The whir of the sewing machine died down as Rarity stared at what she had wrought.
“No, no, no! This will absolutely not do.” She used her magic to levitate the pink chiffon, her magic registering the feel of the fabric, soft and comforting like light from a sunset beach. She twirled it around, and groaned in frustration. “This staggered hemline is horrible! What was I thinking—ugh!”
Rarity tossed the dress on the floor, her body sagging as her battle against exhaustion was slowly lost. “Maybe I could cut the hemline out,” she said. “I’d hate to have to use a new piece of fabric.” She tossed the dress onto her worktable, reached for the scissors, and gasped as she saw outside.
Daylight.
“I worked all night?” She said, mixing surprise with not a little bit of awe. All at once she became aware of her tired body and exhausted mind, now finding the opening they needed to betray her creative will. She yawned and blinked.
This isn’t due for several more days, she thought. I can’t possibly... perfect this as tired as I am. I do need the rest.
A knocking hit the door, and Rarity jerked in surprise. She huffed and said, “Just a moment.” She staggered toward the door and opened it, finding Derpy standing there with a box and an envelope.
“Good morning, Ms. Hooves,” Rarity said.
“It’s afternoon!” Derpy said.
“That’s nice,” Rarity said absently, taking the package Derpy held out for her. “I’m glad they’re letting you deliver mail again.”
“Thanks! That one’s special just for you!” Derpy giggled, and took off.
Rarity shut the door behind her as she dumped the box on her work table. She took a step toward her bedroom, but turned to study the box. With a sigh, she grabbed her scissors, and as neatly as her tired mind allowed, cut through the packaging tape and opened the box. Inside was a folded letter, a circular blue pill, and a unicorn knife—a pointed, single-sided blade with no handle or tang.
Most curious, she thought.
She unfolded the letter, feeling its stiffness and heft, and saw the insignia of the Royal Museum Organization on the letterhead; the sun with two wings. She read:
To Lady Rarity,
Your sister, Sweetie Belle, recently visited the Magical Artifacts Museum in Canterlot while on a field trip with her class, led by Cheerilee of Ponyville. Due to a mishap involving the Golyadkin Wallet exhibit, Sweetie Belle is now cursed with a doppelganger.
This malign doppelganger is draining Sweetie Belle’s life force to feed its own. Sweetie Belle is in intensive care at the Titania Hospital here in Canterlot, which specializes in the treatment of magical maladies.
Time is short. The doppelganger returned to Ponyville with Sweetie Belle’s class before we realized what had happened. The doppelganger may already be in your town.
As she considers herself Sweetie Belle in every aspect, I, the curator of the Magical Artifacts Museum, have decided that you are in the best position to dispose of this magical detritus. She would not suspect any ill intentions of you, considering you her actual sister.
Please note: Do not mention the field trip, or any past event involving Sweetie Belle. The doppelganger may not remember, and could become quiet violent at any hint that she is a false being.
Included in this package are one sleeping pill, and one unicorn knife. We have determined the easiest method of terminating the doppelganger is to have her take the sleeping pill (I recommend deceitfulness in this case) and slitting her throat while she is asleep. Once termination is achieved, please bring this letter to your local sheriff’s office, and they will dispose of the body.
We thank you for your assistance in this manner,
Sincerely,
Ruby Spear, PhD.
Curator of the Magical Artifacts Museum, Canterlot
Rarity’s adrenal glands, after powering her creative drive for a night and the beginning day, fired into full production. There would be no sleep, as her heart was now racing over what she had just read.
“This... must be some kind of joke!” Rarity said. “Why... why not my parents? I don’t...”
Rarity dropped the letter, heavy enough to fall to the ground straight, with no fluttering. Dizzy, she moved her head around her room, her gaze passing over her dress, over the curtained windows, over the door, but seeing nothing.
She magically grasped the letter again and studied the symbol intently; the sun disk, a sign of the Equestrian museum system. She moved down to the signature of the curator, her mind overstuffed with bafflement, when her front door opened.
“Hi Rarity!” Sweetie Belle said as she entered. She winced and cringed away from Rarity. “Why are you screaming?”
“Ah... hah, I’m not screaming,” Rarity said, forcing a smile so wide that the edges of her mouth threatened to split her face.
“You started when I came—ooh, what’s this?” Sweetie Belle dashed to the pink chiffon dress Rarity was working on and oohed and ahhed over it, trying to view it from every angle.
“Oh, just some work for a client. S-so, how was your field trip?” Rarity let out a loud ‘eep’ after asking that question. “Wait, don’t answer that! It doesn’t matter!”
Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Rarity.”
Rarity backed away. That dark scowl, she thought... Rarity studied Sweetie Belle closely. There’s definitely something off... her movements are so mechanical, not spritely like they’re supposed to me. There’s no light in her eyes.
Rarity’s eyes widened as she fully realized that this wasn't Sweetie Belle. I have to save my sister!
“Sw-Sweetie, would you like to share some tea with me?”
“Sure, thanks Rarity!” Sweetie Belle said.
Rarity quickly grabbed the letter and stuck it back in the box, levitating it with her to the kitchen.
“What’s that?” Sweetie asked, as she trotted alongside the box and poked it with an inquisitive hoof.
Rarity yelped. “Nothing! Nothing at all!”
“It looks like something.”
“Just some things to put up!” Rarity said with a stabbing and overloud laugh. “You wait right here while I brew some tea.”
Rarity quickly trotted into the kitchen, using her magic to pour water into the kettle while grabbing two porcelain cups and their saucers. Positioning herself so she could face the entryway in case Sweetie Belle (Sweetie Dupe, Rarity thought) came in, Rarity lowered her brown betty teapot onto the counter and lifted the lid off a tin box of decaffeinated tea (because it simply won't do to have her caffeinated while trying to... do away with her, Rarity thought, a flush of pride entering her face at her planning), and scooped the leaves into the strainer.
She then, with the carefulness of a nurse in the maternity ward, levitated the box to the desk and pulled out the sleeping pill.
The kettle whistled, and Rarity turned to the stove to take it off its burner. She turned around, and yelped when she saw Sweetie Belle rifling through the box.
“Is that a knife?” Sweetie said.
“Sweetie, stay away from that!” Rarity said, snatching the package away from her. “You could hurt yourself.”
“I’m bored, Rarity,” Sweetie said with slumping head. “What are we going to do today?”
“W-well, after the tea, we could... go to the theatre to watch a play?”
Sweetie Belle jumped and squeaked in excitement. “Yes! I want to watch Station Wars again!”
Rarity’s left eye twitched. “Station Wars? Surely you... yes, Station Wars it is! Now please go back to the shop in case any customers come in. I’ll buy you extra butter on your popcorn!”
“Okay!” Sweetie said, tearing back into the main showroom with squeaky excitement in her voice.
Rarity slumped. I just want to get this over with, she thought. There was a picture of the immediate future, of what she was about to do, but she put it out of her head. She didn’t need to fall into fear and weakness. Instead, she imagined poor Sweetie Belle in that Canterlot hospital, having her life force sucked away by that... discordant fetch in the other room. Dreadful!
After the tea had finished brewing, Rarity poured the bitter and beautiful liquid into the tea cups, their lips bordered with delicately stenciled red roses and white lilies—her favorite set. With a deep breath, she dropped the sleeping pill into the cup on her right. She watched it bubble up, and waited.
“Isn’t it supposed to dissolve?” Rarity said.
“What?” Sweetie Belle shouted.
“Nothing!” Rarity said.
I’ll simply speed things along, Rarity thought. She opened a drawer and dug around for her pestle. There, this should do.
She pressed the pestle into the teacup, and dug against the pill sitting at the bottom.
This is harder than it should be, Rarity thought with a huff. The pill was pushed against the side of the cup, and Rarity smiled as she felt the pill crumble. She ground against it one more time for luck, and the cup tipped over, allowing the steamy liquid to escape.
“No!” Rarity shouted, and she quickly grabbed the cup and righted it, feeling her heart sink as she watched the tea run off the table and drip to the floor. She grabbed a towel and cleaned up the mess, and topped Sweetie Belle’s cup with more tea.
She stirred carefully, making sure each grain was fully dissolved before carrying both cups and saucers to the showroom.
...
“...and that’s how we got the trebuchet to fire!”
“That’s lovely, Sweetie,” Rarity said, fighting to hold open her eyelids. Rarity was worried that she had the wrong cup, but reassured herself of serving Sweetie Belle the drugged cup. I really should have made some caffeinated tea for me, she thought. At the least, the doppelganger not recognizing the cups that Rarity loved so much, and that Sweetie Belle so desperately wanted to use, proved again that this was a mere dupe.
“Rarity, you're pretty fidgety today,” Sweetie said.
“Am I?” Rarity said with a huge plastic smile. She laughed. “Just stress from working on this project, that’s all.” Why won't she fall asleep?
“Well, what you need is to watch Station Wars again. That’ll make you feel real good.” Sweetie Belle stood up, and yawned, and Rarity had to suppress a cheer.
“Are you feeling tired, Sweetie?” Rarity said.
“A little bit,” Sweetie Belle said. She yawned and blinked her eyes.
“Well, we can catch the night showing. How about you take a quick nap while I clean up around here? I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go, and I’ll even let you get extra butter on your popcorn.”
Sweetie frowned at her. “You already said that.”
“Did I?” Rarity said, reeling back from that hateful frown Sweetie Dupe was giving her. “It must have slipped my mind.”
“That’s okay,” Sweetie Belle said. She staggered toward the stairs.”
“Sweetie? Where are you going?”
“Guest bedroom,” Sweetie mumbled as she pulled herself up to the second floor. Rarity stifled her complaint. Those satin sheets are going to be ruined if doppelgangers bleed, she thought. When Sweetie Belle was out of sight, Rarity quickly ran down to the utility room and dug an old scratchy cotton sheet, already stained with the ghosts of cleanings past, and slowly made her way up stairs to the guest room, each step savaging her mind with anxiety.
Sweetie Dupe didn't even bother to get under the sheets, simply lying across the bedspread while her head lay against the pillow. Rarity snuck in as close as she dared to listen to Sweetie’s quiet breathing. Good, she... I mean, it, is asleep, Rarity thought.
She used her magic to levitate Sweetie’s body so she could lay the sheet under her, making sure to cover every inch of the bedspread. She placed Sweetie Dupe back into her position, and took a deep breath as she ran back to the kitchen to fetch the unicorn knife.
It felt slimy in her magical grasp, and she dropped it on the floor, the clattering like distant bells as its shiny surface reflected the sunlight throughout her kitchen, like a search beam hunting for an escaped criminal. Rarity closed her eyes and took a deep breath, calming her nerves while listening to any movement or sound from upstairs.
Don’t think about this, she thought. Just do it. I must save my sister.
She grasped the knife again, fighting against the clammy feel of it, like a stranger’s grasp, and snuck upstairs.
The dupe was snoring away. Rarity swallowed, placing the knife on the bed table so she could use her magic to roll the dupe onto her back—dual casting was a difficult spell, and Rarity wanted to focus.
Rarity levitated the knife again, eyeing the dupe’s sweet white neck, so clean and pure, and with a thought of her poor sister fading away in a hospital—
Sweetie Belle awoke. “Rarity?”
—Rarity sliced at the dupe’s neck.
Sweetie Belle jerked out of the way of the blade, and instead of her jugular being split, the knife slashed into the right side of her neck, nicking the carotid artery.
Sweetie Belle screamed and jumped out of the bed, running to the stairs, blood gushing form her wound.
“Sweetie, come back here!” Rarity shouted, running after her. She grimaced as she saw the dupe run down the stairs. “You’re getting blood all over the floor!”
“Rarity, stop!” Sweetie said, pushing her plea through cries of shock. “Please, I’m sorry, don’t!”
Sweetie tripped at the bottom of the stairs and rolled into the sewing machine table, letting out a whimper of fear. Rarity was on top of her, levitating the knife, using her hooves to roll the dupe onto her back.
“Rarity!” Sweetie Belle screamed, tears running down her face, finally feeling the pain, fear, and shock; but all were weaker than the hurt and sadness in her heart. “I love you, I’m sorry, please!”
“That’s nice,” Rarity said, and she plunged the knife into Sweetie Belle’s throat, and with a quick slash, severed both carotid arteries and her trachea.
Sweetie Belle’s eyes widened as tears gushed down her face, whistling coming from her split trachea as the initial spurt of blood from her arteries died down into dual rivers flowing from her neck. He body twitched, and slowly the terror in her face dissipated into calm uncaring. Her body relaxed, and one last whisper rose from her throat before dying into silence.
“Well,” Rarity said. She dropped the knife, rose from the corpse, trotted daintily to the bathroom, and threw up.
After swishing some mouthwash, she collected the all-important letter from the box in the kitchen, smiling to herself. “I s-saved my si... my si...”
She passed through the showroom as she headed to the door, spared a glance at the dupe’s corpse, and gasped. She dropped the letter and rushed to the sewing table and lifted the pink chiffon into the air.
Blood was splattered across it.
With a growl, Rarity tossed the dress on the table and shouted at the corpse. “You ruined my dress!”
She grabbed the knife, and with a hard sneer, slashed at the dupe’s face, cutting open soft white fur to red blood and split meat. “How dare you!” she shouted. “How dare you!”
Her anger died down, and she dropped the stained knife, the fresh blood splattering against the wisteria-colored carpet. Levitating the all-important letter, she exited Carousel Boutique and made her way to the sheriff’s office.
...
The outside was dizzying, wide open, and airy; almost overpowering after the stultifying interior of her shop. He knees were weak, and she had to constantly blink against the bright light of the late afternoon sun, feeling tears dot the corners of her eyes. I am so utterly exhausted, Rarity thought. Why does Celestia let it get so bright?
“Rarity!” A voice said, next to her.
Rarity turned and smiled as she saw Cheerilee. “Cheerilee, good to see you!”
“What happened to you! You’re covered in blood! Do I need to call the doctor?”
Rarity laughed, and stopped in confusion when Cheerilee recoiled. “Oh, it’s not my blood. Don’t worry, Sweetie Belle will be out of the hospital in no time.”
Cheerilee’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Why, the field trip, darling!” Rarity said with a nod of her head, letting her hair bounce in the alluring manner she had practiced so many times in front of the mirror. “The one your class took to Canterlot, to see the Magical Artifacts Museum!”
Cheerilee took one step back, and swallowed. “My class has not gone on any field trip.”
Inside Rarity, deep in her soul, a rusted door creaked opened, and a scream came out.
“Nonsense!” Rarity said, not even aware that she was fighting against the tear in her soul. “Pardon me, but I must be on my way to the sheriff’s office. Good evening, Ms. Cheerilee!”
As Rarity trotted toward the center of Ponyville, Cheerilee turned and dashed toward Carousel Boutique.
...
“Please, this is all a misunderstanding,” Rarity said, as she sat on the hard wooden stool across from Ponyville sheriff Rockwell, called Rocky since his youth. “That letter should clear everything up.”
Rocky, his drowsy eyes always hiding his thoughts, tossed the letter on the cluttered table. It laid up against a black coffee mug, and Rarity eyed the letter with great concern. “This is hard to believe," Rocky said. "I hope you understand.”
Rarity huffed. “Well, take it up with Ruby Spear. I’m sure she’ll explain everything.”
“What makes you think Ruby is a she?”
Rarity killed her look of contempt. “With a name like Ruby, why not? Please sheriff, I want to see my sister again.”
The door to his office opened, and two burly earth pony deputies entered. Rocky nodded, and the two grabbed Rarity under her forearms.
She jerked her head in terror. “What’s going on?”
Standing up from his desk, Rocky said, “Ms. Rarity, you being charged with the murder of Sweetie Belle, is whats going on.”
Rarity gasped. “But that letter—”
Rocky smacked the letter, his desk retorting with a bang. “There is no Ruby Spears, or Magical Artifacts Museum, or Royal Museum system! This letter is a fake!”
Rarity’s entire body shivered as the scream traveled up her spine. “But, but, I don’t—” she sputtered.
“Did you seriously expect us to fall for this idiotic forgery? What were you thinking?”
“No,” Rarity said, shaking her head, as the two deputies dragged her outside the office, herding her toward the jail. In the main office area, Cheerilee turned her tear-stained face from her interviewer to face Rarity.
“What...” Rarity said, still shaking her head as her mouth worked words that would never arrive. “What...”
“You killed your sister!” Cheerilee shouted. The interiviewer put a comforting hoof on Cheerilee’s withers, trying to calm her down. “Why did you do it!”
“But... the field trip...”
“There is no field trip!” Cheerilee shouted, and the officer put her hooves around Cheerilee, afraid of a fight breaking out. “What does that have to do with anything? You killed Sweetie Belle!”
“No,” Rarity said, her eyes staring at nothing. Her body shook, and she dry heaved.
“I need a doctor,” Rocky said, following his deputies out of his office, eyeing Rarity with some confused concern. “Now.”
The door to the sheriff’s station burst open, and Rarity’s parents ran in. Rarity looked up, saw the fear, the broken hearts, the anger, and finally screamed.
Rarity thrashed against her captors, who were stunned by the volume, but trained well enough not to let her go. She fell down deep into her scream, not knowing or caring if she had stopped, or what she was doing, as Rocky screamed for a medic and tranquilizers, and the office burst red and she no longer had knowing.
...
Earlier that day...
Derpy Hooves idled around the post office, looking mournfully into its shiny white interior, full of efficiency and organization. She wished she could be a part of that again, getting letters all neatly stacked, with address and names, and, best of all, watching the ponies face light up when they got that letter or package they had so long been waiting for.
It was a good feeling, and it was why Derpy worked as a postmare. Sadly, she was on leave due to a catastrophic mix-up involving carbonated beverages and sugary snacks. Well, it wasn't my fault those crates were stacked so poorly, she thought glumly.
“Hey, Derpy!” A cheery voice from behind her said. Derpy turned and waved.
“I have some mail for you to deliver.”
Derpy frowned. “I’m sorry, but I can’t deliver any mail right now. I’m on leave because of some other pony’s mistake.”
“Aww, I’m sorry to hear that! But guess what!” The pony moved in and whispered, “You can deliver just these for me! It'll be a secret!”
Derpy gasped. She loved secrets, just as much as she loved delivering mail. “You mean, I can be a postmare today?”
“That’s right!” Derpy took the box and envelope and carefully read the names and addresses. “Oh, this is interesting.” She looked up at the pony, remembered who she was talking to, and giggled.
“This is a prank, isn’t it?”
“That’s right! But it has to be our secret, okay?”
“Shh!” Derpy said, zipping her lips. “I bet it’s a doozy, huh?”
“A doozy?” With a grin big enough to show all her teeth, and with eyes as wide as fired eggs, Pinkie Pie said, “This prank is a killer!”
