The Bloody Deep

She stared blankly into the mirror, her good eye staring blankly back at her through the dark water. Memories slowly bubbled up from the back of her mind, and she tilted her head back to close her eyes and let them.

It hadn’t been two years since they had been in the final stages of repairing their defenses after a water dragon's attack. Only half-way through another came to tear them down again. They armed themselves with blades and harpoons, rushing to attack and kill it before too much damage was done. All too late they had realized it was the kind that just kept growing heads, and so head after head they lopped off before, with terror, realizing that they were making a grave mistake.

Her ears folded back and her hooves tightened their grip as she remembered the part she had played that day.

The waters boiled.

Foam and bubbles made everything impossible to see.

The thing came crashing down upon the spire, crumbling it and trapping or killing all who were inside.

A few escaped. A few were rescued.

Many, many more died. Less than 500 had survived that day. None of her Chorus had made it.

Her right side was scalded during that battle, and to this day, she couldn’t see, or feel, anything on that side.

Her memories were interrupted as a stallion swam in, and she straightened as he came up and kneaded her shoulders. “How are you, Carol?” he asked, leaning down to put his head beside her own. He looked into her eye through the reflection in the mirror with a gentle expression on his face. “You feel so tense…”

She sighed softly and closed her eye. “I am tense… This whole affair has me tense. The meeting is going awful, hardly any other Chorus is offering to help us, our hunting grounds are becoming too much for me to manage alone...” Since the death of her chorus, she’d been put in total control while the rebuilding was in process. Thankfully, their luck had held and the dragon had not returned. She’d picked a right hoof, Brutus, and was slowly growing fond of him.

“Brutus…” she started after a moment of silence, “how are you not repulsed…?”

The question caught him off-guard, considering she usually wasn't one to switch topics so suddenly. "What do you mean?" he asked, somewhat befuddled.

“I mean,” she snapped much harsher than she meant, “I’m hideous. How do you not cringe every time you see me?”

“You’re not hideous…”

She scoffed at him. “Oh, don’t deny it. I used to be the envy of every siren, the desire of every lure…" Her eye lidded as she sunk lower into her seat, and her her lips sunk into a deep frown. "Now look at me… Now they only pity me, because I’m ugly…”

He blinked and pulled back a bit in surprise. "Carol... Don't say that..."

“Stop trying to change my mind!” she screeched, standing up. “I know I’m hideous and so do you!” She shook, and he thought it might be with rage for a minute before she sat back down abruptly and tears started to flow down her cheeks. “The boils are gone," she slowly whispered, "b-but the skin… My skin…” She took off her headpiece and put a shaky hoof to her cheek. “Look at it… A-and my scales get so pale… M-my glow only spreads on half of my body, I-I swim crooked, a-and m-my mane…” She sobbed, putting a hoof to the short, faintly glowing hair. It'd been lopped off crookedly close to her scalp, and lost all but a little of its natural glow.

“How can you still insist that I still have beauty…?” she whispered brokenly.

He looked at her a while before he leaned down and put a hoof on her shoulder. He kissed her cheek murmuring, “Because it’s true… You’re still a lovely mare…” He smiled softly as he gingerly pulled back a bit to look into her eye.

She stared into the mirror a while longer before sniveling and closing her eye. She put a hoof on his slowly. “Thank you, Brutus…” she murmured as she leaned back into him. “Thank you…”

He felt a tinge of remorse seeing her affections, but it hardly lasted as he silently drew his sword. She’d grown too attached already… But at least it was only affection…

She gasped, her tail twisting in pain as she gripped the arms of the chair harshly. His eyes softened, and he pecked her forehead before whispering, “Goodnight, Carol…” into her ear. He stroked her mane as she choked, but soon had to turn and leave her to die.

After a minute of struggling, she fell limp. The tears still poured down her cheeks, but the blood ceased to flow.

He slowly made his way to Pearl’s room, feeling sick with fear-- Not over what he’d done, or being found out, but what was to come. He came face to face with the door, and took a shaky breath as he gathered his courage. For their spire…

He knocked, and Pearl took only a few moments to open up the door. “Brutus?” she asked dryly.

He swallowed a dry lump in his throat, standing straighter. “The deed is done…” he responded, his ears flattening against his head.

She nodded, and he had to move out of the way as she came out and closed the door behind her. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Yes…” he choked, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. “I am prepared…”

She nodded, motioning for him to follow as she started to walk down the hall. “You’d better be. If you try to run, Brutus, we will hunt you down personally and scald you to death before helping to mount your corpse on the mast of a ship for all to marvel at.”

“Yes ma’am…” he squeaked. They came to the end of the hall, and she stopped at the last door and knocked. A groggy-looking stallion answered, looking rather confused. It was late at night, and not a soul other than the watch-ponies and guards were up. But she’d put every single one of her Chorus on stand-by, so any one of them would be ready to open the door should they be called upon. Just like him.

“Yes…?” he yawned.

Pearl kept her same, blank, emotionless face. “Get your sword,” she instructed, and he looked fairly confused for a second before paling and nodding. Brutus sweated silently as he stood tense at Pearl’s side. He searched her face out of the corner of his eye for any sign of remorse, or perhaps even just a touch of sympathy. His stomach dropped when he found her still cold as stone and standing just as hard. It did less than nothing for his fear of his impending doom.

The stallion came back out, a sword on his hip and a similar, but not as convincing, straight face. “The meeting room, Pearl…?” he asked. Brutus could see in the other stallion's eyes that he didn’t want to do this either, but knew, just like he, that it was necessary for the plan.

“Yes,” Pearl replied, turning in that direction. “Come.”

All the guards had been paid off, so none would remember seeing anyone leave their rooms, even as they silently watched them pass by. If sirens attempted to get anything out of them, they could be dealt with as well. But for now, all they had to worry about was the swim there, to the sound- and light-proofed room, and keeping Brutus swimming in the right direction.

Both stallions were quickly growing more tense as Pearl continued to show no sign of emotion. She kept herself held high, her ears perked, and continuously ignored their own tension. She righted them when they hesitated, keeping them moving and having both, (while one was more scared than the other,) fearing for their lives.

She pushed Brutus ahead into the room, and he unsteadily swam forward and turned to face the stallion who'd followed him in. The stallion drew and hefted his sword, and Brutus closed his eyes tightly as he stood tall and prepared himself. “Thank you,” Pearl said at last, the door closing slowly and gradually muffling her speech, “You’ve done your spire good. I'll make sure you have a hero's funeral."