Amity sat alone in the kitchen, staring wide-eyed and anxiously at the wall clock. Tick, tick, tick…she’d been watching, unmoving for what felt like had been hours now. It probably had been, of course, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t care anymore. She watched in awful silence as the little arrows move closer and closer to the time she’d been dreading most for the last few days. Five, four, three, two, one…to the very hour, he had been missing for exactly three days now. Three days. In Elmsgate it was firmly believed that if a missing pony did not come back by the third day, they were best to be assumed dead.

What was worse, it was considered taboo to even speak of them. So Amity continued to watch the clock, heart heavy and eyes puffy from a combination of tears and lack of sleep. In the whole of her fairly short life, being only 20 years of age, he’d never left her all alone. Not like this. The silence closing heavily in on her, she finally turned her gaze away, setting it mournfully upon the pictures which adorned the walls.

There, so many memories were hung neatly and gracefully with care, not any one of them less valuable than another. But once that clock struck the hour, they were transformed into bitter reminders that now, the town would fall as silent as her dwelling; only the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall to bear witness to the emptiness of what was once a happy home. After this evening, nopony would ever speak again of his disappearance, or the fact that he’d existed at all. His name would go unuttered by all ponies with a lick of good sense to them. Nopony would dare, nopony would want to be next.

With a sigh bordering on a soft wail, Amity rose to her feet. The wall was tormenting her with the memories it bore. In their carefully made frames they held many birthdays past, Hearthswarming carols, flying lessons, winter chills and autumn harvests and so much more…all of them staring back at her with eyes now empty and fearful. Slowly, she turned away from the wall and walked from the room.

Now in the living room, Amity, by then almost from muscle memory, climbed gently on to the waiting sofa. It wasn’t that late in the evening, but after the events of the past days, she was feeling beyond exhausted. And she was well aware that in the morning, she’d be faced with an onslaught of silent pity and regretful stares. She knew that there would be a number of neighbors and even family who would desperately wish to say something, to offer some sort of condolences, but out of fear all would just open and close their mouths for a few moments before giving up and walking on. She’d seen it happen before.

Over the years a number of friends and acquaintances had loved ones disappear, and ponies always reacted in the same way. Not even a funeral would be held…not for anypony who disappeared. Hear none, see none, speak none. That was the town’s motto. Despite Elmsgate’s natural floral beauty, it was marred indefinitely by the fear that so presently ruled their lives that there was really no beauty left to be had in it.

She looked about the familiar room, everything neatly in its place. Her father always kept their home immaculate, sometimes cleaning for hours what was already spotless in her eyes. With a sad smile, Amity leaned a hoof over the nearby coffee table, nudging the old decorative vase slightly out of its place. Returning her hoof to rest, she closed her eyes. Maybe she could pretend, if only for a little while that the misplaced vase would somehow bring him home; that at any minute now she’d hear the door open and the familiar gate of his hooves plodding softly upon the planked floor of the kitchen. She felt tears welling up again as an old memory pushed its way forth from the depths of her mind. It surfaced with a pang bordering on a bittersweet happiness, and she wept openly over it.

When she was just a young filly she’d come home from her primary school in tears one day, swearing to her father that she’d never go back. At the school here was a particularly ‘large for her age’ filly who found her joy in being cruel to the others. To put it simply, the filly was both physically and mentally abusive to anypony and everypony around her. Something, Amity noted, that did not change with age either. When the other filly had gotten her cutie mark, it came as no surprise when it turned out that her special talent was breaking bones.

But when they were small, Amity had been one of her favorite picks for bullying. At the time she’d sworn that she’d never go back, her father smiled understandingly, saying nothing at first, only listened as he cleaned her cuts and the dirt off of her coat. When he had finished, he then sat her down and held her closely. It wasn’t as much the hug that struck her memory so fiercely. It was what he had said to her that mattered most.

“Amity, the world we live in isn’t a very nice place. I’m not going to hide that from you. And the truth is that bad ponies are always going to exist in it.” Her father spoke softly. “But when faced with bad times and bad ponies we are also facing a choice. We can lie down and allow the evils of the world to continue, or we can stand against it. It’s not always a winning battle, no, but even if you lose, you lost doing what was right instead of what was easy.” Amity looked up at him as he’d said this; he was smiling encouragingly down at her. She found it strange that these words so suddenly came to mind, as though reminding her that although tough times obviously lay ahead of her, he expected her to be strong in the face of it and to keep going on…to not let the world win.

Her thoughts continued on in the memory until they went as a blur, and after what seemed like a small eternity later Amity peeked her eyes open again, only to gasp in alarm. She was no longer looking at the familiar sight of her organized sitting room. What lay before her now both confused and frightened her. She was surrounded by other ponies of all kinds, a growing roar of frightened, whispering voices threatened to drown out her own.

In a panic, Amity tried to move, only to discover that her wings were firmly bound to her sides and her legs tightly shackled and chained to the ponies beside her. In the same way they were bound and chained to those around them. She looked around herself desperately to find a means of escape, only to find none. Despite all her attempts to pull and break, the chains stayed strong and held tightly. She began to call out to the others for help, and to help themselves, when the voices stopped in waves.

All attention was pointed to a raised stage not too far ahead of where she stood. She soon saw what called everypony’s attention so aptly. Three tall, noble looking mares were being cruelly jabbed and prodded up to the stage, their flowing manes matted and disheveled. Despite the jaunts and jabs from their captors, the mares stood noble and strong, gracefully holding their heads reserved and high. The proud crowns upon their heads glistened against the light of the fire lit sky.

Only at this moment did Amity really take notice of her more distant surroundings, almost as though they hadn’t been there before. Smoke and ash billowing fervently up above and caused the sky overhead to appear blood red as the sun rose; it was as if the sun were crying its light into the world. They also appeared to be in some sort of castle courtyard on the edge of a mountain, as they were surrounded by a seemingly endless landscape of desert, fire and ash. An acrid wind blew the remnants in, the smell of ash and death on its cindery breath.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a deep, echoing boom. All heads in the crowd turned to the source of the noise. Behind them, a tower loomed and its gigantic sets of double doors were opened with obvious force. A hot, near blinding light pulsed on the other side, her first assumption being that it was a large fire. Amity wished she could look away from it, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Something within the flames had caught her eye. The light was moving toward the crowd of ponies. Swirling at its center she could barely make out the white-hot outline of a pony, the flames pulsing wildly at his every step.

In terror-stricken silence, all eyes watched the pony as it marched its way around the crowd and up onto the stage. Amity was near enough to the platform that if she craned her neck slightly, she could see all that was going on. The three regal mares on the stage were visibly shaken, though as best as they could, they still kept their heads high with a noble reserve. They remained beautiful, despite the situation they were in.

Amity focused on them more closely this time, there was something she’d missed in her terror. Amity’s eyes widened, the highly decorated mares were not like the other ponies around them. They were, well, they were like herself. Her father had once told her that long ago there had been other ponies that had also bore both wings and a horn, but he would never tell her much more than that. Nopony did. Speak none, she supposed. Her thoughts turned back to moment when the large fiery pony stepped forward upon the stage. He glared out over the ponies in the crowd, who shrunk back from him. His silent presence was as frightening as the fire he wrought.

“Look upon your people, princesses. See how they tremble in fear!” the pony finally spoke, his booming voice broke the tense silence. “And look upon your precious princesses, people of Equestria. And remember well this day, for upon this dawn their tyranny ends!” Amity covered her ears in pain, crying out along with many others as he spoke. The stallion’s words burned as hot as his mane and every word was as smooth and felt as hot as molten glass being poured into their ears.

“Today, I see you free from your bonds!” He bellowed fiercely. “I. Free. You…free you from the bonds of your “magical friendship”, and these deceiving princesses. All who bow before me shall finally know true peace!” he continued, “Now watch closely, as justice is done!” The stallion, his flames lightening enough to finally better see his form, smiled wrathfully out at the mass of ponies. To the shock of crowd, he too bore the presence of both a horn and wings. The air buzzed with tension, kept only silent enough by the dreadful presence of the fiery stallion before them. A few whispers passed through the crowd though, murmurs about unnatural magic and false kings.

As the crowd and the male alicorn watched, the royal mares were brought forward one by one. The tallest white mare being first, the dark blue mare was next and the shorter, pink mare was lined up last. Amity found herself holding her breath; it appeared that all three of these princesses were staring directly at her with terrified eyes as they were forced to their knees. Their graceful necks were painfully stretched out as far as they could reach and were then lain across a long, dirty block of wood prepared upon the stage. Tears welled in their eyes. Grimy, singed wicker baskets had been placed at the ready beneath each of their heads. The awful stallion, gleaming gloriously, then produced a long blade from the flames of his mane, which glowed brightly in the hot grasp of his magic.

“Now BOW!” his voice roared, flaring his flames up high. With a single, forceful swing he brought the hot blade through their necks almost fluidly. The princess’ heads fell as ponies shrieked. Amity found herself staring horrified and shocked at what she had just seen. The world around her felt muffled and distant, as it slowly drifted and melted away from her. When she came back to her senses, everything was quiet and black save for herself and the three baskets that contained the heads of the princesses.

No longer shackled, she trembled and slowly stepped forward, unsure of what she was expecting to see. She leaned over to peer into the baskets and down upon the three heads. She found each in a pool of strangely colored blood. The blood was unnatural beyond that though, it almost flowed and glimmered, as though it was nearly glowing and swirling about in the basket. It was hard to measure in thickness or depth, and it was as beautiful as it was strange.

As Amity stared down at the fascinating ichors, she couldn’t understand why, but she felt like she was staring into the very heart of the solar system and of the planet. Mesmerized, Amity leaned closer in to the gorgeous fluid. She began to hear a distant dripping sound. It came on quietly at first, on the very edges of her hearing. But it progressively grew stronger and more frequent until each drop felt as though it was drilling heavily into her sanity, as though something were screaming silently at her beneath the noise of every drop with the intensity of a great many years.

As the dripping grew louder and louder, Amity began to wince, but couldn’t look away from the sad, dead stares of the heads in their ichor. Very subtly at first, almost unnoticeable, the heads of the pink and white mares began to twitch and move. The movement progressed and they slowly rose from their baskets; the beautiful ichor suddenly running black. It began coagulating and became very viscous and thick. Now very sticky and dense, the black goo began sticking and building up around the heads in order to create grotesque and unpony-like bodies.

The once elegant heads began to twist and be distorted to fit their new bodies. As Amity attempted to backpedal in horror, she found she could not run away. The blood had overflowed the baskets and had gummed up around her hooves, holding them down. It quickly began crawling its way up her legs and her body, it felt slimy and hot against her skin and it smelled intensely of rotted flesh. Amity screamed and tried to squirm and kick the disgusting substance from her body, to little avail. The sticky blood latched up onto her neck, and the two former princesses began trotting in ever-closer circles around her, laughing hollowly while their fleshy makeshift feet slapped wetly into the sticky mess that had become the ground. The black goo was attempting to crawl into her ears, nose, mouth and eyes, when suddenly a regal voice bellowed out from the dark.

“Enough!” a flash of silver-blue light emanated from the third basket, the viscous blood mess and the creatures that the other two princesses had become began blowing away coldly as nothing more than ash. The head of the third princess, eyes aglow, stared blankly out at her from its basket. The glow slowly faded as Amity fell to the ground and sobbed. It took a few moments to recover her bearings, and once she had collected her nerves, Amity began to feel as though she was being called out to.

Rising to her feet, she stepped closer to the basket, tears blurring her vision. The dead, melancholy expression had stayed upon the head’s face, but it looked almost sadder and more urgent than she remembered before. With blue lips unmoving, the head spoke softly again in the same voice that had saved her before, “Amity…Seek it out and ye shall find. Please, you must purify what has been poisoned. Set right what is wrong!”

Author's Note

It's 6:30 in the morning. I've literally spent all night reading carefully through this multiple times to try and catch any flaws in it...I'm tired... so there's probably going to be some errors. Possibly a lot. I don't know. Anyway, I need a proof reader terribly.
Seeing as this is the first chapter that has the main character really involved in it, I'd be super appreciative for some feedback from anybody.

Edit: I've now cropped this part of the story much shorter, and the rest of it can be found in the later chapters. This is for ease of reading.