembers it. He still looks at it until Clover turns back to him. Alfalfa does a lot of things that don’t make sense. “I thought you were gonna… did you not find a way to make it leave?”

Clover shrugs, mouth-sighs. “Nope. Just wasted the whole week trying. And with Pansy and Smart Cookie already over in Equestria, I don’t even have enough conduits to try the Friendfyre spell again.” Clover glares at me again. Alfalfa is still trying to remember her flank. “‘Course, it’d probably just break that too. Breaking my stuff’s kind of its specialty.”

“Oh… wow,” Alfalfa mouth-mumbles. “That’s, uh… sorry to hear that. You sure you don’t want any help? I mean, I could look around too. O-Or maybe Star Swirl and I, w-we could be conduits…”

“No!”

Alfalfa jerks back, coughs, twinkles Fearful for a second. Clover’s mouth-shout surprised me too. She flashed Red so fast I heard it before I saw it, felt it wrapped around the word she sent blasting across the room. “Sorry,” she mouth-mutters after, eyes shut, quiet. “Just… it’s not that simple. The Friendfyre spell is a last resort, and for good reason. The conduits can’t just be anypony. They have to have the same single-minded goal, share a bond powerful enough to focus the spell on a single target. Without that, it’s liable to…”

There it is again. I’ve only felt it a few times, but each encounter is carved into my memory, branded on the lining of my belly. It’s the end of the road, the beginning before the end, the tunnel at the end of the light. The Source. Something inside Clover’s memory, so deep down I didn’t feel it even when she left her mind open to me.

It’s where all her Hate comes from, what floats closer to the surface every time she looks at me. It beckons me, envelops my mind, teases my insides with promises her normal Hate doesn’t keep. I can’t let it keep escaping me. Someday I’ll find out what it is. Someday she’ll forget to keep it hidden.

“It’s too powerful,” Clover mouth-says. “I don’t want to risk it again.”

“Well, what other option do you have?” Alfalfa levels his eyes on Clover’s, glows something other than Purple for the first time today. “I mean, you do want to get rid of it, right?”

“Al…” Clover’s mouth-voice is tense, comes out quickly. A warning.

“Then you’ve gotta at least try, right? What if it gets bored with you and attacks somepony? What if you can’t stop it and somepony else gets kill–”

“Enough, Alfalfa!”

Clover is Red again, stretched tight all over with the effort of keeping it contained. Alfalfa has gone too far. He knows it, ducks his head, bites his lip.

“We are not discussing this anymore,” she throat-hisses. “The windigo is my responsibility, and I will deal with it myself. Should I ever, for any reason, need your help with it, I will ask you for it. Got it?”

Alfalfa swallows, nods. Clover stomps over to the wardrobe, stops to glare at the mirror. She yanks the gown off the door with her magic, shakes off the ice crystals, turns back around. Alfalfa hasn’t moved.

“Do you need something else?” she mouth-says, face sagging, colorless.

You can do this. Alfalfa is thought-speaking to himself, projecting it all through the room as if no one can hear it. I suppose nopony can. Just spit it out.

“That’s not the only reason I came up here,” he mouth-spits out. “There’s something else I wanted you to… wanted to talk to you about.”

Clover spends a long time looking at Alfalfa. Before she answers him, she glances at me. “I’m all ears,” she mouth-says. I’m listening, she means. Ponies like to play with words like that, bend them into places they aren’t supposed to fit. I’ve learned a lot of them by listening to Clover mouth-speak. I’m all ears was one of the first.

“I-It’s nothing important.” Alfalfa is Purple again, tongue-stuttering. “It’s just… well, you seem like you’re under a lot of stress lately.”

What gave it away? Clover thought-mutters. Alfalfa can’t hear her, but she makes sure I can.

“A-And I came up here to check on you because I’m…” Alfalfa licks his lips, clears his throat. “Well, we’re really all worried about you. I mean, you’ve barely come out of your room since your medal ceremony, and that was five days ago!”

Clover shuts her eyes. I let mine drift towards the ceiling. I remember the ceremony, four days plus twenty-two hours ago. It was the first time I’ve seen the rest of the castle outside Clover’s bedroom. She told me to stay in her room, wait for her to come back. I’m glad I didn’t. Instead I flew out the window, caught up to her in the courtyard, followed her into a room twice the size of the cave I was made in filled with stallions, mares, colts, fillies, more auras than I could begin to count.

Most were Cyan or Yellow, ordinary, boring. A few ponies screamed. One mare fell over—fainted. The rest, though, were Black, filled with Hate the second they saw me, Clover most of all. I stood right by her side as the Princess stood near the far wall, pinned a shiny gold medal on her chest with a purple cloud of magic. It was a blast, even though nothing actually exploded. It’s just another one of Clover’s expressions. It means I really enjoyed the ceremony, mostly because Clover has Hated me twice as much since.

“Your point being?” Clover mouth-asks Alfalfa.

“My poi… w-well, I just thought you might like some, uh… y’know, some company,” Alfalfa mouth-replies. Purple is filling him up now, tainting the words out of his mouth. Surely Clover notices. Surely it’s not just me. “Or at least, an excuse to get out of this room for once. I mean, this is kind of our last night here, ever. We probably won’t come back once we’re settled in Equestria, so… just thought you might want to take a last look around with m… with me. See the sights, y’know, just… enjoy it while it lasts.”

Clover’s lips are parted, hanging open. I’m not sure what she was expecting. It wasn’t what just came out of Alfalfa’s mouth. “I… that’s it?” she mouth-asks. “Just a walk around? One last grand tour?”

Alfalfa clicks his teeth together. His Purple implodes on itself, a foxglove flower wilting from a frost. “Yep,” he mouth-says. He’s filling with Shame, grinning to hide it. “If you’re free.”

Clover starts to mouth-speak, chews on her lip instead. She’s staring at me again, Hate mixing with Relief, a lump of coal in a field of green grass. “That’s… I mean, I’d like to. Honestly, I really would, but…”

“But it would follow you, yeah. I didn’t… didn’t think about that.” Alfalfa’s looking at me now too. His Hate isn’t quite as strong as Clover’s, but it fills him out more completely, smothers every other thought in his head. I edge closer to him, watch my Master to see if she minds. Clover doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Her thoughts reverberate from behind her wall, whispers rippling through a pool of water.

“Wait,” she mouth-tells him. “Wait, wait a second, there’s… okay. Okay, I think this can work. Meet me downstairs in half an hour.”

Half of an hour. Thirty minutes. One thousand eight hundred seconds. I know exactly how long that is, but I don’t know why she wants to wait until then. Alfalfa is here now. I’m ready to go. I want to see the castle. I want to find out what a grand tour is.

“Meet you... uh…” Alfalfa mouth-says. He’s a bit Purple again too.

“I promise I’ll be there,” Clover mouth-says. She’s pressing her forehooves into his chest, pushing him back towards the door. “I have an idea, and I need to be alone for it to work. Just trust me. Thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes,” Alfalfa mouth-repeats. He’s standing on the other side of the threshold now. “I’ll wait for y–”

The door slams, cuts him off. Clover leans against it, presses her ear into the wood, listens for something. After a few seconds, I hear Alfalfa walking away, muffled hooves against stone. Clover steps back, deep-sighs, looks at me.

“Thank the stars he’s gone,” she mouth-says. “I thought he’d never leave. Stallions, right?”

I’m Confused. Clover’s words don’t match her aura. She knows I can hear her thinking, see what’s reflecting off the fringes of her mind. She’s lying to me anyway. It doesn’t make sense.

“Boy, all that talking wore me out.” Clover sits down, stretches her forelegs out over her head. Her yawn is fake, colorless. I cock my head. She winks at me. “I could use a nap.”

Nap. Short sleep. It’s not even sunset yet. Clover trots over to her bed, smooths the blanket out, lies down on top of it. “‘Night, hellspawn,” she mouth-says, eyes closed, hooves folded over her chest. I’m sure she’s still making this up. There’s something else going on here. I can hear her breathing slow, though, see her hooves sag lower down towards her belly. Her mind is quieting down. Her aura is dimming.

She’s going to sleep. She can’t fake that. I’ve never seen her fake it before. When Clover sleeps, I do too. Already my eyes are heavy, filling with sand. I get my hooves under me, stumble over to Clover’s bed, lie down on the floor next to her head. Clover shivers, doesn’t wake up.

I close my eyes, let my own mind settle down. Clover lied about Alfalfa, told the truth about sleeping. Alfalfa Hates me, feels Purple towards Clover. I don’t understand it. Then again, I don’t understand most things about ponies. As long as Clover’s near me, I have a way of figuring them out.

As long as I’m near Clover, nothing else is important.

Monster

Cold.

Air whistling, cutting, crisp. Darkness all around me. The absence of life. I open my eyes, look out the window. The moon is out, full, bright like a frozen star. I feel cold. I feel nothing.

No.

I roll onto my stomach, turn my head. I’m tall enough to see the whole bed, the crumpled pillow, the depression in the sheets. Empty. Clover isn’t there.

No no NO NO.

My vision blurs, narrows into flashes of shapes without colors. I’m standing up, staring at the wall that Clover’s sleeping form should obscure. I’m at the window, hanging halfway out over the sill. I’m outside, buried inside a thundercloud, rending the air apart as I bolt through it. Clover is gone. A part of me is gone. I’m drifting through the air, directionless, a boat without an anchor. Shapes jump out in front of my face, bang against my shoulders. I have to concentrate to see them. I have to ransack my mind to remember how.

I am Scared.

Something happened to her. Something—enemy—monster—came for her, took her away from me. I should have stopped it, protected her, stayed right by her side. The moon is out now. Middle of the night. Have to fix this. Need to find her.

I will find her.

I start at the tower, spiral down the outer wall, move so fast the stones sprout ice streaks where I fly too close. No auras. Empty. I reach the street below, skim my hooves along the cobblestones, paint them white with frost. I haven’t been down here since the ceremony. Nothing looks the same. There are no dim spots of light dancing inside houses, sitting behind carts, ducking into alleyways when they see me coming. Nopony is here. Nopony is Black. Nopony is Clover.

Where is she?

I throat-growl, point my hooves up. The cloud shoots higher, gives me altitude, fills my belly with rocks. From this height I can see the whole city, dyed black-and-white by moonlight, a map spread out on Clover’s table. Platinum Castle is dark, cleaned out. Conducting rods surround its grounds, stand speared upright twenty feet apart. Star Swirl will teleport it to Equestria tomorrow. He’s been meditating for three days, gathering his strength. Nopony else remains inside. Nopony else remains anywhere. Almost everyone has already moved out, gone to Equestria, settled down in New Platinum. Everyone except Star Swirl. Except Clover.

Except Alfalfa.

My focus wanes for a moment. The world blinks out of sight, goes dark but for the few feeble auras still sleeping in the houses below. In front of me, almost as high as me, two glow brighter than the others. One mare, one stallion. One Pink...

… one Purple.

I grit my teeth, force pony-sight back into my mind. On the far side of the castle, there’s a light on top of another tower, a torch throwing shadows across the parapets. It burns orange, matches my aura.

There.

There are four towers attached to Platinum Castle, one on each corner, all flat on top. This one lies opposite the one I live in with Clover. I fly overtop the castle to reach it, see only the backs of heads at first, stop in midair to make sure. Green mane, white coat, sitting next to straw-yellow on top of tan. Clover’s looking at the stars. She doesn’t see me yet.

“... Swirl didn’t teach me until two whole days after it showed up.” She’s mouth-speaking, waving her hoof each time her voice rises. “I kind of screamed at him about it, actually, swore I’d run away and blow up the castle behind me if the damned thing wouldn’t back off and let me sleep. Once he lent me a few scrolls for meditation, though, I couldn’t believe how easy it was. Little beast just goes out like a lamp the second my mind calms down.”

Her guard is down, her wall lowered. She’s talking about me. She thinks I can’t hear her.

“So that’s how you got rid of it?” Alfalfa Surprise-asks. “You just made it think you were asleep?”

Clover smiles. Her throat vibrates, holds back a laugh. “Yep. Well, I guess you’re making it sound simpler than it was. Nearly broke my neck sneaking out to meet you. Turns out stairs get a lot more complicated after you’ve hypnotized yourself.”

Her mouth-voice cuts through me like a heated knife. Hypnotized. Sneaking out. Little beast. Clover did lie to me. She tricked me, made me think she was sleeping, met Alfalfa up here instead. He’s staring at her now, sitting inches away from her. His breath ruffles her mane, sends Purple tendrils creeping down the back of her neck. I have never seen it this bright, felt it coming off him this strong. It makes my chest itch, my hooves tremble. I want to attack him, push him away, make him leave Clover alone.

Why?

Why does Alfalfa glow like that around Clover? Why does seeing it make me want to jump down between them, protect her from him? Why should I protect her? She lied to me. She left me behind, tore us apart, took half of me with her. Did she think I would never find her again? Did she mean for this to last forever?

Impossible. Clover would never abandon me. Clover Hates me. Hate is the strongest aura, the best feeling there is to be felt. If Clover wanted me to leave, she wouldn’t Hate me so much. Star Swirl said as much before. Maybe Clover would lie to me. Star Swirl wouldn’t. Star Swirl understands me, thought-speaks to me, calls me by my name.

I am Demon. Clover is my Master. I will protect her. I will not let her abandon me.

… I will wait. Just long enough to know she’s safe. Just long enough to find out what Purple is.

While I was thinking, Clover kept mouth-speaking to Alfalfa—laughing. Whatever I wasn’t meant to hear, I didn’t. I listen more closely now, wait for the lull in their conversation to end. Clover lung-sighs, is the first to turn away from the stars again. Alfalfa meets her eyes, leans a bit closer.

“You know something, Al? I’m really glad you came by tonight.” Clover grins, looks back up. Al doesn’t. “I needed something like this. This was… this was fun.”

Alfalfa leans back, stretches his foreleg out. He’s a breath away from Clover’s shoulders, so close that I can feel his body heat through her. “I’m glad I came by too,” he throat-whispers. “I should’ve done it sooner.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Clover is still star-gazing, still smiling. She doesn’t feel his proximity, his heat. How does she not feel it? “It’s half my fault anyway. Just wanted to say thanks. For being a good friend.”

Now, Alfalfa thought-whispers. He is swathed in flames, all Purple. Do it now.

“You’re welcome,” he throat-murmurs. Clover twitches her brow, turns towards him. She watches as he closes his eyes, opens his mouth, anchors his foreleg around her neck.

Just before his lips press into hers, she leans away from him.

“Uh… Al?” she mouth-asks. “What are you doing?”

I lean forward, grit my teeth. Alfalfa is staring at Clover, hang-jawed, Turquoise. My cloud is fifty feet from his head. “What d’you mean, what am I… you…”

Clover lifts her hoof to her mouth, notices—finally—what I could see all day. “Oh… wow. Oh, stars above, I… Al, listen, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Are you serious...” Alfalfa throat-whispers. He’s looking at the ground, not at her. Something is building inside him, congealing, darkening.

“Look, Al, I know this… stars, this is awkward, but I swear it’s nothing personal, I just–”

“Are you serious?” Alfalfa’s mouth-voice cracks, claws at the back of his throat. His words are choked with vines of Shame, laced with blood-Red thorns. Clover feels them too. She straightens up, faces him as he jumps to his hooves.

“Excuse me?” she mouth-says. Her tongue is Orange, blushingRed.

I am forty feet away.

“What did I ever do to you, huh?” Alfalfa screws up his eyes, shakes his head. “No, you know what, what didn’t I do for you? I did all the chores you didn’t like doing, I stayed up every night to help you with your research, I read through every scroll and spellbook under the damn sun just so you wouldn’t worry about Star Swirl quizzing us… stars above, I get sick whenever you do, because I’m so busy taking care of you I don’t have time to take care of myself!”

“Al, I’m grateful for all of that. You know I am,” Clover mouth-says, measured out, not-quite-colorless. She’s moving, edging back towards the stairs that lead into the tower. “Why are you acting like this?”

Alfalfa lurches forward, closes the gap Clover managed to open. His laugh sounds like a donkey’s bray, painful, Indignant. “And then this week, you… I’m the only pony in the kingdom who’ll even talk to you after this week! Everypony else is terrified of you, thinks you’ve lost your mind. You know there’s a rumor that you’re the one who brought the windigos here in the first place? That you’re communicating with them, ordering them around with some mysterious black magic? You know who’s the only pony in or out of Equestria who tells those idiots they’re wrong?”

“Alfalfa, you’re overreacting,” Clover mouth-says. I don’t need you to take care of me, she thought-growls instead. I am thirty feet away. I could reach them in less than a second, one-sixtieth of a minute.

“No, you’re underreacting!” Alfalfa throat-yells. He’s even closer to her, hoof raised, hovering in front of her chest. The cloud writhes beneath me, bunches up behind my hind legs. “I do everything for you, and you never see it! To you, I might as well not even exist!”

Alfalfa’s mind is a fountain, a cracked cup running over. His thoughts spill out everywhere, splatter across my mind: Clover on her knees, weeping into her hooves, begging him to forgive her. He knows this Clover well, thinks about her all the time. He doesn’t know the real Clover at all.

“Oh, grow up!” Red tints her vision, charges her words with force that stops Alfalfa dead. “We’re not in a fairy tale, Alfalfa! I’m not a damsel in distress waiting for some gallant, pigheaded knight to break me out of my tower, and I sure as hellfire am not gonna sleep with you just because you act like a decent equine being around me!”

“Then don’t sleep with me!” Fear has mixed with Purple inside him, created a new aura dark as the night sky—Desperation. “Don’t love me, don’t ever speak to me again after tonight. Just kiss me. Just one time, pretend that I exist.”

Clover crinkles her nose, glares pure jet-Black—Disgust. “Goodnight, Alfalfa,” she mouth-spits. She shuts her eyes, turns to leave.

“Don’t walk away from me…” Alfalfa throat-growls. Clover doesn’t stop. He nose-snorts, stomps towards her. “Clover, don’t you dare walk away from m–”

I don’t slow down before I hit the top of the tower. The impact rattles the entire structure, carves inch-deep fissures in the stones beneath my hooves. Spears of ice flash-freeze the floor around me, spray pebbles of hail into Alfalfa’s face. A rush of Red opens my lungs, pushes out a mouth-roar so loud it makes my own ears ring. Alfalfa falls on his rump, scrabbles back against the parapet, bleeds Blue all over the floor as he cowers behind reedy hooves. Saplings in the path of an avalanche. He couldn’t stop me if he tried. Only one pony can stop me now–

“Demon, no!”

My Master mouth-screams at me, orders me back. I don’t want to listen. I want to rip him apart, encase his heart in ice, pack his lungs full of powder-snow. I could do it. I should do it.

I don’t. For some reason, Clover doesn’t want me to. Alfalfa notices, Green-smiles-Orange, shakes his head.

“Unbelievable,” he mouth-mutters. “All those times I stuck up for you, all those ponies I argued with… and they were right. You really are as far gone as they say.”

“Alfalfa, shut up,” Clover mouth-growls. “I’m not controlling it, I don’t know what it’s gonna–”

“Oh, please.” He’s standing now, still pressed against the parapet but leaning forward a bit. “Clover the Clever, savior of the realm, the most powerful magical sorceress in recorded history, out of control? The mare who sits cooped up in her tower all day doing stars know what, who found herself so enthralled with the creatures that nearly wiped out our species that she took one home and kept it as a pet?” He Hate-smiles, crinkles his nose like Clover did—sneers. “Named it Demon?”

Clover’s jaw quivers, hooves scuff at the ground. For the second time in my life, I see my Master’s aura turn Blue. “I… I didn’t name it Demon,” she mouth-says. Her eyes are pointed at neither me nor Alfalfa, hung up between us, out of focus. “It calls itself that, it won’t shut up about it. I-I didn’t know what else to do…”

“You know, I get it,” Alfalfa mouth-says, wheezes out like a persistent cough. “I finally get it. You’re paranoid, antisocial, emotionally distant, frigid as an icebox… of course you’d be friends with a windigo. You practically already are one.”

Shock ripples through Clover’s body, leaves behind a chasm that dwarfs it, drains every other color out of her. “Don’t you dare,” she Blank-whispers. “Don’t you dare…”

“And even now, you still won’t let me talk.” Alfalfa steps to the side, glances towards the stairs. He’s about to escape. I can still stop him. All I need is Clover’s word, gesture, permission. She says nothing. “That’s the real reason you don’t have any friends, Clover. It’s not because you’re intimidating or hard to talk to. It’s because you don’t want us to be your friends. You think you’re too good for us, too special to be associated with common ponies. All you did was use Smart Cookie and Pansy to get what you wanted, and then it was right back into Cloverland, where everything’s all about you again.”

I’m still waiting for an order, still watching Clover for any sign of one. She doesn’t look like she wants to give it to me. She doesn’t look like my Master at all. She looks like Alfalfa’s thought-vision of her: shoulders hunched, chin trembling, eyes red, Empty inside.

“Someday you’re gonna regret acting like that,” Alfalfa mouth-says. “And someday real soon, you’re gonna regret acting like that with me.”

He stands silent for a moment, walks over to the stairs, descends out of sight. Clover doesn’t run after him, doesn’t order me forward, doesn’t say a word. I step closer to her, keep one eye on Alfalfa’s Black aura descending. Her lips shudder, crack apart. She stares at her hooves, mouth-whispers something.

“Get away from me…”

I don’t listen, take another step forward, ignore the hole in her chest until suddenly it’s a VOID, a gaping Nothingness that pushes away instead of pulling in.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

Clover is red-faced, on her hooves, throat-screaming so loud that her next words crack like dry parchment. I’m not looking at her. I’m looking inside her. Beneath her Hate, there is Anger. Beneath her Anger, there is Fear. Beneath her Fear, there is the Source, pulsating, intoxicating. It’s never felt this strong before, this close to the surface.

“I don’t care if you like me! I don’t care if you think I’m your mother! I don’t want to be your mother! I never wanted you! I never wanted any of this!”

She still has her guard down. She hasn’t remembered to put up her wall. After everything she’s done to me, everything I’ve been through tonight, I deserve to see it. I deserve to finally know what the Source of all this is.

“If I ever see you again… if you ever come near me again, I will destroy you. I will burn this entire continent to the ground if I have to. And I will hunt down every single one of your wretched kind until you are wiped from existence and nopony even remembers what you… what… w-what are you doing?”

I’m pushing back, Clover. I’m not creeping around the edge of your wall, sneaking in through the cracks. I’m tearing open new ones, shattering the brick, melting through the steel. I want to know what you’ve been hiding from me.

“Don’t… gonna kill you, you hear me, rip you apart like… stop it. Stop it!”

It’s coming together in front of me, forming into shapes—colors—memories. I’m so close. A few more inches, a little more pressure at the base...

“Demon, plea–”

Thunderclap. Cold water down my back. Connection. The wall has collapsed. I’m inside her memory…

… I am Furious, stomping through a field of wildflowers, running away. Voices echo from the house behind me, call my name, threaten to lock me inside for a week. There’s a storm coming, they tell me, please come back inside. I walk faster. They’re just Scared because they’re earth ponies, stupid because they think I’m still a baby who doesn’t know any better. I am a unicorn. I am a better magician than anypony for miles.

I am invincible.

Lightning strike. Rain soaking into my mane. I ignore it. I don’t want to go back. I don’t care if they’re my parents. I Hate them. I Hate them because they don’t trust me, Hate them because they never let me play outside like the other fillies, Hate them because they’re so Terrified of magic they don’t even let me leave the house alone. They’re ignorant. I’m blind, gritting my teeth so hard I see white. Little flakes fluttering down instead of raindrops, sticking to my face, blending into my coat.

I shiver with cold, with sudden clarity. It’s the middle of summer. It shouldn’t be snowing.

There’s only one reason it could be snowing.

I turn around, numb, Horrified. Too late. The Demons are already here. Three of them, circling around the house, baying at the blanketed sun. They’ve been spotted recently in the Outer Territories, miles away. Never here. Never this far south before.

I start to run, kick up petals, trip over hidden ridges. My legs are aching, too short. My knees are cracked, leaking red. One Demon peels off, dives down towards the house, smashes through the roof. I hear wind roaring, ice crackling, lungs heaving for breath.

Screaming.

Snow piles up in my mane, melts against my body. I can feel something happening, can’t think about it, just fight past it. I’m twenty feet from the house when I’m forced to my knees, laid out flat by the power coursing through me. Pink flames swirl between my legs, lift me off the ground, coalesce into a tight cocoon around my body. I am forbidden magic. I am the spell my parents refused to let me attempt. I am the only thing that can defeat the Demons.

I am Friendfyre.

For a moment, it works. For a moment, the Demons shy away, scream in agony. I pour every bit of energy I have left into the spell, cross a line I never knew to look for. Too much power. Too bright fire. My horn shudders, pulses, cracks apart.

EXPLODES.

I’m knocked unconscious—the memory splits down the middle, skips ahead. I wake up sore all over, spitting out dirt, freezing cold. The house is gone, a wood skeleton flash-burned black. I limp towards it, shove my shoulder against the door, fall through as cinders sizzle on my back. The pain keeps me lucid, from passing out, from looking away.

They are the only things left standing, the only things still with color. Half blue, half black. Hind legs still frozen solid. Forelegs smoking, peeled back by heat down to soot-caked bone. Chests shorn of fur, smoldering. Faces—their faces—twisted, mangled, burned away, ashes. My hooves kick up gray clouds, tufts of green mane. Just like mine. My throat fills with bile, spews it out onto my hooves, leaves a hole in my stomach that widens with every passing second.

My voice croaks, cries out for them, begs for something I already know is impossible. Anything to make this all go away. Anything to undo what I’ve done.

What I’ve done.

The hole sucks the energy from my legs, the light from my aura. There is no color for what I am, no word for what I feel. This is Blankness, unbeing, a bottomless pit I shouldn’t still be alive to fall into. This is the horror that I did this, the knowledge that it can’t be undone, the agony of realizing it’s my fault it happened, it’s my fault they’re dead, it’s my fault

my fault

MY FAULT

I am screaming, I am evil, I am a murderer.

I am–

My head smacks against the parapet, drives a spike of pain through my mind. Clover has shoved me away from her, away from her memory. Her Nothingness clings to me like wet sand, grinds into my skin, saps at my own aura. I can’t move, can’t think, can’t bear to feel it any longer. It’s all-consuming. It’s darker-than-Black. It hurts.

I break off from Clover entirely, feel the world go fuzzy, manage to look up at her face. Her eyes are ice, melting. Inside them, Not-Demon stares back at me.

“You’re a monster,” she Dead-whispers. Her horn shimmers, surrounds her with light. I hear a spell-chime, a sob, nothing. Clover is gone. She’s teleported away. I can’t feel her anywhere close to me.

I am alone.

Demon

I don’t go straight back to Clover’s tower after she vanishes. I fly around the castle for a while—maybe hours—lethargic, without any idea of where I’m going. Thinking. Remembering. Trying to decide whether I should look for Clover, whether I should come down to land, whether I should stay awake at all.

I am not a monster.

None of this would’ve happened if she hadn’t lied to me. I wouldn’t have been so curious about the Source if she hadn’t tried so hard to hide it from me. I wouldn’t have forced my way into her mind if I’d known what was festering at its core, eating away at her from the inside out. All I wanted to do was be with her. All I wanted was to know my Master like she knows me.

I am not a monster.

How could I have known how much pain my presence caused her, how sick her Hate made her? I thought Hate was sacred, profound, the most wonderful thing a pony could give to me. I never felt it as they do, as a cancer sapping the life from their blood, as Nothing where everything should be. This was just a misunderstanding, just Frustration, just the heat of the moment. This wasn’t my fault.

I didn’t want to be a monster.

Clover’s tower is still empty when I return to it. Her bedsheets are rumpled, cold, just as they were before I left. Her trunk still sits open against the wall. If she’s been back here since I last saw her, it wasn’t for long. Just enough to grab a few things, small trinkets somepony else wouldn’t think to look for. An overcoat, meant to hang on the hook behind the door. A bag of apothecary supplies, missing from the rectangular gap in the dust layer beneath her desk. A small emerald pendant I have never seen her wear, that I last saw caked in soot, flattened against a skinless throat, glistening in the light of embers dying under snowfall.

I stand over my spot next to her bed, fall onto my side, close my eyes. It’s too hard to keep standing, too hard to see where I’m walking. If Clover still Hates me, she won’t come back. If Clover doesn’t Hate me, she won’t be in pain anymore. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what she wants me to do.

I don’t know who I am anymore.

Demon.

I am Demon.

Demon, wake up.

I am my Master’s Demon.

Demon, Clover needs you!

Clover is mine. I am hers. No matter what I am or was, that is what I will always be.

… I need you, Demon. I need you to help me again.

I open my eyes, think of Clover, watch shapes blossom back into view. Sunlight streams through the window, sets dust motes ablaze, stings as it inches closer to my outstretched hoof. Star Swirl is standing over me, as close as he can bear, frost gathering at the ends of his whiskers. He nose-sighs, eye-smiles.

“Thought I’d find you up here,” he mouth-says, hoarse, exhausted. For the first time since I’ve known him, he sounds as old as he looks. “She’s just past the northern gate, half a mile or so out by now. If you hurry, you can reach her in a few minutes. He’s…”

Star Swirl closes his eyes, clenches his teeth. I have never seen him filled with Shame before. He’s probably never seen me like that either. “I can’t go,” he mouth-murmurs. “The transportation spell’s culmination is too close at hand. Delaying it now would set us back weeks, maybe destroy the castle, maybe send it to the wrong place entirely. The Princess won’t accept that risk, even for Clover’s sake. I’ve been ordered to stay here and finish the job.”

He goes silent, looks back up at me. I don’t need him to ask again. His question repeats itself in his eyes, sags Turquoise from his cheeks. I stand up, shake some feeling into my legs, step up into the window.

“Demon?”

I rejoin Star Swirl, expect his usual resistance, feel nothing instead. For the time it takes to mouth-tell me what he’s thinking, he lets me see him as he sees me. As I now see Clover.

“I’ve made too many mistakes with her. Please don’t be my worst one yet.”

He’s Afraid I’ll hurt her again. He’s Afraid he’s pushed her too far, forced her into a situation she’s not strong enough to face alone. I know what he’s talking about. He’s right. I have hurt her. She can’t face this alone.

I won’t now. She won’t now. A cloud blooms into being as I step outside, turns me around to face Star Swirl. I stare him down, nod my head—blink one eye. Relief isn’t as powerful or as potent as Hate, but seeing it flood out of Star Swirl’s face feels a whole lot better.

Star Swirl was right about me, wrong about something else. It doesn’t take me a few minutes to reach the northern gate in the castle’s walls. It takes me one-half of a moment to aim, the other half to fire, a few seconds to blaze across the sky like a bolt from a five-story crossbow. I hear their voices before I see their faces, but I don’t need to see them to know who’s talking. Even after last night, Alfalfa still doesn’t bother to guard his mind at all, doesn’t even think about anything other than what he’s about to say next.

... did I tell you, Clover? Remind me what I told you last night. You’re so smart, I’m sure you remember…

Half a mile from the gate, Star Swirl. Three more seconds. I can see him now, a black dot in the distance, a little prick of a pin.

... even one smart comment for me? Shame. Guess you’re not so cocky without your little friend Demon to protect you…

There are two other stallions with him, each gripping one of my Master’s forelegs in their own, neither aware that I’m coming straight for them. Clover is bruised, panting, soaked Red all the way to her bones—but alive. How lucky Alfalfa is for that. He will regret thinking I was gone. He will regret real soon thinking I’ve forgotten about him.

“… going to be mine one way or the other. You had your chance at the easy way last night. Now…”

Now I’m gonna show you the hard way, Al.

Clover notices me at the last second, dives to the ground, pulls the stallion closest to me down with her. The second one never sees me coming, drops his jaw, spits teeth when I slam into him. His ribs groan with strain, crack in half as he’s bowled off his hooves. I break his fall with a sheet of ice, freeze him solid from the neck down before he even lands. Immediate cold pressure for broken bones. Clover taught me that four days ago. I’m nothing if not considerate.

I spin around in midair, skid to a halt with icicles clawing at my hooves. Alfalfa is in Shock, staring at me with his mouth open, not even watching as Clover twists out of her captor’s grip, kicks the rucksack off a walking staff lying nearby, drives it up under the stallion’s chin with pink magic blazing along its length. He crumples like a rag doll, leaves us alone with Alfalfa. I look to Clover, meet her eyes, glance towards Alfalfa’s quivering form.

She lowers her staff, sighs, nods. Alfalfa tries to mouth-speak, doesn’t have time. I’m on him in a blink of Clover’s eyes, staring down at his limp body pinned between my forehooves. I am not a monster. I am all monsters put together. I am Nightmare.

I am starving.

Alfalfa’s Fear collides with his Anger, melds with his Hate, forms a heavenly cocktail that makes me want more with every drop I taste. I drink straight from his aura, siphon off his energy, add it to my own. To kill him like this—defeated, defenseless—would be easy, as simple as waiting for the light around his heart to sputter out. It would be justified. It would be exactly what Clover gave me permission to do.

It would be monstrous.

I catch Clover’s attention, make sure she’s watching before I cut myself off. Alfalfa shudders as I step away from him. His fur is crusted over with ice. His skin is blue, pale with weakness, with Terror. I stare after him as he stumbles to his hooves, limps away with his tail between his legs. Clover stares at me.

“Why did you stop?” she mouth-asks. “Y-You could’ve just…”

I know I could have. I knew I shouldn’t.

“B-But…”

I am not a monster, Clover.

Clover empties her lungs, slumps onto her haunches, rubs her hoof hard against her temple. There’s nothing left for her to be Angry about. Her eyes are rimmed red now, shining a soft Blue. I take one step towards her, wait until she nods again before moving any further. When I sit down by her side, she doesn’t move away, hugs herself with her forelegs instead.

“I’m sorry…” she mouth-whispers.

You don’t have to be Sorry, Clover.

“Yes, I do.” Thunder rumbles in her eyes, flashes Red in a storm of Black. “Yes, I do. I’ve been nothing but awful to you since the day you… the day I created you. All I did was hate you for something you didn’t do.”

Hate made me strong, Clover. I never thought about what Hate did to you.

Clover throat-laughs. The noise is hollow, like wind echoing in a cave. “I don’t even know why you saved me just now. Stars know, I didn’t deserve it.”

I am not a monster, Clover.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry I–”

Neither are you.

Clover bites her tongue mid-word, turns away from me. I can still see the twitch in her jaw, the gleam of Black wetness in her eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

You didn’t mean to hurt anyone.

“It doesn’t matter what I meant to do!” Clover mouth-yells. Her eyes are squeezed shut, still leaking. Her voice pitches higher, cracks louder with every word. “All that matters is what I did. I killed them. They’re dead because of me.”

I didn’t mean to hurt you either. I didn’t know I could hurt you. I was too young to know any better, more powerful than I thought. You were no different.

Clover shakes her head again, throws droplets off her eyelashes that freeze against my coat. “I still brought them there. They felt my hatred and followed back to the house. That’s the only reason it ever happened.”

You never let go of that Hate. You let it build up inside you for years, poison every thought you had. When it peaked in that cave, all it did was create me. One pony is not enough for three windigos. It wasn’t your fault.

“Why are you doing this?” Clover Black-whispers. It’s not me she’s talking to. It’s not me she Hates. “I’ve killed dozens of windigos. I’ve tried to kill you. Why are you still here? How can you even stand the sight of me?”

I forgive you.

“You… don’t…”

I forgive you, Clover.

“Don’t…”

She grits her teeth, tightens every muscle in her body, tries to hold herself together like she always has. It’s not enough anymore. Her wall dissolves, washes out in the Blank tide that’s finally risen too high. I approach her slowly, let her feel me coming, take on as much of her Grief as I can bear. It nauseates me, feels like acid flowing through my body, but it’s pain she no longer has to feel, weight she no longer has to carry on her own.

Outside, I hear her sobbing. Inside, I watch the rest of her life flash in front of us. Townsponies pull her away from the burned-out house. Star Swirl takes her in, teaches her how to use her magic safely. Princess Platinum declares her a squire, takes her along to find new land for the unicorns to settle. Her new friends stand with her in the cave, lend her their strength, channel her Friendfyre through their bodies. I feel her Anger, her Pride, her Frustration, her Fear. I drain the Hate out of her, let it linger on my tongue before swallowing it down. In retrospect, its taste is not worth its price.

When Clover’s mind is empty, something new refills it. Her aura is milky White, not quite as bright as Star Swirl’s was a week ago but still new, still growing. A monster would leave now, find somepony else to provide them the Hate my Master no longer feels. The thought of doing so never crosses my mind. When Clover realizes this, her aura doubles in size.

“We’ll have to find something else for you, though,” she mouth-says after a few seconds. “If you really plan on sticking around.”

My brow creases. I hadn’t really thought about that before. For a moment, both of us are Orange.

“Unless…”

Clover is thinking about Alfalfa, remembering what I did to him. Her idea covers him up as it develops in her mind: the two of us traveling all over Equestria, helping Happy ponies, bringing Hateful ones to justice. She would have an identity, some purpose to her life beyond politics, princesses, ponies who want to be something she's not. I would have an outlet, a way to nourish myself that wouldn’t hurt anypony innocent. We would be together.

I like her idea. I like it a lot.

“So what should I call you, then?” she mouth-asks.

I am Demon.

Clover shakes her head, mouth-replies fast. “You’re not a demon.”

I shake my head too, duck back inside hers for a moment, send a barrage of my own memories her way. I gaze up in awe of her as she glares down at me. I follow in her footsteps as she paces around her room. I wink at Star Swirl, seek her out, save her from herself.

Clover smiles. She understands.

My name is Demon, and Clover is my Master.

“Well, Demon, we better get moving,” she mouth-says. “Star Swirl’s spell has to be almost ready by now. If we miss the teleportation, it’s a three-day walk from here to New–”

A colossal pulse knocks the words from her mouth, sends us both stumbling. A blinding-bright flash paints the sky purple, covers the horizon where Platinum Castle used to stand. When the light fades, the skyline is empty. We stare at it for a second, at each other next.

“... Platinum,” Clover mouth-finishes. “Horseapples.”

I’ve never heard Clover use that word before. I search her mind for its meaning, blink at her, flush with Confusion. Why would she be talking about that right now? Clover doesn’t answer me. Clover just bites her lip, bursts out laughing.

“Come on, Demon,” she mouth-says between giggles. “No rest for the wicked.”

I don’t understand what’s funny. I don’t understand why laughter makes Clover White. I’ll never understand ponies.

I think I’m starting to like them, though. At the very least, there’s one by my side who likes me.

THE END