Tyranny of Pollux.

The summer sun hovered high in the sky, illuminating Equestria in its warm glow. Below, wind danced under the sparse clouds, ever so gently caressing the earth, drying the sweat from the toiling ponies. In the space between forest and town, a young filly sat next to an old, fallen tree, the voices of the town’s working residents a mere whisper in the distance.

“I’ve got you now, Daring Do! I, Ahuizotl have finally won! Mwahahahaha!” Trixie grabbed her small figurine within her hooves and waddled it towards the edge of the log where a Daring Do plush lay on its side. The filly bit her bottom lip as a faint summer wind brushed through her mane. Her eyes darted between her two toys.

“Haha! You fell into my trap! I was only pretending that you were stronger! The Ring of Bull’s Strength you’re wearing is a fake!” Trixie reached over, grabbing the forearm of the plushie and bapping it against her figurine, knocking the tiny model Ahuizotl off her log. “Pckshu!” Trixie hummed, her tail flicking against the grass.

“Having fun?”

Trixie yelped, hopping over the log and cowering on the other side, face beet-red as she buried her muzzle under her forearms.

“Sorry, but I don’t really do the entire faking out my strength… thing. It’s not especially honorable, and defeats the purpose of the adventure.” Daring Do stepped closer, planting a hoof on the small, fallen log. “You’ve got your artistic licence though, I guess.”

“I, um,” Trixie squeaked, trying to scoot under the log. “I don’t have an artistic licence! Don’t take me away! I’m a good pony, promise!”

Daring Do stared blankly for a moment, before slamming a hoof into her muzzle. “Seriously? I don’t have time for this.” Sliding her hoof off the mossy log, Daring hooked her forearm under it and flicked upwards, sending it flying through the air, moss, wood, and dirt raining down as it spiraled off into the distance.

“Oops.” Daring frowned at the distant log before shrugging. “Ah, well. Not my problem.”

Trixie looked up, white mane tangled up with sticks and dirt, her face uncharacteristically red as she stared with widened, watery eyes. “Daring Do?” Her head tilted as she followed Daring’s eyes, watching her log fly off to the distance. “E-Eh!? How are you so strong?”

“It’s just the way I was made,” Daring replied dismissively.

“But, but, what about your adventures?” Trixie frowned, prodding a hoof into the mare’s chest. “If you’re this strong, how do you get your wing broken in Daring Do and the Sapphire Stone? Or, in your other adventures where you got tied up, or stuck in traps?”

“Broke it myself, actually.” Daring shrugged, lowering her head to stare the filly in the eyes. “As for being captured. I poison myself before my adventures to weaken my body to being near death, forcing me to rely on my wits and willpower to succeed.”

“But, why would you do that?” Trixie’s brow furrowed, voice tinged with confusion. “If you’re that strong, you can do anything!”

“Exactly.” Daring nodded. “That I can do anything, that I’m unstoppable, is a fault that makes me weaker as a soldier, er--” Daring tilted her pith hat down, hiding her expression. “As an adventurer, and a pony.”

“That makes no sense!” Trixie stood up, bapping the top of Daring’s head with a tiny, frail hoof. “You’re being weird! You’re a hero! You shouldn’t try being weak when you’re strong enough to do everything you want!”

“Come here.” Daring grabbed the scruff of Trixie’s neck with one hoof, lifting the filly off the ground and plopping her down on her own rump. “We’re going for a walk.”

“Hey!” Trixie scooted forward along Daring’s back. “Don’t change the subject!”

“I’m not.” Daring glanced to the side, observing the rotten wooden walls and tacky caravans that made up the town of Hollow Shades. “I just want some privacy, and to make a point.” Seemingly content, she turned away from town, and began to briskly trot forward. A circle of large, dark evergreens rose up like the bars of a prison cell, towering over the approaching ponies.

“D-Daring?” Trixie slid closer, wrapping her arms around her companion's neck as the treeline neared and the summer sun gave way to dusky shade. “I’m not allowed in the forest. Can we go back?”

“Not yet. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe,” Daring responded, twigs snapping under each step.

“Promise?” Trixie whispered, tightening her grip.

“Don’t you trust me?” Daring replied simply, not slowing her pace.

“I trust you! You’d never let me get hurt! Like when you saved me from the manticore!” Trixie shifted her weight forward, leaning against the back of Daring’s neck, chin resting on top of Daring’s head. “No one else did though… But I know I can rely on you!”

“For now. But you need to learn to improve yourself.” Daring’s ears perked up as she paused, briefly scanning the empty forest. “There’s some things I can’t protect you from.”

“Eh?” Trixie giggled. “That’s not true; you’re super strong, right? So you can protect me from everything!”

“Being powerful isn’t a solution to every problem. It comes with its own faults and benefits, just like everything else.” Daring resumed walking, her red eyes glowing faintly as each step brought the pair into deeper, darker forest.

“Huh? No it doesn’t! Being powerful means being able to do what you want, and have things you like. How is that bad?” Trixie frowned, her tail flicking from side to side against Daring’s back.

“Because by not working for things, you don’t earn it. You don’t appreciate it properly, and it seems cheaper than it actually is; less valuable. And it prevents growth. To have the power to simply have things the you want means you’re preventing yourself from maturing and furthering yourself.” Daring stopped, her tone steadying. “And to have power without maturity, self-control, and perspective is the most self-destructive thing you can do. Do you understand, Trixie?”

“I guess…” Trixie trailed off, eyes tracing the branches of overhead trees. “But, why do I need to worry about that? You’ll protect me.”

“I can’t protect you from yourself, Trixie.” Daring’s hooves cracked apart fallen twigs as she walked, the trees thinning.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re stronger than me. If you desired it, I would be powerless to stop you from destroying yourself. The best I can do is keep you safe from those around you, and them safe from you,” Daring replied solemnly.

Trixie’s eyes shot open to the crack of thunder as pale light brought dancing shadows to life within the darkened interior of the carriage. Heavy raindrops drummed on the roof as Trixie slowly exhaled, her breath barely visible as it rolled down her blankets.

Two nights in a row, I’ve dreamt, in chronological order, my meetings with her.

She sighed, prying a forearm out from under the blankets to rub her muzzle in a futile ritual to ward off the cold.

To dream of nothing but memories, especially like this… There’s no way it’s natural, so what’s doing it?

Another crack of lightning signalled a flash of light through the small window in the carriage door, illuminating her solitude.

With a few small kicks of her legs, Trixie forced the blankets from her body.

The mare on the moon, Nightmare Moon, wouldn’t make me recall without tainting it, so, it must be related to my destiny… but how?’

Grunting, Trixie forced herself from the bed, her horn glowing as a pale blue, illusionary flame popped into existence in front of her.

Let’s try this again.

Her brows furrowed as she concentrated on the flame, her horn’s glow growing more intense.

“Once upon a time,” she mumbled to herself. “Stranded in a storm, a showmare’s desk was illuminated by flame as blue as the sky. Such an occult fire, curiously, would not burn the candle’s wick, but was destined to die on sunrise.”

Sparks leapt from Trixie’s horn as the flame begun to crackle with heat, a pale, soft light emanating from its core. Under its creator’s gaze, it floated from in front of her muzzle to a simple writing desk pushed up against the wall of the carriage, and perched on top of a candle.

Trixie’s eyes scanned each and every shadow, her limbs straining as they locked in place.

Yes… it’s fine. I can do this. No darkness… no monsters.

A faint smirk pulled at the sides of her muzzle as she began to relax, her head turning to her saddlebags, which lay resting against the far wall. The mare trotted over, the sound of her hoofsteps drowned out by the hammering of raindrops and distant rumbling of thunder. With an extended hoof, she flipped open the bags and pulled out a thick, heavy tome with a massive, dusty white stone embedded into the cover. Clutching her prize to her chest, she trotted back to her desk and laid the book down under the candlelight.

Starswirl’s journal.

Shifting her weight, Trixie plopped onto the simple wooden chair and pulled herself against the cramped desk.

Since I left, I haven’t had an opportunity to study you. Well, no more! You will tell Trixie the rest of your secrets, no matter what it takes!

With a snort, Trixie shifted the book to its side, inspecting the simple golden lock, her hooves running across the keyhole.

Perfect condition, despite the time that’s passed. It’s likely magically enchanted to be highly durable, if not indestructible.

Her hooves slid down, holding the book in place as she lit up her horn, shooting a blast of magical energy at the keyhole. The bolt impacted with a quick flash and fizzled away, leaving the lock unmarked.

“Hmm.” Trixie slowly turned the tome over in her hooves, studying every inch, from the orderly white pages to the simple, hard, brown cover of an unidentifiable material. Her gaze eventually turned to the perfectly circular stone set in the middle of the cover: a ring of gold coated in ancient sigils lay engraved around the sides, flowing between the stone and lock as one expertly-crafted piece of metal.

These symbols, I don’t recognize them. Is this the source of the enchantment?

Trixie’s eyes shifted to a flickering shadow dancing out of the edges of her vision.
A chill ran through her spine as a slow, hot, ragged breath waved over her neck.

No!

“Oh, dear Trixie… My friend. My dear, dear, beloved companion,” called out a sickly, soft, motherly voice. “Are you cold? You’re shivering.”

You’re not real. You’re not real! Just a stupid hallucination… Not real, so go away.

Long, slender, spider-like arms slowly traced down Trixie’s forearms, scraping across the bare fur. “Trixie, Trixie my friend… Such potent magic, and yet you never use it. Why is that?” The being hummed amiably, kneading its spider-like limbs into Trixie’s soft flesh.

“Go away,” Trixie grumbled through grit teeth. “You’re not the real Mare on the Moon… She can’t come back yet.”

“Oh? Then how am I here?” The creature panted, running a long, necrotic tongue along Trixie’s shoulder, small bits of rotten flesh and saliva leaving a trail across her back. “By the side of my best friend in the entire world!”

“You… You’re just trying to trick me into making you real.” Trixie’s limbs locked as she stared rigidly ahead into the stone of the journal. “I won’t do it… You’re just a memory of a nightmare; you aren’t real, you can’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you?” the voice replied softly, as if offended. “Trixie, my dear friend… I only wish for you what you wish for yourself. I only want to do what you desire. I want nothing but the best for you.”

I didn’t wish for a nightmare.

“Oh, but you did. Otherwise, what would make you feel important?” A soft, rotten, equine snout rubbed affectionately against Trixie’s mane. “My poor friend. You don’t realize it… but you want me, you want my help, you want me to hurt you. You want me to hurt you so you can fixate on the pain and ignore reality. You want me to move your hooves for you so you can scream that it wasn’t your choice, your fault, so you can blame me for your mistakes. See? I know you so well, and I care about your needs. So why not tell me a story? A lullaby for me to awake from your nightmare and become my own?”

Trixie shook, slamming her hooves down on the desk as her eyes narrowed. “Shut up! You don’t know anything! You’re just a stupid hallucination of a stupid nightmare I had when I found out Luna was lying to me. Stop pretending you have insight into my thoughts! Trixie just wants you to shut up and go away! Don’t talk to Trixie, don’t try making Trixie use her magic to make you real! Trixie won’t! Because you’re just a stupid, fake, delusional spider! Trixie doesn’t need you, or anyone!”

“Mmm. My lovely Trixie. I understand your desires. Don’t worry.” The creature purred, its limbs pulling away from the mare. “You birthed me as the personification of the thoughts that you refuse to acknowledge; I take care of them for you. And only for you, my beloved companion. My benevolent mother. If your own thoughts cause you such pain, then I shall silence myself, and you shall hear them no more.”

Liar! You’ll never leave me alone.

With lightning speed, a pair of slender limbs thrust forward, easily piercing through Trixie’s hooves, slicing through skin, muscle, keratin, and sinew as blood torrented out through the wounds, splattering over the dusty white stone. Tears burst from Trixie’s eyes as she opened her mouth in a pained, ragged scream, her chest heaving as bile rose up in her throat and her vision blurred.

“Instead,” the nightmare hummed sweetly, with maternal affection. “You will realize them yourself.”

Hurts. Can’t think… it hurts. Hurts. I’m bleeding… it hurts, hurts, hurts! Make it stop!

With a soft click, the tome swung open, pages of text bursting outwards and filling the air with lines of cursive black letters and fluttering paper, the first of which landed squarely on Trixie’s screaming muzzle.

“Yer vodka, miss!”

My head snapped to the sound of the thick mug slamming against the counter; my eyes watched droplets of the liquid splatter over the already-stained counter, providing yet another layer of filth to blanket the half-rotten wood.

“Thank you,” I mumbled under my breath, wrapping my hoof reluctantly around the grime-coated handle and pulling the mug closer.

“Think thou can handle that much?” The bartender chuckled raspily as he leaned over the counter, half-rotten teeth bared in an uneven, friendly grin. A faint aura of pale blues and dusty reds clung to his fur like a second skin.

Loneliness and lust, I thought to myself; an unfortunate combination. I leaned away, using my free hoof to pull my hood further down over my face to hide my disgust as I struggled to avoid choking on the taste of his desperation.

“I’m not some farmer’s wife. Save your worry for your other customers.” To prove my point, I upended the mug, draining every drop in a series of slow, hearty gulps as the liquid burned down my throat. My vision blurred as my head buzzed pleasantly. With a dignified belch, I placed the mug back on the counter, followed by two bits from the pockets on my cloak.

The bartender whistled, a faint red mist pouring out of every pore of his body as his lust grew in intensity, overwhelming his facial features as it grew in thickness in front of my eyes, leaving a faint smile barely visible through the fog of his desires. “Why, a mare after my own heart! Thou could drink any of my patrons under the table!”

I sighed in exasperation as I briefly considered whether violence would make him less or more attracted to me, before settling on the latter. “I’d appreciate you not to use casual pronouns, sir. We don’t know each other, and I won’t be staying in the area long.”

The stallion stepped back, expression no doubt soured--not that I could see through the smog of his own lust--as he held up a hoof defensively. “Woah now, miss. No need to get upset. Just sharing a bit of Earth Pony hospitality. Our tribe’s gotta stick together, after all!” He chuckled in mock cheer, lust slowly dissipating to less suffocating levels.

I responded with a small nod, pulling on my hood to keep my horn obscured.

A loud creak signaled a new arrival, drawing my attention. Across the sparsely populated tavern an Earth Pony mare trotted in with fur the color of tree bark; my eyes barely noticed the matching brown formal coat she wore, especially common among high end merchants attempting to blend in with minor nobility. In contrast, her plain grey mane sat in a worker’s ponytail under a feathered felt hat. Partially through my observation, the mare’s eyes locked with my own, and I found myself staring into her bright red eyes with mild curiosity. Is she here for me, perhaps? I thought to myself.

As if to satisfy my curiosity, the mare ponderously trotted over without breaking eye contact. When she was no less than two hands away, the pony gave a small, courteous bow. “I am here on behalf of Chancellor Puddinghead,” she begun politely. “Forgive me for my deception, but as his secretary, I felt I am better able to assist you during your stay.”

“Do you have a carriage?” I replied simply, unfazed.

The mare blinked, her composure momentarily cracking to reveal a degree of surprise on her features. “Why, yes, of course.”

“Lovely. Let’s get going, then.” I slipped off my stool, avoiding the curious stares of the peasants as I briskly trotted out of the warm tavern, my muzzle immediately being assaulted with the uncomfortable chill of late autumn as I slipped outdoors.

“Ah, excuse me, Inquisitor, but aren’t we going to discuss things first?” The mare followed me out, a faint tinge of nervousness creeping into her voice.

I ignored her, already having spotted a sole carriage parked outside of the stable, a single work-pony stood, hooked up to the reins, looking relatively bored. “I take it you’re new to this sort of thing,” I mumbled, more to myself than to my companion.

“Pardon? Not to be rude, but I’ve been an assistant to the Chancellor for nearly a decade,” the mare replied indignantly, huffing slightly. I watched a faint trace of white sparks escape her mouth with her chilled breath. I noted the small degree of excess emotion as I continued my walk, hopping up onto the back of the carriage.

“And evidently in that time, you’ve never dealt with anything requiring subtlety. If there’s something happening worth calling me over, in the future, just do so. Don’t waste my time playing at espionage to try getting my attention.” I waved my hoof, settling my rump on the cool wood.

The assistant pulled herself onto the carriage next to me and patted the side, prompting the work-pony to start pulling, causing the carriage to lurch as we began to journey away from the isolated, roadside tavern.

“I considered that, but I couldn’t risk you not coming. So I felt it was important enough to request a meeting under the Chancellor’s name,” the mare explained, expression turning into a slow grimace as she stared forward, ignoring my idle glances.

“That’s not your duty. Your duty is to accurately describe why you are calling for investigation, and it is my duty to gauge its importance. Do you understand?” I kept my tone mostly even, intentionally inserting a slightly authoritative edge for effect.

The mare sighed, her ears flattening against the sides of her head. “I understand, Inquisitor.”

“Lovely.” I pulled my hood back, letting my mane flow free. “Now that you’ve learned a basic degree of professionalism, what is this ‘urgent emergency’ of yours? Crops failing? Wolves in the area? Some primitive superstitious nonsense preventing the serfs from harvesting?” I mused quietly, perhaps considering if the peasants had gotten frightened by a lightning storm.

The assistant grinded her hooves into the carriage, a brief, weak stream of white fire freeing itself from her nostrils. “No, I know you ‘noble’-born folk don’t think much of us working ponies, but I can tell the difference between ponies getting a bit scared, and an actual issue.” The mare closed her eyes and slowly exhaled, visibly attempting to calm herself before she continued. “The walking dead have been assaulting the village of Hayvale for the last three nights. Over a dozen have already fled their homes, and I fear that if the place isn’t cleansed soon, we shall have a town of corpses and no grain for the winter harvest.”

I nodded thoughtfully, mind already beginning to formulate ideas. “I see.”

“You… you believe me?” The mare blinked.

“Pardon?” I cocked my head slightly. “Yes and no. In my experiences, there is no such thing as a reliable pony. You of the Earth Pony tribe have poor education, and an insistence on superstition and ‘tradition’ over rationality and progressive thought. As such, while your claims are always made genuinely, and with passion, they’re done with the ignorance of a newborn colt. By contrast, the Pegasus tribe has such an intense degree of pride that their memories and history changes to suit whatever makes them look the most heroic. So proud are they, that they rarely realize their own delusion. Then of course… the Unicorn tribe, minor ‘nobility.’ They are so pretentious in their feelings of superiority due to their ‘importance’ to the Changeling tribe that they forget their place as glorified livestock.” I shook my head, snorting dismissively. “No, I don’t trust any pony, and I would be a fool to do so. Whether honest or deceptive, ponies rarely see things as they are. At best, their opinions allow me some vague basis to begin an investigation to find more reliable evidence.”

“I… I um.” The mare’s face flushed slightly. “Sorry, Inquisitor, but you lost me a bit there… I know how to read and write, but I haven’t heard of a lot of those words before.”

Well, that’s what I get for talking to an Earth Pony, I observed. I waved away her apology. “Don’t worry. Just continue. What makes you think the ‘walking dead’ are attacking Hayvale?”

“Well, it all started three days ago… A Unicorn uh… goli, geelogest? Geao.” The assistant frowned. “It was a rather odd sounding job. One I hadn’t heard of before. it’s hard to say properly.”

My head throbbed, whether from annoyance, alcohol, or both, I could not tell. “Geologist. It’s a new branch of the sciences. It’s almost overtaking Astrology in the universities.”

“Yeah, that was it.” She nodded to me. “Well, he came, three days ago, said there was something weird with our rocks, and ran off. We didn’t think much of it, at the time, but.” The mare’s face paled slightly, her eyes fixating on the ground. “Then we heard the screaming. Pained screaming… But, it was the same scream, the same call for help… in every direction, in every distance. No one knew what to do. I had everyone lock up their doors and keep their families safe. Come morning, we found him in town square.”

“Is this ‘walking dead’ simply an injured university student, perhaps?” I prodded, watching her aura for any telltale signs of fear or anxiety. This is sounding less like superstition and more of an attempt to hide a murder, I noted grimly.

“No, it’s not like that.” She shivered, whether from the cold or an unpleasant memory, I could not tell. “He was ripped apart. Pony bite marks all over his legs, arms, and chest. His head was in pieces, and his brain was completely gone.”

I mentally cleared my speculations, and closed my eyes. No, this was definitely an incident calling for a proper investigation.

“And then… everything started to become strange,” she mumbled. “I lived through it, and I don’t even understand what I saw.”

“You don’t need to understand it, you just need to describe it,” I replied, staring at my companion with newfound curiosity.

“I… saw him. Walking, with no head, across town, assaulting locked doors. I heard screams, and I saw their number grow! The walking dead were everywhere, from the local baker, to a potter’s filly. Bodies ripped open, wandering, dead around the streets.”

“Three days ago? If you were attacked by such a grand assault, why stay at all?” I interrupted, frowning as I attempted to make sense of the mare’s story.

“That’s the thing!” She looked up at me with the face of a desperate, broken mare, all composure gone. “Come sunrise, there was no dead. The potter’s filly was fine, the baker attacked me with a pan, screaming that I had died and had assaulted her and bitten her leg.” She rubbed the sides of her head. “But I know, plain as day, that I was in town hall with those that had no homes to hide in. And I was there all night!”

“So, what you’re saying is, Hayvale is being attacked by the walking dead. But no one is actually dead? Moreover, the dead seen by each victim is different?” I frowned, considering the creatures that could create such an elaborate attack or spell.

“N-No.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “You see, there is dead. After the second night, I begun to find some ponies missing from their beds, their homes torn apart. But, I couldn’t afford to tell anyone, so close to winter harvest, whether by the dead, or by starvation, our doom is certain unless our work is completed. I’ve done my best to keep everyone safe, even if that means having to lie about the danger we’ve fallen under.” The mare sighed, rubbing her arm with a hoof. “But there’s only a small handful missing, and there’ve been no screams. Hopefully they just fled in the night.”

“Leaving all their possessions behind? Effectively the same thing.” I rubbed my temples, head throbbing with an insistent pain. My thoughts drifted to Changelings, the only species capable of pulling off such a feat, but completely lacking in the motivation, or need to assault their own serfs. “In any case, I will handle this incident. You have my word.”

“Oh, thank you, Inquisitor!” She flashed me a small smile, her eyes glimmering with a faint, brief light. She held a dirt-caked hoof out to me. “I should introduce myself. My name is Smart Cookie.”

I chose to pretend I didn’t see her extended hoof, instead responding with a curt nod. “Clover the Clever.”

I noticed Cookie’s body becoming somewhat rigid, a few specks of a dark fluid dribbling from her pores. “Oh! I didn’t expect you to come yourself. I would’ve thought that it would’ve been an underling of yours…”

“Contrary to what the Changelings would imply, I’m the only one. A full-blooded Changeling can’t be trusted to do investigations due to their inherent ability to devour and manipulate emotions,” I stated calmly, eyes watching the beads of liquid, tar-like fear group together and fall off the mare in a revolting clump.

“Are you saying that, as an… A um.” Cookie frowned, desperation etched on her face.

“A half-breed?” I offered, shrugging. “I take no offense, I’m the bastard offspring of an eccentric Unicorn, and a Changeling harlot. An ‘alicorn,’ as they like to call me. First one in recorded history and all that. Or at least, that’s what I was told. I imagine that if I was born of a less notable pairing, I would’ve been executed at birth before anyone had a chance to notice.”

“But, you don’t have the divine powers of the Changelings? To read minds, to wear ponies’ faces? To see through the very soul?” Cookie shifted in her seat, drawing a bit further away from me.

I snorted besides myself, vision blurring momentarily as my head throbbed in protest of the sudden movement. “As expected of an Earth Pony. No. And the only aspect of that that a pure Changeling can do is to change their appearance. They, and I, cannot read minds. What they can do, is see the excess emotions of a pony as a physical entity, and interact with it, devouring it to fuel their magic, manipulating it, tasting it. It gives the impression of mind-reading, but in reality, they’re just seeing the feelings you have that you’re not under control of, that are actively altering your thoughts.” I glanced over, staring at the small puddle of fear at Cookie’s hooves. “As a bastard, I can merely see excess emotions. They possess physical properties to me. For example, extreme rage manifests itself as a white flame which carries heat and can burn. To a normal Changeling, their magic would allow them to concentrate and devour it harmlessly to calm the pony in question. For me, I can merely be burned by it by touching it. Emotions which manifest into a solid state, I can physically interact with using my hooves, but that’s the extent of my Changeling abilities.”

“Solid? Fire?” Cookie blinked. “If my feelings have the ability to be real, then why don’t I notice?”

“Oh, you do, you just mistake the interaction as being an aspect of the emotion itself. In reality, it’s actually caused by the excess. For example.” I nodded to my companion, looking her over. “I bet you’re feeling like your skin is crawling, an unnatural urge that there’s something pressed against you. Your body feels heavy, awkward, and unpleasantly slow.”

Cookie tugged absentmindedly at her hat, thick beads of fear rolling down her face like sweat. “How did you know?”

“Because you’re scared.Those feelings aren’t fear itself. It’s an unrelated side effect due to the excess emotion manifesting in your aura.” I clicked my tongue, extending a hoof and carefully sliding it down my companion's face, mind focusing on the movement to push the beads down into the puddle. “And fortunately for you, fear is one of the very few emotions with a ‘solid’ manifestation.” Reaching down, I gripped the gooey black mass between both hooves, resisting the urge to gag at the sensation of the alien emotion as it writhed against my hooves like a bag of worms. With a grunt, I lifted it off the carriage, and threw it to the roadside.

Cookie immediately sighed in relief, adopting an expression of relaxed composure. “I feel much better, thank you.” She chuckled at me, mimicking my earlier movements to the air between us. “If you can cleanse a pony of their fear just like that, maybe this harvest stands a chance of success!”

“Possibly. It depends on the amount of fear they feel. I still have an investigation to perform. I will not individually pull off every drop of fear of each peasant when the source of it is still lurking in the shadows,” I cautioned. Despite my tone, I found myself somewhat agreeing with Cookie, as much as I loathed to admit being inspired by an Earth Pony.

She nodded, still seeming relatively enthusiastic, as the carriage lurched. My stomach groaned, bile rising in my throat. It was all I could do to throw my torso over the edge before my body emptied itself of the cheap vodka, and my earlier breakfast. “Well, that answers one question,” I mumbled to myself, head throbbing slightly in agreement. For the sake of my dignity, I chose to ignore her laughter, and spent the rest of the trip in relative silence.

When we arrived, Cookie slipped off first. “I guess you’ll want to see the body?” she offered.

“I would,” I replied, struggling to maintain enough coordination to slip back onto the ground. “Where is it?”

“Still in the centre of town. The local folk think his body is cursed, and that touching it will make the dead come for them,” Cookie replied morbidly, pointing a hoof. My eyes followed to where she pointed, and I laid eyes on the small village of Hayvale. Small stone huts, and the occasional two-story cottage sat grouped together, thick streams of black fluids pouring down from the windowsills. The tar-like fear coated the walls of every building, every door, and coalesced together into a thick river that flooded the streets, painting the village of Hayvale blacker than polished obsidian. A solitary pony slogged through the streets, so coated in the black ichor that I could not make out their features, let alone sex.

This… this fear, how could it be maintained for so long without every villager turning insane? Or perhaps, perhaps they already have.

“Something wrong, Clover?” Cookie glanced back at me, her hooves unknowingly buried in the slowly running black river.

“No.” I replied hurriedly. “Everything will be just fine. Perfectly fine,” I reassured myself as the fear seeped around my limbs.