You Look Like You've Seen a Ghost
The new mannequin Rarity had acquired unnerved everypony who saw it at first glance. Questions pertaining to the “how” and the “why” were tossed her way, which she casually deflected with a carefully rehearsed response. She just felt she needed a “pick me up,” as she put it, after feeling perpetually exhausted and uninspired as of late. So when-by way of a friend eager to help and her scaly messenger-she was given the chance to liven up the dull, drab scene sapping her energy and creativity, she leapt at the opportunity with boundless appreciation and thanks.
Lively was the word used to foist the new burden upon her shoulders, but the months after she’d obtained it revealed the cracking horn, the loose teeth, the thinning strands of hair, and the white plastic-like skin that barely hung to its form.
The worry from her friends and family was ubiquitous, but to her, the progress she’d been allowed to make and the creativity practically flooding through her veins thanks to her new “inspiration” was well worth the concern. She finally felt that feeling of true, unbridled freedom she hadn’t felt since the first time she’d set out to create fashions for others. It gave off a certain kind of euphoric thrill one could very easily become drunk off of.
However, Rarity was too well accustomed to the high that came with the creative process to become so easily inebriated. So, with another dose of inspiration absorbed and her brow set into a determined squint, she went back to toiling on her brethren with a renewed sort of vigor akin to rebirth.
Minutes turned to an hour, an hour to two, until she eventually became so engrossed in the throes of her creations that time started to become the most alien of concepts altogether. And as the hours continued to blend and coalesce together into one seamless stretch of time, she found herself growing increasingly focused on her work, to which she was thankful compounded a hundred times over.
But coming back to the surface for air after having been submerged in the water of love for your artistry for endless hours and not having a grasp on neither time nor location has a glaring effect on one’s creative process. She found herself seated at a table, and judging by the opulence of the dining ware and how expertly the table was set, she knew she had to be somewhere with a fair bit more class than Ponyville could offer.
Rose bushes hedged pathways that circled the proximity of the collection of tables and chairs she saw upon surveying the unfamiliar landscape. Even through the light fog, she could faintly make out the outlines of ponies sitting a good distance away, howling with haughty, uproarious laughter. Deeming it safer to ask one of them for some information on her strange new whereabouts, she made her way over, albeit warily.
“Excuse me, I was wondering if one of you could tell me where I am?” All four of the heads turned a full one hundred eighty degrees to face her as if their necks were attached to axels. Rarity screamed. Threadbare faces wrought with decay and the essence of decomposition and death stared back at her, each one with a depraved smile crafted of bone and the hanging remnants of rotting flesh.
“Why, you’re right where you’ve been all along.” The skeletal figure closest to her cackled, its nearly toothless smile becoming wider by the second.
“I’m sorry,” Rarity shook, still obviously unnerved by the prospect of having a conversation with the walking dead. “I’m not quite sure what you mean.”
“You never left,” another adds, clumps of its hair drifting gently from its head even as it spoke.
“The poor thing doesn’t even realize,” the one opposite the first laments, shaking the stump where its horn used to be in what Rarity could tell was pity.
“It really is quite a shame,” the final one adds, its flesh trying desperately to cling to the milky white bone that lay underneath.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I simply need to know how I can get out of this-” Rarity pauses, her every word chosen as carefully as one would pick grapes to make a fine wine. “-dreadful fog and back to Ponyville. I’ve got a lot of dresses that need to be finished as quickly as possible so they can make it to the Fall Fashion Extravaganza on time and I’m behind as it is. ”
The ghastly piles of remains threw their heads back to have a hearty laugh. Rarity cringed as their deep, gurgled mirth filled her ears like a seeping sewage.
“You want to leave?” the nearly toothless one gasped-not from shock but as an aftereffect of the contagious fit of laughter. “Why on earth would you want to leave when it’s so incredibly lively here?”
“I don’t think lively is exactly the word I would use,” Rarity did her best not to sound too condescending; apparently her efforts were for naught.
“And why not? We are just as alive as you are, darling.” Another round of laughs echoed throughout the thoroughfare. Rarity frowned.
“Why, you’re nothing but piles of old bones. How alive could you possibly be?”
“How alive?” The toothless husk of a pony leaned in too close for Rarity’s liking, the stink of a lengthy time spent dead assaulting every one of Rarity’s senses as that same shit eating grin it always wore stretched even wider and ripped the festering flesh around it’s mouth.
“Too alive,” it finished, its compatriots grinning silently in assent to one another until the concept was communally shared among the table’s occupants.
“Too alive.”
“Too alive.”
“Too alive.”
Rarity drew back at the display, unable to hide her horrified grimace. The crumbling vessels continued to grin down at her, obviously quite grateful to be able to declare such a thing and have it ring true.
“Ah, yes,” the collection of animated remains hissed as it extended its neck toward the sky and breathed in a deep, exorbitant breath through what was left of its neck. Rarity watched half a lung expand and contract in abject horror. “How great it is to be...alive.”
“Alive.”
“Alive.”
“Alive.”
And it’s all thanks to you.” A deep confusion settled into the crevices of Rarity’s face.
“I’m afraid I’m not following you.” The heaps of rotting flesh and crumbling body parts rose up from their seats, seeming to surround the white unicorn before she had any time to react.
“Why, the very reason we are allowed to once again imbibe ourselves in the novelties of the world at large is because of you.”
“You’ve given us life.”
“Allowed us to live.”
“Because of you, we are...alive.” Amidst the tableau of decaying faces closing in on her, Rarity noticed a familiar pattern that made her blood run ice cold and slow in her veins. She tried to scream but all that came out was a choked cough.
“Alive.”
“Alive.”
“Alive.”
“Alive.”
“-alive in here?”
Rarity was brought back to reality by the sweet, dulcet lilt of a voice that starkly contrasted the imposing gurgle that had been besieging her.
“Huh, what?”
“I said, ‘are you alive in here?” Rarity shook head and wiped a strand of drool from her chin, staining her hoof crimson.
“Oh, Sweetie Belle, I must have gotten distracted while I was working. Thank you for snapping me out of it.”
“Well, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You’ve been in here like all night.”
“Yes, well,” Rarity started, clearing the grogginess from her voice and replacing it with her usual haughty drawl. “I do have quite a large order due by the end of the week and I intend to get it done on time.”
“Ok,” Sweetie Belle whispered, almost out the door. “Just try and get some sleep, for me?”
“Of course,” Rarity smiled and waved in a way that was both supplicating and unctuous, waiting for Sweetie Belle to close the door behind her before she turned back to her work.
After adjusting herself in her chair and taking stock of her materials, she brushed a few errant strands of hair from her desk and-with a bit of difficulty-she levitated her things back into a state that resembled the organized chaos she thrived in. She went to pick up a needle and stopped just short of grabbing it, Instead deciding she needed a brief refresher...she was feeling a tad uninspired.
