Tremble before thy Mirror, though Mortal Heretic
Author's Note
The Pink Shadow's POV
AkA Pinkie Pie
With a Vengeance: 1
Princes Celestia is gracefully lowering her sun, and thus withdrawing the light of day from the land of Equestria. Ponies are indoors and scurrying about as they are preparing for the night, going to bed.
As the sun slide down under the crimson horizon, Princess Luna is pulling her moon up onto the sky; thus gracing the romantically inclined an image to gather around. The day is at an end.
Blue balloons are flooding the ceiling of a certain pink mares room; even if they are accompanied by numerous yellow comrades. The cautious, shy pink balloons are cowering under her bed, yet eager to escape the grip the light of day is holding them in.
The pink mare enters the room; but only to don a different attire, in preparation for the next task she is honour bound to perform for her friends.
There is a hint in the tilt of the moon, telling her there is a place requiring her presence; and an act none, but she could perform. The pink shadow, or shade; is one of her lesser known aliases. Even the Mare-Do-Well is appreciated, by the few who knows that it is actually her under that dark cape Rarity had crafted for her, and the rest of her friends in pursuit of helping Rainbow Dash.
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I stand up, before I am lifting my right forehoof; probing the space for what I am looking for, the point I can push open in order to create the rift to the destination I have before me. I know I have to go, there is no backing down now. Not to fear, I can take care of myself; I have everything I need with me, and know when, and where to go. Sadly for him; that is right now. Naturally, all good things comes to an end, but that goes for the bad and indifferent things as well.
For the rest of you; I do have a message, most urgent and severe; even when you think you are safe behind all your computer wizardry, you are at the mercy of the spirits of the net.
There is no immunity to the law, or to the vigilante behind the next corner. It doesn’t matter who you are; or who is lurking in your shadow, leering cruelly at your every move.
I feel how the fabric buckle under my intent, and then gives in to the force of my will. Of course; I knew it had to give in, and so does my friends.
As I set hoof in the next room; I see the man I had come for, the one who is the latest, and most blatant in a line of vile slanders. I am not content with standing idly by, as I see the hurt this man had caused; in the faith of his impunity; as he attacks and slanders, to the right and left.
For a moment, I am content with merely casting the playful pink shadow across his path; but carefully sliding out of sight, and never letting on that I am actually here. Sometimes, it is more fun and scary; with the little hints that never prove conclusively either way. Leaving him to wonder; pondering just what it was he saw, or if he actually saw anything at all. I permit him to doubt himself and his senses; rather than blatantly stepping out of the shadows and confront him outright, right away.
Fear is a weapon in the hooves of the skilled, and a currency in which to pay for an ill deed. I am that Pony, and I am going to collect his due in full. I am collecting his due in the names of all he has caused harm.
If I am enjoying my work, and having fun as I collect his due; it is just making him feeling all the worse, but who is to complain? I know he would be whining no end, given the chance; but I will have none of that, I rather leave him like a worm on the hook, squirming. Of course, he is a worm.
Little by little, my presence is getting to him; he isn’t used to be the one on the receiving end, but apparently enjoys to dish out the hurt with no further thought. It is time to teach him a lesson.
In the end, it is time to push this envelope; I can only prolong this rat race for so long. I know he is aware of me, and that something is leering at him from behind. It isn’t as if I need to be afraid of him.
Little by little, the time is ticking, closing in on him. I hear him yawn, before he undress and walk to his bed. Then I hear him, as he is sliding the quilt to the side, before he sit down onto his bed. He lies down and pull the quilt over himself, before a new yawn passes over his lips.
This is when I step in, and enter his room, accompaniment by a sudden gasp on his part.
“You?” he then squirmed, in disbelief.
“Yes, me indeed!” I responded, with a sly grin spreading out over my face.
“How in God’s Holy name did you manage to enter my home?” he exclaimed.
“Too easy, but utterly irrelevant. The means of my entry will not help you!” I prompted dismissively.
“Who are you?” he continued.
“Me? I am the pink shade. I am the rightful blade that is about to cut you short!” I responded.
“Pink Shade? I have never heard of you. How did you find me, and where did you come from?” he yelled, as it was about to dawn upon him that there was no reasoning with me.
“Of course you have, but none ever hear of me and lives. I just followed your traces of hurt, and it ended up right here. Where I came from, from the once you have been hurting, of course. Where else?” I merely prompted.
Then I afforded him a meaningful glance.
“You do realize that you never can tell a living soul about me, right? Human or otherwise!” I whispered in his ear.
