Incubus

"Sweetie... Belle?" Scootaloo hushed, brushing her cheek with her hoof.

Though her beloved had no wear or tear to make her ugly, if that was even possible, her throat wound oozed toxic magic. The ectoplasmic substance slid off her snowy coat, sharing no traction and hissing against the grass. When it landed, the exposed area rotted away and decomposed into dry, stale yellow. Her beloved stayed emotionless for a good period of time, so agonizingly quiet her heart could burst. And just as soon as she seemed somepony else, Sweetie Belle shed a tear and pulled her in for a kiss. When she spoke, it was a cluster of eldritch tones and voices just beneath the volume of her own, seeming to synchronize as an echo.

"Scootaloo. My Scarlet Skates. I... I'm sorry. I love you. But they're all inside my head. They want me to get rid of her." She soothed, planting another kiss on her lips.

Surprisingly, she didn't carry the stench of rot or even the taste of morning breath. All that noise was drowned out by the pure, purging quality of the magic flowing within her. Sweetie Belle held her hand and felt her lover's eyes wander over her own. Gleaming pools of bright, green miasma swirled inside her eyes, even seeping out flickering energy trails when they moved. Scarlet Skates, a name she'd gotten from birth and forsook, kept her eyes on the mare of her dreams.

"Who...? Who do you have to get rid of...?" The mare whispered, her mind only on the dream in front of her.

If she were real, would it be so wrong to lose someone else in the world. If Sweetie Belle were back, did that mean she could stay if just one person was dead to the world. She didn't care about who it was. It could've been one of the mane six. One of her family. It could've been anypony and the sweet promise of just having her back meant the world was a safe place again. Wasn't it right to have her back. Didn't she deserve her Sweetie Belle more. Did somepony else deserve to live more than her Sweetie Belle.

"Twilight Sparkle." Sweetie Belle hushed, her collective voice radiant with hatred, while her own bloomed with shame.

"It's her. It was always her."

"Wh-what do you mean by that? I don't understand. Why do you have to kill Twilight? Isn't she the one that tried to keep Rarity safe? And investigate the cults...?" Scootaloo rambled, not knowing who to trust or what to think beyond her beloved.

At first, she gasped when her snowy hooves held her cheeks . But then, she grew warm there, cherry and understated in her satisfaction. Her attraction. How the infatuation spelled her Sweetie's immense traction in her chest beating from undying devotion, from undead attraction. Her eternal eros let loose caring words from somewhere forgotten.

"I love you. I promise you'll have all your answers soon enough."