Author's Note

Yes, I know what it says on the publishing date. This story was stuck in the approval queue for two whole days, so it actually published on 11/27/16. Thanks for reading, and please give this a like if it is up to your standards!

Prologue: Tangles

Clink. Clink. Clink.

"Agh!"

Deep inside the mountain where Canterlot was located, below the royal castle, a single mare chipped away at the reflective walls of her crystal-cave prison. She grasped an old, grimy steel fork between chapped, aching hooves, brow furrowed as she drove the dull tongs into the glassy, unrelenting surface.

The sound of metal on crystal, echoing around the high-ceilinged cavern, was soon joined by the restless clicking and tapping of hooves on a floor. The mare paused her fruitless work to turn and glare at the disturbance: her older cellmate, a stallion in his late forties, a broken pony who was apparently senseless to the world surrounding him. He was pacing now, humming a nonsensical little tune as he trotted along like a much younger colt who didn't know better.

"Will you stop that!" The mare hissed at him through gritted teeth, but her fellow prisoner seemed deaf, blind, and oblivious to her irritation. He barely blinked before returning to his humming, mumbling a string of unintelligible words between off-key melodies.

"Crazy stallion," the mare muttered under her breath. She gave the crystal one more strike with the fork, and let out a long, low snarl of angry frustration as the not-intended-for-mining utensil deflected off and clattered away. She didn't bother to retrieve it; what was the point? Trying in the first place was stupid, anyway.

"Stupid!" She jumped at the sound of her own furious yell, the sound bouncing loudly around the cavern before quieting to whispers and, finally, nothing. Her eyes stung, but she did not cry. She refused to cry like a little filly wailing for her mother.

Mother . . .

Memories stirred inside her, but the mare clamped down on them with a scowl, extinguishing the sparks as soon as they lit, refusing to let . . . something . . . get the better of her. Instead, she turned to the wall close by, where the raw but shiny crystal showed her reflection clearly.

A young thestral mare in her teenage years stared back at her with cat-pupiled, eerily bright silver eyes. Her coat, once as white and pure as freshly fallen snow, was matted with dirt, dust, and sweat, and nearly a year in Canterlot's crystal dungeons hadn't helped the dull gray color. Her long, thick, wavy mane, red with little, thin black-and-silver streaks and hints of raspberry here and there, was sticking out in all directions and tangled with the same grime that was in her coat. Her pale, silver-gray batpony wings were folded at her sides, with scratches and tears marring their usually well-cared-for appearance.

Once, she had been considered pretty. Beautiful, even.

A sneer of contempt made its way onto her face as she glanced down at her cutie mark. It was a tangle of perfectly shaped red roses, with one blemish: a single, fang-sharp thorn sticking out of the crimson flowers. If you looked closer, you could see that the thorn was not just a thorn, but a glittering, poisonous diamond of ice blue.

It had been six years since she'd gotten her cutie mark at age ten, and she still had yet to figure out the meaning of that image on her flank.

Her darkened gaze drifted up to the curved, sharp white horn on her head, now fitted with an inhibitor ring to disable her magic. This was what had gotten her so much trouble, ever since fillyhood. The other residents of her former hometown, Hollow Shades, had deemed her a mistake, a disgrace to the batpony race. "This is what happens when a pony and a thestral fall in love," they'd always say, always with a snort of disgust. Then they'd look down their noses at her and sniff haughtily. "You are nothing but trouble."

And they were right. All those deaths I caused . . . She opened and closed her wings a few times, as if to shake off the lingering thought. No. I can't think about it now, or else I'll go mad in here. I'll become insane, shattered, like that poor old stallion over there.

She sat down with a plop, setting her rump on the center of the rock floor. A rough pebble skittered near, set into motion by the stallion whose name she didn't bother to find out, and she kicked it away with a careless hoof and another glare.

There had to be something else. Something that could help her escape from this . . . this dumb hole, to keep her from slowly rotting away in here in defeat. Rage boiled and sizzled inside her. Defeat. She would never be defeated, not even by Royalty. She would not allow it to happen. I'm missing something . . . but what?

She would find a way out of here. She always did, and always would.

Because she was Scarlet Radiance, Equestria's most infamous convicted murderer and criminal mastermind. Also known as Ruby Wing.

And she would never, never be shot down.