A She-devil in Plain Sight

The hot water's steam was wafting through the air from the white ceramic bathtub clad with a sheet of bronze. The light brown door leading to the rest of the currently-silent house -- just like the window above the bathtub -- was closed but not locked, in order to allow easy access to the aftermath to her family's members. The green toilet's lid was lowered and, on top of it, Rarity's clothes were neatly folded and stacked up in a pile, while her pink underwear and her bra stood at the toilet bowl's base. Rarity, completely naked, lightly massaged her left forearm with her right hand while holding her dad's razor -- one with an ivory handle finely engraved with his initials and a thin sharp blade made of stainless steel -- in her left hand.

"This is it. End of the line for me," she muttered to herself, switching hands to massage her other forearm. "Soon I shall take my own life and remove myself from this world, before my hands manipulate and invade what men and nature forbade to... before a child curses my name because I have stolen their most cherished possession in order to satiate my lust."

She slowly raised her left leg and dipped her foot into the hot water, the pinpricks of sudden warmth melting into a generalized sense of heat that, however, did not deter Rarity from fully immersing her knee into the water.

"Farewell, oh my dear friends, bringers of joy to me and many others, your faith was misplaced." she muttered, now moving her right leg in, the heat diluting itself now. She slowly sat into the water, the hot water going just above her breasts. "Farewell, sister, I was born with a flaw that was going to overshadow every virtuous action of your own. Farewell, parents, your life's seeds were damaged and faulty, but it is me the one that has to pay for it."

She then brought her left arm out, firmly holding onto the razor with the other hand.With her hands trembling, she moved it closer and closer, biting her lip lightly as she tried to resist her reluctance to off herself.

"It is the right thing to do..." she said to herself as she got closer and closer to do the nefarious action. "Yes... it is just what is right."

The cold steel of the blade touched her much warmer snow of her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

"One last action... then, it will be all over." She whispered, her brain telling her arm to cut in and pull, in order to start the voluntary fatal bloodletting.

Except she could not. Her hand shook, her breathing intensified, her skin increased its ability to feel temperature and started to pull out goosebumps, and her heart briefly stopped, as her mind kept telling her to go forth.

Her mind was being oppressed at the mere thought of what could follow her departure from this world: oblivion could be awaiting just as much as hell could, and heaven could have had a seat ready along with purgatory and the aether-above-ground, and the mere thought that the first and the last could be the only thing following her extreme and desperate gesture increased her reluctance to follow through her decision to end her own life.

However, despite it being a major source of anguish and regret, she was not quite deterred yet.

"I do not want to this..." she muttered "But I have to."

She fiddled her fingers around the handle.

"I have to because... because..." she paused, mumbling, her heart beating at a fast pace. "Because people will tell me to, because I am different and incorrect... because I am the only one and I am standing alone against the world."

She shook her head, a surge of indignation blitzing through her entire body, prompting her to violently throw the razor away against the door.

"Lies!" she shouted, tears forming her eyes. "I know one that is like me, I know one that can help me and deliver myself from this senseless self-slaughter! If there’s one able to understand me, that would be him!"

She jumped out of the bathtub and, still drippingly wet, ran into her room and grasped onto her cellphone. She frantically browsed through her contacts until he found his name, at which point she immediately called him. As her phone attempted to connect with Lemon Turner’s while producing a digitalized trill, Rarity’s eyes produced a concert of sobs, sighs and whimpers.

“Hallo, Lemon Turner of the house of Citruses speaking, what is your wish?”

Rarity almost recoiled at hearing his voice over the phone.

“Lemon Turner!” Rarity shouted, her weeping briefly stopping. “You have to help me, I have just attempted suicide because…”

“Oh dear,” he said, his voice expressing worry behind its apparent stoicism. “What caused it? Are you alright?”

“I am naked but unhurt,” she said. “and I’ve tried to kill myself because…”

She loudly gulped, her heart starting to race.

“I am a paedophile, and my friends… talked…” she broke down crying again as she remembered the events that had happened earlier that day.

“It’s alright, I do understand that, but, please, for the love of everything that is good and holy, do not pull that off.” He said, his tone hurried. He briefly paused and then sighed deeply. “Your life has much more value, than a bunch of people’s opinion. Believe me, off yourself isn’t the solution to your problem.”

Rarity gathered her strength to speak up in the midst of her distraught wail. “T-then what’s the solution? My friends said they’d kill anyone that dares to be like me and you. Even if they won’t shed blood, they’ll not accept me. So what’s the solution to friends and family possibly ditching you like a trash bag on the street? Wha--”

“Listen, I have been through this and, I swear on my allegedly non-existent soul, how you are does not matter to your parents and your siblings.” He interrupted, speaking sternly this time. “They may not believe it, they may accept, they may try to cure and fix it, they may curse themselves and their genes or their abilities, but, for as long as you remain pure of any crime, their love will and shall never decrease. And, should you prove that they had no influence in making you a child lover, then they will also lose any semblance of guilty towards themselves.”

Rarity stared at the phone whimpering, her tears’ stream dwindling. She was feeling her heart beat and pulse more energetically and she felt her breath free, as her blood seemingly renewed itself on the spot and carried to her entire body a sensation thought to be long-forgotten -- or, at very least, not likely to return since the day of her fatal discovery -- as her mind imagined Lemon Turner’s words coming true.

The image felt so… plausible. Rarity now had difficulties in imagining Sweetie Belle or her parents rejecting her wholesale. She could not imagine that, for an error in her brain, the glimmering legacy of her father and her mother could be given up with no benefit for her, or her begin forced to prepare her luggage and cases for a grim and endless trip out of her home. None of that sounded any more plausible than Arezzo’s chimera mutating its bronze into flesh.
She let out a bellows-like sigh.

“And so… even if I lose all my friends, I’ll have my family…” Rarity muttered to herself as she swiftly took the phone in her right hand.

“T-thank you…” She whispered after couple of sniffles. “Thank you very much.”

“It is no trouble at all. After all should bring help to each other.” he said. “Am I right?”

Y-yes… you’re right..” she said, as the movement of her should quelled but did not fade, as she realized that she still had to find a way to answer to the pressing question of her friends. However, she silently meditated about it, if only her family had to know, or if her friends -- her companions and comrades during world-saving fights -- had to be informed about her situation and its precarious state that put her in need of an invisible leash.

On the one hand, there was no perceived reason to let them know and the amount of potential misery brought by such a reveal was too large to be ignored, thusly making it a needlessly risky and painful choice.

On the other hand, its discovery at an inopportune time could only mean that any backlash coming from her friends could only be amplified by the secrecy Rarity gave to it all, which in turn meant that the truth was going to be taken as a lie on her innocence, in turn leading to her to be abandoned and her going through months upon months of pointless distress brought by the law begin called incorrectly. Trustful secrecy, brought by years of secret-keeping between friends, could only play in her favour, for she could reliably hope that her friends were going to keep it hushed around the ones outside their circle.

As she thought this, she did not let out a word, leaving an awkward silence on the phone line. After a few minutes, Lemon Turner spoke up again.

“If you really want to see me and talk… just come over at my house and ask for me. I live at the number ten of Ceramic Hill, and it’s a rather big villa, so it is impossible to miss it.”

Rarity nodded, sniffling.

“A-alright…” she said in a whisper-like tone. “I will keep that in mind.”

She then closed the call, slamming the phone down and jumped off her bed. She ran back into the bathroom to grab her underclothing, went back into her room and -- after furiously grabbing a pair of black pajamas and an heavy enough coat -- and then she quickly dressed herself up.

“I may look a little indecent,” she muttered to herself, as she pulled up her panties. “But desperate times call for desperate measures, I need to seize the opportunity and I’m sure he will not mind it too much.”

Six minutes of scooter driven uphill later, Rarity was standing by the striped orange and yellow metal gate of Lemon Turner’s house in front of the doorphone -- which was lodged inside a niche of a faux-marble ionian-styled column -- tapping her feet onto the ground and fiddling with her fingers as she waited for him or whoever lived with him to answer to her doorbell buzzing and allow her to enter and unload whatever stone was left on her chest.

“Come on, come on,” Rarity whispered in anticipation every few seconds. “Answer it!”

After what felt like an eternity in waiting, loud static came from the doorbell, and Lemon Turner’s voice, which suffered of radio distortion, came out of it.

“Hallo, who is there?”

“It’s me, Rarity.” She said, waving a little. “Please open your door, I would really like to have a chat with you.”

“Oh…” he said. There was a distant clicking sound, followed not even a second later by a loud bang coming from the gate. “Just push it forward to enter in my abode’s garden.”

Rarity put her arms forward and pushed as hard as she could, letting out a soft grunt when she managed to get it to open up onto the garden -- which was a rather large lawn, with red and black stones paving the path to the house, an acacia-topped gentle slope at the path’s right side and a small stagnant pond with a couple of lily pads on its left side.

Halfway through the path, the white door was opened, revealing Lemon Turner, who was wearing a purple shirt over a white sweatshirt and bordeaux trousers.

“Come in!” He gestured towards Rarity with his right hand. “I would hate to make you wait for me outside.”

Rarity sped up and -- as he jumped out of her way -- hopped inside the atrium of his house. It was a small corridor, its walls decorated with copies of mannerist portraits, impressionist landscapes and baroque still lifes, its porphyry floor covered by a carpet -- made of multicoloured threads finely woven to make stylized floral patterns and geometrical designs -- one that stretched up to the staircase awaiting at the end of the corridor, and three bronze ceiling candelabras repurposed as lamps hanging and swinging slightly.

Rarity briefly stopped to take a look at a copy of a Tiziano painting, before shaking her head and rushing forward, following Lemon Turner close behind as he turned right and entered in the circular living room -- a room which had a style that was not worse in splendor and pomp compared to the atrium.

“Be seated.” Lemon Turner said with a bow, gesturing to point at an empire-styled leather armchair in front of a coffee table with curved legs made of oak, and bronze edges keeping in place the green glass that made the table’s top.. “Would you like anything to drink? A spot of tea? A nice cup of Kaffa’s drink?”

“Kaffa’s drink?” Rarity said somewhat puzzled as she sat down on the armchair.

“More commonly known as coffee,” he said while turning around. “Sorry for the confusion. Anyways, do you wish for anything to drink?”

“Oh, you’re just too kind. I guess I could use some tea,” she said as she affectedly gestured with her hand in front of her mouth. “If it is possible, I would like a variety with a delicate taste, please.”

“Right away!” Lemon Turner nodded and immediately started to walk towards the kitchen, returning only ten minutes later -- ten minutes Rarity used to open up her coat a little bit and to gaze upon the works of art hanging or standing around her.

He returned with a small round tray made of weaved white and black wicker, two Pompeian red steaming tea cups and a silvery sugar bowl decorated with floral motifs and a sitting caryatid atop of it. He set the tray onto the coffee table, before sitting down as well.

“Earl Grey, hope you like it, Rarity.” Lemon Turner said as he mockingly dusted his shirt’s chest. “Do you want some milk or some lemon as well?”

Rarity nodded in denial, as she firmly grabbed the cup with her shaky fingers, trying her best to not show mindfulness, as she then crossed her legs.

“Thanks. Now, forgive me for my hastiness, but I came here to ask you something,” Rarity took a quick sip, as she mentally prepared herself to ask that question.

“Oh?” He said, pouring sugar and stirring it in his cup with the accompanying spoon, before looking up at Rarity. “What is it? Something regarding your paedophilic feelings, I take?”

Rarity gulped and nodded. “Yes, that is why I am here in your home, Lemon Turner. You are the only one I know with my same… problem, and I just needed to know how did you cope with certain parts of this.”

He loudly chuckled and took a big sip out of his cup, before looking at Rarity’s eyes.

“Well, I do not consider this identity of mine much of an illness, but, in spite of that, I guess my experience can help you.” Lemon Turner crossed his legs, holding the cup close to his lips with his right hand, resting his left on the armrest. “So, what do you wish to know?”

“I-I wanted to know… how do you make friends after that?” She said, shivers going down her spine as she forced herself to let that out. “Better yet, how do I keep them, if they catch me?”

“Normally I would say that you should not let them know, as it would bring you more misery than joy,” he said, glaring at the air and letting out a small growl. “However, I also know the great challenges you have faced together and just how strong your camaraderie is, which makes me think that your reveal, unlike mine, would benefit you in the long and short term.”

“Really?! You think so?” Rarity said with widened eyes. “Do you really think that?”

He nodded.

“Yes, I do think so. You see, my ‘friends’ were more like my satellites, staying close to me so as long as I was popular and able to give out favors and money.” Lemon Turner sighed. “I think I don’t have to say what happened afterwards again.”

Rarity nodded with a sigh.

“That was so unjust towards you… I am so sorry for you…” She said, her eyes briefly pointing down at the floor.

“No need to.” He said, brushing the armrest dismissively. “You had little to no way to influence the events yourself.”

Rarity hummed and nodded, taking little sips from her cup, as she gathered the courage to ask again.

“So, how do you think I should tell them that?” Rarity asked.

“Invite them somewhere and offer something. Maybe an ice cream, maybe a cocktail, maybe a perfume sample, maybe a hamburger… in any case, something pleasant,” he said. “And, try to sweet talk them a bit first. Maybe casually mention secrets, let the discussion flow, then talk about your deepest one; or maybe mention the length of your friendship as something that serves as grant against the brunt shock of it, or… I don’t really know, I never talked about it really, the people I have met with either figured them out themselves or aren’t aware of it.”

Rarity looked up again with slightly widened pupils.

“How?” She asked. “In fact… how did you live through this for years?”

“Do you really wish to hear my life story? The whole ordeal?” he asked somewhat confused. Rarity nodded, and he immediately downed the tea in one go -- which caused him to pant a little and flap his hand his hand, in order to cool down a little -- before starting to speak. “I guess I can trace this thing of mine to my beginning of the vichian Age of Heroes: while most of my fellow students and my companions were rather busy singing praises of varying level -- from sublime odes to their beauty to lewd chants referring to their purported sex appeal -- to young ladies of our age and their phantasmagorical sex lives were a common discussion topic, I was mostly untouched by this sweeping thoughts, for while the female form enticed me, I preferred it to be one less affected by hormones or one never touched by the aforementioned. I remember sitting near public playgrounds often, watching children play in the faint hope of having a glimpse of their underclothing or their naked bodies, and I remember not quite understanding why people looked at me sideways, or why my companions joked about it.”

He took a deep breath, slumping on the chair and Rarity followed to bend forward towards him, as if she was a metal objected attracted by a magnet.

“Then what happened?” she asked with a hint of anxious curiosity.

“Then, just as I was starting High School, I read a novel,” he said. “One that had a protagonist reflecting my feelings rather well, and one telling me that those thoughts were illicit and morally bankrupt. I got scared and browsed through every possible source of information I could get my hands on, until, two years later, I discovered that I was a paedophile. Overtaken by terror, I did the unmendable mistake of assuming that the only hated paedophiles were the ones that had sex with children. I spoke to one of my classmates, Roseluck, about my issues, citing a non-existent cousin as a way to make it more poignant, but all I got was scorn and hatred, also fueled by rumors of my incestous tendencies that I could have never had due to the lack of suitable love interests in that age range. I got spat upon, insulted…”

He paused, clenching his fists onto the armrests and gritting his teeth. Rarity recoiled onto the armchair to the point of making its wooden feet to rub against the floor with a soft screech.

“Some even had the gall to think that mob justice was going to do any good, starting a brawl with me. I fought valiantly, but I was one versus four mindless drones and I had to capitulate and be brought to hospital with one crippled leg, nearly cut-off gonads and a blood-stained hand, one that had managed to destroy the tendons of a worthless clod’s ankle and had nearly flayed another one’s belly. While the law sided with me and got the four of them committed to the Juvenile Prison to be seen only in a decade, the moral victory was not nearly enough to make my moral go up, nor it did improve my relations with my schoolmates.”

Rarity, biting her lip while listening to it, got up and walked close to Lemon Turner, embracing him and pressing her cheek against his.

“Pity that you had to go through that,” Rarity said, shuddering at the image she had created to herself, the pain and the utter humiliation and risk of death that involved... “I dare not to think how badly it would ended for me, had it happened to me. I hope this will never happen to you ever again.”

Lemon Turner let out a sigh and exchanged the embrace, silently resting in her arms for a few seconds, before delicately undoing it.

“Thanks, Rarity.” He said, sighing deeply. “But what’s done is done. Let me continue.”

Rarity went back to sit down on the armchair, sadly nodding.

“By the time the ‘sicko pedo’ leaflet campaign had started, I had gone through several psychologists I had contacted in order to help me to cope with both the harassment and paedophilia.” He said. "It turned out, aside from being the only ones capable of convincing Principal Cinch to close an eye over my lack of experience with a bow and my abysmal grades in Sciences by making up speeches about my excellent skills in humanistic matters, they weren’t useful at all. While I was shaking for the sake of my soul and my safety, they were trying to skimp around or ignore the issue, citing emotional immaturity and adolescents phases as reason for my attraction to children. It felt as if the doctors were using my mind and my life as pastime for whatever matter they deemed more important, rather than being the job they elected themselves to do when they got a degree.”

Rarity nodded along.

“When my transfer was finalized and I had ditched the flashy and much-desired fashion designer clothes in favour of an austere and elegant uniform, I met with people that actively tried to put the historical philosophies in practice, rather than just repeating their concepts to never recall them again, and the ones that enticed me the most were the Vichians, students with little to no skills in mathematical subjects, focusing their efforts on the ones they deemed the only true sciences, namely History, Philosophy and Languages. By joining them and intensifying my philosophical studies, I discovered Plato’s words on the matter of love between a man and a child. Even if many had tried to bend the translation to deny it meant to say it, many forgot that the original text talks about love wasted on a love interest that may or may not turn evil, rather than about how awful it was for the target. I also started to read ancient poetry and, soon enough, it became clear to me that my own feelings were as strong as anyone else’s. That I was not excluded from love, but merely limited in its manifestations, and that romance was not a distant dream, but just as likely and sweet as the one with a woman. No one outside here will believe me, of course, but there's always hope that, one day, this bigotry towards my kin will set too.”

He created a fist with his hand as he started to bellow in triumph. “It was then that I decided to go up to the psychologists I was entrusted to, telling them that I was not their little research monkey boy, that I was not going to suffer humiliation and pain because they felt they had more important matters, that I was not going to be fooled out of my money twice.”

Rarity cracked a little smile, just before slowly realizing fully what he had said, which caused her smile to turn somewhat uneasy.

“Um… well, good for you.” She said. “I think you knew what oyu were doing. How are you doing now?”

Lemon Turner smirked and chuckled.

“Nowadays? Nowadays I enjoy peace and quiet of the likes only my early childhood had.” He said proudly. “I have loyal friends, I have stability brought by controlled indulgence, I have a good scholastic record… In short, everything I have desired in the past and I only have matters to look forward to..”

Rarity nodded, got up and stretched her hand out, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with his opinion on himself, but still happy with her decision.

“Thanks a lot for your time Lemon Turner,” she said. “I wish you best of luck with your endeavours and everything else.”

And I wish you luck with your talk with your friends,” he said, shaking Rarity’s hand. “God only knows how much you are going to need it.”