Prodigal Daughter

Rarity could remember her sleep being interrupted earlier by noises made by somepony leaving the room. Some time later, she was stirred again by a beam of light from the opening door. Fancypants seemed to be talking in the entrance to an armoured figure before returning, or at least that was the white mare's impression. In those short periods of consciousness, she could hear whimpering.

Rarity shifted, and seated herself on the couch. Not much was changed. The filly was still spread on the floor, just like Fancypants left her there. Her posterior was adorned with blood. She seemed to be asleep, face twitching from time to time in a grimace suggesting she was reliving the past few hours in her dreams.

The other unicorn was seated on his couch, savouring another glass of wine. He was smiling and gazing absentmindedly at the paintings on the wall. Occasionally, he looked to the colt kneeling before him. The foal's lips were wrapped around Fancypants' erect member, moving slightly up and down along with the bobbing of the colt's head. The little one's face was covered in a shade of red, and his eyes were half-shut, occasionally looking up with deference. Rarity could see the moving of his cheeks as the little tongue was doing its job, swirling around, teasing and making the tip of the stallionhood slick with saliva and precum. Rarity considered the apparent dutifulness in the foal's movements, the lack of expression save for the blush, the silence and the deliberate moving about of the little body, aimed at giving what was the foal's meager idea of pleasure. She found the overall subservience a bit bland, without any protest, any apparent suffering, and quite well concealed disgust. But Fancypants seemed most pleased at such a turn of events, allowing himself a blissful demeanour when the foal immediately took in more of him, at a mere gesture that could be directed at his sister. The stallion did not seem much concerned about issues like biting down, either. After a few moments of further sucking, his expression changed, and with one hoof he guided the colt's head, forcing him to gag on the shaft and shake helplessly as the unicorn's hot, salty release was sprayed over his throat. Nevertheless, what the instincts would prevent, Fancypants' firm grip, guiding the foal's lips along the member, guaranteed. It would be properly polished and the thick flud oozing out of it would be properly swallowed.

Finally, Fancypants let the foal loose, the little one dutifully taking another lick at the shaft once he noticed that a strand of seed hung in the air between it and his mouth, once they parted. The unicorn cracked a wide grin at the display, and reached the colt's head with his hoof, ruffling his mane cordially. The foal looked to him after swallowing, his large, round and rose eyes staring blankly, their pupils like two bottomless pits. As Rarity observed them both, she couldn't help but feel that there was some sort of understanding between them, not on an emotional one, but on some lower level. But finally, the colt broke the stare, and with a much different appearance rushed to his sister. The stallion sighed, and looked to Rarity only to be met with daggers of her hateful glare. For a moment, he paused, puzzled, until his eyebrows raised a little and he returned to sipping his wine.

Rarity gazed across the room, which was adorned in deep purples and reds. She stared at the paintings on the wall, unable to register their meaning – she had difficulty processing what was happening in the scenes depicting ponies in their everyday activities. Peasants, scholars, bakers, tailors, toiling away, making a living. They were incomprehensible, alien to the white pony. The mare saw something grotesque in what somepony else would call their normalcy. She looked away, turning to Fancypants, who was similarly to her seated, with his tailcoat and shirt moist with sweat. They hung on him as if he was a scarecrow. Loose strands of blue hair escaped his usually spotless coiffure under the weight of perspiration. His moustache was similarly drooping and glistening with this dew. He supported himself by putting his front hooves on the chaisse. He stared blankly at the ceiling, magically lifting the glass of wine now and then, drinking carelessly and letting strands of red flow down his jaw, form into droplets and fall upon his flaccid member.

The dismayed Rarity looked away, and to her further chagrin noticed the pair of foals just in front of her. The colt sat next to the sprawled filly, and anxiously stroked her mane, but refused to come any closer. His movements were so gentle thast at times he seemed not to touch her at all. At some point, he stopped altogether, and just sat there, staring. His eyes were wide open. He positioned himself like a frog readying itself to jump. The dim light cast shadows on his face, making him appear emaciated and his head seem disproportionately large. Rarity almost thought this twig-legged, skeletal freak is going to devour her, such was the gaze of the pair of mad, plate-sized eyes on his sister. But he remained still, as if the slightest movement would make him collapse under his own weight.

Meanwhile, the filly seemed to come to. After a few motions she remained still, as if every movement was a pain, and only her eyes scanned the room. Soon, they met Rarity's. The filly, for some obscure reason, rolled over so that she was facing the mare now. She was smiling. The unicorn tilted her head to the side, so that both of their faces were now in a horizontal position. Her head was heavy. She could feel the weight of her mane pull her down. Droplets of sweat – just how hot was it in here? - crawled across her face. And the filly was still smiling. Rarity felt that smile chill her to the bone, and send an itch across the aching muscles – just so that she realised her nethers, were, in fact, still sprayed with Fancypants' seed. The filly seemed aware of the fact too – and in that smile she probably wanted to convey a message of sympathy, of camaraderie perhaps? ”Don't worry, it will be okay,” said her eyes. Rarity felt the urge to vomit.

Then, a door opened, a breeze of fresh air animated the four's minds, and a valet entered. Rarity, in her regained senses, looked at him with curiosity. He was perfect in his bearing, and it seemed to her that he would carry out his duties with same adherence were he in a ballroom and not on the site of his master's perverse revelry. His presence was jarring, as if a hyperrealistic character somehow found himself in the midst of a caricature.

The stranger in a strange land approached Fancypants, and whispered a few words into his ear, then retreated from the room, stepping around the sprawled foals with dignified indifference. Rarity noted that after he left, the host grew increasingly agitated, and emptied another glass of wine rather quickly.

He stared at the letter on the table. Rarity understood.

***

”Your husband asked about you and your guest again, Your Highness.”

Cadence stared disconcertedly at the Mayor. She appreciated the hospitality here at Ponyville, but in her eagerness to please the official was slowly pushing the limits of civility. And there was really nothing surprising about such a revelation. Still, Cadence knew that pleas for unmindfulness would fall on deaf ears. Shining would not be persuaded either, he was long since convinced that Fleur was anything but sane. The Princess sighed and sipped her tea. Nopony would understand. She was not sure if she understood either.

Met with silence, the Mayor shared her lack of understanding. ”I figure he is just jealous. Miss Fleur made no problems since she arrived here. In fact, she had a positive effect on some ponies here.”

That was surprising. Cadence's face brightened, and with a newfound interest she turned to the Mayor. ”Really? Who?”

”I believe she made friends with a foal from around here. Actually, you could be able to see them from here.”

With a surge of magic, Cadence summoned a pair of binoculars to her side, and with worst expectations, started scanning the landscape visible from the verandah. Soon she found what she was looking for – in the middle of a field, under a lone oak, two specks of white and pink.

At a distance, they could be mistaken for sisters. There was something oddly fitting about these two being pressed together, embracing each other in what seemed to be light sleep. Sleep which soon would be interrupted by two other fillies, a pegasus and an earth pony with orange and yellow coats, sneaking up on them.

Cadence looked away from the ensuing commotion. Where did she see those fillies? At her wedding perhaps?

”Who are these, if I may inquire?”

”Ah, just students at the local school. You may know the sister of one of them - Rarity, our 'inside mare' in Canterlot,” chuckled the Mayor, and the puzzlement at the look she was given suggested she was quite unaware of any subtext.

Rarity. Wasn't that one her bridesmaid? And her sister...wouldn't that make her a flower girl? It was a small world.

”And she...”

”Seems to enjoy spending time with her and her friends. Very good for the community, those three can be a little troublesome at times.”

”Really? That is interesting.” That Fleur of all ponies would turn out to be good with children? Perhaps there was some hope, Cadence thought, as the four were apporaching the house. Soon they were quite audible. The three foals made a commotion about Fleur teaching the white one to sing a song and the Princess could barely keep up with the conversation, though she made out that none of them actually understood the words, and something about „Sweetie's special talent being speaking in fancy”. It seemed like the group was approaching the house for a live performance.

Soon they arrived, and the fillies stormed past the table. In the ensuing turmoil, Cadence found herself looking into the white filly's eyes. There was something morbidly familiar, but quite not definite, about the gaze she received in return. She saw such eyes elsewhere, eyes befitting anypony but such a sweet filly. Tired, empty eyes. With so many things – bad things, like fear, mistrust, grief – crawling behind them.

Such a pair of eyes belonged to Fleur.

The kinship between these two was apparent as they looked back at the princess.

Soon, the stares became awkward and Fleur gently nudged the filly to move on, then both disappeared inside the room. Soon, music could be heard, and a voice – a beautiful voice so unlike its owner's eyes – began its song. The playfulness of the piano, the girly, cheerful tone, seemed to belie Cadence's previous impression – or perhaps attempt to will it out of existence. ”Allez, venez, Milord!”, it sang.

”Adorable,” remarked the mayor while listening to the song. ”By the way, Your Majesty,” she added, as if suddenly being reminded of something, ”is it true what they say about her? About the scandal?”

Cadence's infuriated stare was enough of an answer.

***

The respectability of evenings at Fleur's was a matter of discussion among the Society. While the patronage over her was impeccable, as was her undeniable beauty, her agreeableness was at times disputable. Her artistic pursuits certainly did not help to increase it, as they attracted the Bohemian types - among whom Fleur was also a subject of heated debate, even though mocking of her collection of unfinished self-portraits had long since become passé. The inconvenience of these soirees was owed only partially to the boheme's peculiar tastes and the audacity to express them, unfortunately. In spite of the society's better judgement, the young mare did not hesitate to host also another, dreadful and disagreeable kind of ponies. Ponies with ideas. It was almost as if the mare attempted to create a melting pot of peculiar individuals that would be a slight to the respectable society.

And yet, in spite of all this, no voice of condemnation from above followed. Nopony in Canterlot who mattered would even dare to think that Fleur's benefactor might derive some sort of amusement from forcing them to endure in such company, and thus the reasons remained a mystery and the fact could be occupying the minds of old ladies at their tea-time without hindrances.

This evening, however, was somewhat different. The number of ponies of lesser heritage invited was decreased, and reputable stallions that would never cross this house's threshold earlier arrived. In such proper company, the Society could bear the presence of a few of Fleur's ”eccentrics” and immerse itself in the familiar, homely atmosphere of marital and, more importantly, financial arrangements.

The suite's drawing room was of remarkable size and spaciousness, and given its dome-like ceiling high above the visitors' heads and the recesses in the walls, as well as the elevated floor under the tall window, it had the appearance of a chapel about it. The atmosphere, or the congregation residing within, was hardly spiritual though, save for a longtime visitor of Fleur's, an elderly teacher who in his old age turned to meticulous study of the Book. There was a peculiar affection between him and the hostess, expressing itself mostly in his stoic withstanding of her oblique mockery whenever the debate turned to the subject of religion. He stood firm in spite of constant, hardly subtle attacks from the bulk of other usual guests, though he welcomed the change of pace this evening brought with itself, taking the polite, friendly ways of more agreeable ponies at face value.

Despite her fondness of the guest, Fleur was hardly pleased with his trusting demeanour this evening, and when seated at the large table in the centre of the room, allowed herself a baleful expression whenever he looked at her. Fancypants seemed to enjoy him immensely though, but despite this and the fact that the old stallion basically owed him tonight's adherence to custom, the most important pony in Canterlot elected to remove himself from direct participation and settle under the window, watching the assembly at the table from above.

He could not help but smirk at seeing his good old friend, his Caesar, shifting nervously in his chair, from time to time glancing at the beautiful white mare with anxiety. Amusingly enough, he wanted to make a half-hearted attempt at begging for forgiveness, and counting for the old wounds to heal, perhaps receiving tonight's main prize... Still, it was clear that he was already regretting the idea. Loins were a poor but convincing decision maker.

Fancypants was uncertain if there was a gland responsible for stimulating greed, but it was certainly well developed in Jet Set who took a point in seating himself as close to Fleur as possible. His being married himself did not seem to impede the ever-strong desire for objects approved by those above him. This particular one was an excellent venture for further gains by cementing his position near the top. To achieve that end, he was pursuing an incredibly amusing policy of saying 'let's take a break' in terms of Upper Crust as long as Fleur was saying 'maybe' in terms of him. Fancypants had a hard time on deciding whether the end to this was to be treated as a shame or relief.

On the contrary, the end of another stallion's appearances to these evenings would be certainly relieving. Fancypants could not remember his name. He did not bother to find out, though, it was fairly certain that after being declined tonight, it would appear along news of his suicide in the morning papers, or perhaps years later when he got his priorities straight and found a wife within the range of his five thousand a year and settled down to pursue a career that maybe earned him some fame – the nerve to appear here could be indicative of some buried quality to him.

The rest of the congregation was even less entertaining, without much hope. All acted without any breach of etiquette, creating an air of friendly and caring camraderie above the usual divsions. In their minds, coming here was a favour to Fancypants who felt concerned about his wayward protege to the point that it would be a slight inadequacy if he did not have some good reason for it. He probably did. The awareness of their generosity, especially for somepony so unlikely to need it, bolstered the gathered ponies' spirits. Essentially, they were there to pretend they are uncertain of the outcome, then pretend they agree with it, then go home and pretend to be upset over poor Crust's fate. They were also supposed to help Fleur pretend she had a choice, but even with so many prompters her acting could be a bit off.

Just right now she was having trouble following the script's guidelines. The teacher, somewhat of a layman appearing on the scene by mistake, tried to fix what he perceived to be trouble with what he thought to be the proper solution.

”I understand your grievances, Mademoiselle Fleur. Many a time I doubted the ways of our society myself. I know it might be difficult to understand, but the issue that is influx of poverty into expanding cities is a solved one. It is a natural part of the industrialisation process. The post-agrarian labour force simply needs time to earn its share, to settle down in the urban way of living. Simply put, they need time to get rich.” Half-conscious approving nodding. ”To a young one like you, this might be an infuriating idea, but simply attempting to fix things that are just immature will only create new problems. I saw the end of enough bold programs to know that.”

”End of bold programs? Ha! And I ask, what brought about said end, who decided they were not viable anymore?” Everyone knew who.

”You may doubt Her Majesty, but we are not the ones to judge what transcends our current level of understanding.” More nods of approval. Fancypants' image of boredom disappeared, his body tensed. He knew what was coming, he never hid his ideas from Fleur. This was bad.

”It may be y o u r understanding she transcends, but there are ponies in this room whose horizons extend further.” Any pretense of subtlety was gone, Fleur seemed very happy to take the role of guests absent tonight. The old teacher looked at her with disappointment.

”You sadden me young lady. I have no wish to repeat myself, and am certain that others will acknowledge my standpoint as right: Celestia is the goddess of ponykind.”

”And I am certain there are wiser, more i m p o r t a n t ponies here that will call me right. And I say, you are just as right as I would be in a statement that a mountain is the god of trianglekind.”

The congregation let out a collective gasp of shock. The teacher was concerned about this heresy. Everypony else looked with expectation at the most important pony in Canterlot. Fancypants stood up. His mouth twisted slightly, and the muscles of his legs contracted pointlessly in a rather inadequate urge to strike. With what appeared to be calmness, he spoke. ”That is a bold opinion for such a young lady! But I do believe our venerable fellow is quite right.” Collective sigh of relief. ”It is true that one needs experience to support their beliefs.” The teacher and Fleur raised their eyebrows. The others were too busy being glad that Fancypants remained the stalwart guardian of proper conduct.

Fleur sneered, still looking up at Fancypants. At least she made him stand up. That was already something. If she was going down, it would be so that she would be remembered.

***

”Your final decision then, mademoiselle? It would be poor form to keep the such a gentlecolt in the dark any more.”

”Ah, for sure. I would point to the keeping a certain filly in a very different kind of dark for twelve years as poor form. But I believe custom differs, I shall let Canterlot have its way with its folklore.”

”Restrain yourself, young lady! We have suffered enough of your scandalmongering tonight already.”

”Have no worries, I will say 'yes', or 'no', earlier I would just like to say fu-”

”HOLD IT!” The interruption was not owed to proper conduct though.

”...Her Majesty Princess Cadence!”, announced the mightily embarassed usher after bursting into the room right after the aforementioned.

Everypony bowed. Fancypants arose from his chair and followed suit, happy that it concealed his poorly contained scowl.

The Princess, unmindful of the congregation, etiquette, or(it seemed)reality, moved straight towards Fleur.

”I have a modest proposal for you, Fleur De Lys. Your decision will depend solely upon you, remember.” Cadence's words rang with purpose. ”You can still deny, you can still be free. I can aid you in that.”

At this point, the congregation, having shaken off the initial shock, noted the neat package hovering in the air behind Cadence. Nothing good could come out of this.

Fleur looked at the Princess wide-eyed, and erupted with laughter. For a few moments, the entire room was filled with an insane peal that sent chills down everypony's spines. Fleur jerked her head backwards and kept on cackling with some sort of untamed, wild spite.

Finally, the white mare composed herself, brushed her hair off her face, and still gasping for breath, responded. ”Thank you very much my knight in shining armour, I...I appreciate your kindness. And may I partake in a guess at what is in there?” She pointed to the package. ”Money?”

Fleur's mocking tone confounded the princess, but only slightly. ”Y..Yes. A hundred thousand. I understand that without a husband, you will need-”

Fleur burst into laughter again, but being short of breath she just went through the convulsing motions without any sound. ”So, in the end, it matters little whether I am getting married or not. At the end of the day I am still selling myself. Name your price Princess. Officially.”

”One hundred thousand,” said Cadence plainly, electing to retain some dignity instead of arguing.

That was enough for Fancypants. He watched the exchange in silence, unwilling to interrupt a Princess. But right now, the situation's peculiarity, the pretense of anypony being allowed to make an offer, even one this outrageous, the Princess' status that had to be preserved in front of those fools, plus Fleur's beauty – the beautiful ones were always pardoned, and she knew this – it made him powerless, and that single thing made heat course through his veins. Saying 'no, you cannot' to Cadence was possible, but behind closed doors. Here, with witnesses? It would be a scandal. A disaster.

”One hundred thousand? Ha! It seems the rumours about the royal budget were...less than exaggerated. How disappointing. Or maybe is it that there actually are ponies in the family who are aware of a harlot's price?”

That was too much. Fancypants stepped in. ”Mademoiselle Fleur, I shall not tolerate a single slanderous word about the royal family anymore.”

His pretense was perfect, but Fleur knew very well how painful was the position he found himself in. She barely stopped herself from clapping her hooves with excitement. Having him defend Cadence...just too good to be true! Encore, Milord!

”Oh, but why? We all know she is nothing but a pampered filly who has been spoon-fed delusions of morality a little too-”

”Fleur de Lys!” That tone hated any kind of resistance. It carried an air of authority, but the only thing Fleur could feel in this uttering of her name was fury. She put up a mocking expression, but the stallion prevented her from opening her mouth. His anger quickly waned, and Fleur and Cadence felt their bodies grow dreadfully cold upon the sight of his scowl, the upper lip curled in utter disgust at being brought to such a level.

”I sincerely apologise for my protege's behaviour Your Majesty. I understand your offer and appreciate it – the events of this evening have shown that I might have been mistaken in attempting to find her a husband here. I should not dare to put such a burden on any stallion. But I have made certain obligations regarding this mare. Therefore, let it be known that I offer Fleur de Lys to become my w i f e.”

Yet again, silence fell upon the room. Ponies were stomaching what they just heard. Scandalous. Yet, they quickly worked out what he meant. He'd sweep that under the rug quickly, remove her so she would not be a disgrace. Fleur and Cadence understood better. He would keep her. At any cost.

Fleur sat down, feeling her legs go weak. She gave him a defiant gaze, one that suggested she would never be broken. She looked to the ground then, unable to stand his sight anymore. She glanced to Cadence, truly resembling some sort of saviour right now. Suddenly the Princess' idea became something more than mockery. She could be free, finally free, out of this sick game of slowly pulling out her legs one after another. To leave Canterlot and never come back. Become her own property, responsible for herself only, answering only to Fleur de Lys. Start anew, leave the self-pity, despair and hatred of all around her behind. Live without a force to hate...to fear...to blame and mock and infuriate.

”Fancypants. My answer to your offer...is yes.”

Was freedom really that good? Cadence would be still upon her, she thought.

Nevertheless, there was some sort of inexplicable internal pain. But Fleur knew that yes, there was no escaping him after all. She might as well find some happiness in slavery.

”So, at the end of the day,” she started, swallowing the tears, ”Fleur has been sold to the highest bidder. And the winner is the gentlecolt with the monocle! Bravo!”

Why was she crying?

”As for the others, better luck next time fellows. Though I know,” she said looking at Jet who grew increasingly pale throughout the course of the meeting since Cadence came in, ”that there might be some who won't come out empty-hooved.” Her magic grabbed Cadence's package and launched it into the fireplace. Everypony gasped at such a wasteful, scandalous act.

Caesar could not take it anymore, it seemed – he went stiff as something akin to an invisible vise painfully clasped around the contents of his chest. His wet eyes stared upwards and he passed out, spared the rest of the evening's atrocities.

Aside from his desperate gasps for breath, there was utter silence in the room as Fleur was issuing her challenge. ”Jet Set, if you take it out with your own hooves,” she pointed to the package, licked by the flames from underneath, ”its contents are yours.” She laughed at his baffled expression turning into a grimace of pure hatred, and assured of the result, headed to her room.

A commotion broke out – some were raising their hooves into the air at this scandal, others hurried for the exit before they become guilty by association. A few rushed to the fireplace, to urge Jet to take that out before a perfect hundred thousand goes to waste.

Jet himself stared at the fire, at all this money slowly going away, and the onlookers could tell from his expression that the flame was nothing like the blazing storm within him.

Fancypants decided to leave as well, unwilling to watch the meeting's agony. Besides, he had quite a lot to sort out. Upon leaving, he paid the usher to take proper care of Caesar, presently unattended to and sprawled on the floor – presumably some sort of a heart condition.

Cadence stared at Fancypants incredulously as he passed by. Something was gripping her by the chest and choking her down. She couldn't move, but mustered all of her willpower to throw Fancypants a defiant glare. It wasn't over yet-

She shuddered and collapsed unto herself at the sight of the stare he gave her in return.

Gradually, the noise was dying down, the ponies got their share of indignation and left en masse. A few urged Jet Set to stop making a fool of himself and take out that damn package from the fire.

Flame consumed the first layer of paper, getting closer to the precious banknotes. Those who still bothered to watch were visibly upset, and again called to end this travesty, lest such a valuable being would indeed die horribly and painfully.

Jet ground his teeth. It appeared that he would get palpitations any second now. ”Crazy bitch,” he muttered, and shakingly, with great spiritual and physical pain, left.

Somepony bright ran towards the fireplace, and without paying mind to the flame and soot quickly rescued the innocent hundred thousand from the fiery clutches of death. Fleur's or not, no money deserved what these banknotes went through, and everypony who was still inside let out a collective sigh of relief. With no little pride, the grimy stallion carried the package and laid it where it belonged on the table, spreading ash all around.

Some coughingly pointed out that he could have just used the tongs or the shovel.

But the mares quickly dismissed the jealous onlookers, praising the courage and chivalry that seemed to be all lost in the contemporary society.

With the end of that dramatic episode, the evening was truly over. Those still loitering stopped counting on some formal announcement or at least a goodbye from anypony in charge. Some tried to convince the Princess to leave with them, promising complete discreetness and offering their sympathy.

For her part, Cadence just stared at the bedroom's door, as if she was hoping for something. Finally, she left silently. Her thoughts at that point would be best described as none. Only after the return to her chambers in the palace, she started crying. Peculiarly, it was a tearless lament, more reminiscent of a stricken animal's weep than anything a princess should be capable of.

Fancypants wasn't heard from until the noon of the next day, when invitations to his wedding(at a quite close date)started flowing.

Caesar survived the night, but declined a subsequent invitation to the wedding in a polite manner, excusing himself with the necessity to take the waters in Yaltack.

Whether Princess Cadence was invited, or if she would appear at the wedding, remained a mystery. Most inquiries were met with condescending silence.

Jet Set's marriage lives on in what is perceived to be relative happiness.

The slightly burnt package, containing one hundred thousand in banknotes, disappeared under unclear circumstances.

***

Curious onlookers gathered around the bride's door already at dawn. They were a strange crowd, something certainly undesired on one's wedding day. Scarfed students  staring at officers in civilian attire eyed by foppish profligates looked down upon by the tattered nihilists. All below thirty, all low class, and all united in a camaraderie of clueless lads who found themselves severely outranked in this hunt. But heck, there was no shame in losing to the stallion who ran the damn place. It was just proper to come here and say ”good game” while letting at least their eyes ravish the wife-to-be in the last moments of her formal self-determination.

At noon, she finally appeared. A carriage was already waiting as she swung the door open. For a silent moment, she stood on the doorstep while the crowd was taking in the magnificent sight. Though her request for a black wedding dress was mockingly declined, her appearance was striking – the dress was light in spite of the weather, and with its nigh-translucence and delicacy that made it seem to flow in the wind, it gave Fleur the aura of an ethereal, otherworldly creature.

Finally, the admirers shook off their awe and started cheering, whistling and throwing flowers. Most congratulated loudly, though some were less favourable, yelling about a ”marriage that will cover up anything”, though the bride's fiery glare brought them into line quickly and soon nothing but praise could be heard. Fleur strode through the crowd which opened before her without delay under the enervating gaze of her brooding, hazy eyes.

Fleur eyed the onlookers languidly, taking her time on the way to the carriage. Soon, it would all be over, she would finally throw down the silly delusions, she thought as a passing wind caressed her face and swept through her dress and mane. Enough of this flailing about, of running away, it was time to gather your resolve and swallow the medicine. Leave those goofs behind, get shit done. Spending the rest of your life with a despicable failure, Fleur thought while observing her admirers, had certain good points to it. At least hers was a rich and somewhat old failure. Wait until he dies, then settle peacefully somewhere far away.

A keen observer would notice, that at a certain point on her way to the carriage, the bride's eyes were momentarily lit up with some kind of spark – that spark that usually  indicated to her admirers that it was time to leave. She turned wildly and scattered the crowd, then stormed through.

The reason became apparent quickly. Some argued it was all arranged, but the truth is that Princess Cadence stopped in an inconspicuous carriage nearby just to look. She was quite startled when this banshee of a bride noticed her, approached and opened the door furiously, screaming ”Take me away! Anywhere you want!” and entering without awaiting a reply. The princess was aghast. But happy. The carriage disappeared quickly, and an hour later Fleur was on the train to Ponyville, a letter of introduction for all her luggage.

The stallions stood there, mouths agape. Some helped the others get up after they were thrown aside by Fleur's spell. Some student, probably hit over the head, muttered to himself something about ”spirits that are beautiful only when free”, or some similar inanitites. The fellow picking him up noted that running away from the altar was atrociously passé, and soon an argument broke out, drawing in a dozen or so stallions.

A few bruises and a nosebleed later, the company unanimously decided to employ the most powerful peacemaker known to their kind: sharing of alcohol, whores and Schadenfreude(the groom needed somepony to bring the bad news, after all).

When the company, soon to become lifelong friends, sat in arrest twelve hours later, none of them considered the insane luck they had to find Fancy on a crowded square and already knowing.

***