AGC

Rarity gasped as sharpened steel pierced her flank. She knew it would eventually come to this: nopony had been right, not since the… incidents with Pinkie and Dash. Fluttershy had disappeared outright, and Twilight had become a full-blown recluse, having not left her house since the ‘upset’ with Trixie.

The knife dragged down her side, leaving fire in its wake. She clenched her teeth, ignoring the blood dripping eagerly from her wound. She closed her eyes and focused on the pain, not allowing anything else to cloud her mind. How could she do this to h—

The fabulous mare started as three impatient knocks came from the front door. She let out a cry as the simple, straight incision was torn into an atrocious two-pronged gash, bleeding readily down her white coat.

“Rarity?” said a familiar voice from the other side. “Y’all’right in there?” Applejack called. “Ya’ll’ve been locked up in there for near on a week, now. Everypony’s worried aboutchya.”

“Ye… Yes, I’m fine.” she responded

“Ya sure ‘bout that? Ya need any help?”

“I’m sure. Give me just a minute, let me tidy up…”

Rarity magicked up the knife once more, this time cutting the ropes binding her to the walls.

Damn. She needed to be more careful: there was blood everywhere. If she wasn’t careful, she might stain something.

Rarity bandaged the wound quickly and with experience, and donned a dark sweater to obscure the bloodstains. She then mopped up the mess on the floor and answered the door for her waiting  guest.

“Howdy, Rarity.” said Applejack “Just thought I’d stop by, make sure everything’s all right with you.”

“I appreciate the concern, AJ, but there’s nothing to be worried about.” Rarity lied. “I have an important order that requires my utmost attention at the moment.” she explained. “I apologise if I lost track of time; I’ll try to make it up to you.”

Nothing to be worried about.

Pinkie forced herself to relax. Sure, Dashie was being mean, but Pinkie should know better than to interfere with her friend’s work. She looked forward to seeing Rarity again: they hadn’t seen each other in ages. If she were capable, she would have planned for the occasion: balloons, music, and a special cake to suit Rarity’s extravagant taste…

Instead, she watched Dash trot to the fashionista’s front door and gently knock.

Aw, why did she have to so boring?

“Hey.” the host protested. “I can hear you.”

“Tee-hee. Sorry, Dash.” she said. The inquiline was unused to having her thoughts voiced.

From inside the house, hurried shuffling could be heard. “One moment, please…” Rarity’s voice called.

Though Pinkie was content to wait, Dash had other plans: she did a quick spin, and bucked the door open.

Inside, Rarity jumped, botching the bandage she had been hurriedly applying. “I—I can explain!” she screamed, brushing aside the bloody knife on the floor, still aglow with Rarity’s magical influence.

“Well…” Dearth began. “…this should make things interest—”

Why is she doing that? Pinkie interrupted, causing Dearth to flinch.

“Whah— who are you?” Rarity cut in.

Pinkie felt Dash smile.

“I’d rather make this quick…” she began, stepping forward. “I am the hand of powers beyond your comprehension. I have been ordered to escort you out of this world.”

“ I’d rather make this quick… “ she repeated, approaching the shivering mare. “… but there’s so much fun to be had. Why rush?”

Rarity’s eyes widened. “Oh! I… I’m not—”

Pinkie wasn’t concerned with the rest of the mare’s statement. What’s with the knife? Is she all right? Who’s your target? Is Rarity going to help? What if we—

“Shut up, Pinkie!” Dearth yelled, interrupting both Rarity and the voice in her head.

“P—Pinkie? Is she still alive? Where is she? What’s going on?”

“Relax. I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think.” she said, drawing a knife of her own and slowly approaching Rarity.

“What are you… oh—oh no, please! Please, no— aah!”

Laconia approached the salon. Dash had been missing for days, now: this should’ve been easy. The fashionista was a pushover. And so she’d been sent, to make sure Dash wasn’t getting into any trouble.

She walked up to the first window, and had to fight to hold back a scream.

Dearth looked up and admired her handiwork: the dressmaker hung limp from two improvised hooks suspended from the ceiling. Her chest was splayed open, and her heart was still beating.

“What the hay is wrong with you?” she asked. Dearth didn’t expect her to still be conscious, but she had apparently been doing this for a long time.

“I’m just taking advantage of such an opportunity. Nopony else seems to like knives the way you or I do.” she grinned.

“This is just dreadful.” the dressmaker said. “Do you know how long this will take to heal? The biggest cut I’ve ever done was nowhere near this size, and that took—”

A sharp crack interrupted both her stream of complaints and spinal chord.

Dearth, unfazed by the explosion, turned to see its source.

Fluttershy stood behind her, her front leg raised towards the now-dead icon of torture hanging in the center of the room. Smoke snaked out of the thin metal tube affixed along the side of her hoof.

“What the hay is wrong with you?” she demanded.

“You know, I get that a lot.”

“Ha-ha. Can you not take this seriously? Is murder a game to you?”

“Hey, I was just taking advantage of—”

“I know. I heard. Can you not respect the dead?”

“I need something to motiv—”

“Dammit, Dash! You’re supposed to kill them, not play with them!”

The unwontedly harsh language stunned the sadist. “I-I can’t help—”

“What’s that?!”

“I can’t help it!”

Fluttershy grunted disapprovingly, and turned around.

“I’m sorry if—”

“Don’t talk to me.”