The Sickness Unto Death

Chapters

I. Woman is Spirit
II. The Self, Which Is In Despair, Desires To Be What It Is Not
III.The Greatest Danger Is Losing the Self
IV. Eternity Asks But One Thing: Whether You Have Lived in Despair Or Not
V. "The Sickness Is Not Unto Death" And Yet Lazarus Died

I. Woman is Spirit

I.
I write now in this diary for the first time in many years, and I do so only in the hopes that it might lighten the burden on my spirit. I have no expectation that another soul shall ever read these words, and I have no desire to show them. What I will record here is, frankly, beyond the pale. It is unbelievable. It is… complicated.

Yet I swear on the honor of my house and name that every word of what I record is true. What afrighted me shall now sleep within the pages of this book, and hopefully leave nothing but closure. Much have I seen and felt, so much that it is hard sometimes to keep track of it all.

Where should I begin? Where is the best place? Where did it truly begin?

For Her, it began a very, very long time ago, and in a different land. But for myself, it began one night on the doorstep of summer, when a visitor came to our town...

When did I first see her? Think, Rarity, think. When?

If pressed, I would respond that I first saw her when the carriage pulled through town and anchored itself rather boldly right in front of the manor at dusk. It was the first chance I ever would have had. It makes sense. But that is an easy answer.

When did I first notice her? There, that’s meaningful!

Father’s footman traded a few words with the carriage’s driver, and then he went to call on my father. I heard the horses, I think. My memory is not perfect, but I remember the horses braying at something or other, and I remember looking up from my book long enough to break the spell that it had woven around me. Just long enough to hear her voice, like… Bells. No, not bells. To describe it as such cheapens the effect that it had on me.

Mark you, I had not yet laid eyes upon Her. I had only heard a voice. But it was enough to pull me from my chair and onto my feet. It was more than enough to draw me to the window.

That would be it, the moment when first I saw her. She stepped down from the carriage wrapped in a cloak, her face hidden from me as much by the failing light as by her choice of garment. Faintly, so faintly, I remember a sense of annoyance. I wanted so much to see her and to match a face to the voice.

And then, fortune was with me. There was a sudden gust of wind, and before she could pull her hood down, it fell back.

Did I know? Did I suspect? Is this… feeling that I feel, is it truly memory, or is it a later invention?

My glimpse of her was brief, but it was enough to make out her features in the weak light of the street lamps. She was frail, yet undeniably beautiful. Her cheekbones high and regal, her hair pooling over one shoulder, neat with not a one out of place. I thought that she seemed pale, like a woman who ought to be in bed, recovering from some dreadful illness.

Her hand shot up and she used it to block the already setting sun whilst re-arranging her hood and I marveled at how fragile that hand seemed! How porcelain pale it was!

I did not pay much attention to what happened next, at the time. My father met with the owner of the carriage, who was an old acquaintance. Mr. Bartleby had stayed with us before, and as a young girl he had sometimes brought me small gifts.

Ironic, that he should have brought her to me.

Father and Bartleby were talking animatedly and happily when I arrived in the dining hall. Already, the footman was bringing in the merchant’s things and storing them in his usual room, and my father was already talking about having wine brought up from the cellar for the two of them.

She was standing there, next to him.

I wanted to greet her and to hide from her in the same moment. It was not a pleasant experience. But I was, and I suppose I am still a Belle, and this has ever meant pressing forward in the face of adversity. I strode over from the grand stair and put on my brightest smile.

Bartleby intercepted me, a grin plastered on his face. “Ah! Young Miss Rarity!” he said to me, loudly as he does and says everything. “Fancy seeing you here! Afraid I don’t have a present this time around.”

Bartleby also laughs at his own barely-made jokes, but this is neither here nor there. I put on my most indulgent smile, reserved for the loudest obstacles. “It’s quite alright. Who is this with you? For shame! You should introduce us.”

He blinked at me, seemingly puzzled. For a moment, I thought he might ask what I was referring to. But then he followed my gaze and his confusion fell away.

“Ah! Dreadfully sorry. This is my lovely niece, by the name of Twilight Sparkle. She’s accompanied me on this journey since Trottingham.”

I was about to greet her, but she moved before I could. This girl, shorter than I by a few inches, doffed her hood and curtsied. “Good evening, Lady Rarity,” she said, and it was as though she were tasting my name on her lips. “Thank you for allowing me into your home.”

Those were first words she said to me. I remember managing to say something suitably polite in response, but the important thing wasn’t what she said, but what she was. Shorter, yet as soon as I could meet her gaze I felt that it was I who was dwarfed. Her voice was musical, but not like any music I had heard sung in the streets of our little town. Eyes that did not focus so much as they hunted.

How can I describe her? I could not at the time, and I cannot now.

Know only that I had not recovered by the time we sat down to dine. Twilight Sparkle had kept her distance, though not with any seeming ill-intent. On the contrary, she seemed to be trying very hard not to look utterly exhausted. Once or twice I spied her leaning on Master Bartleby, her small hands digging into the fabric of his shirt, as if only his flabby arm kept her from falling to the ground.

Dinner was a heavy affair, as it always is when Father has a guest over. While my parents engaged the fat, cheerful merchant, I worked up the nerve to engage Twilight.

Truth be told, I am a bit of a… gossip. No, I cannot deny it. A lady should be aware of her own proclivities! But all this to say, to convince who, myself? But to say that it has rarely if ever been difficult for me to begin a conversation. So when I say that I struggled to find a way to approach the enigma that was Twilight Sparkle, let it be understood what exactly I mean.

She bothered me. There is no way to make this sentiment that I felt “cleaner” or somehow more polite. She perturbed me. The more I try to recall if she gave me some sign by which I felt a sense of unease, the more that it seems to be that it was merely a feeling and nothing more substantial.

“You seem awfully fixated,” she said to me at last.

I snapped out of my reverie, dismayed to find myself on the defensive already. How was I supposed to puzzle out what was so strange about this new girl if she were always the one to direct the flow of conversation?

“Not at all,” I said, putting on another practiced smile, this one of indifference. “It has simply been a rather long day, that’s all. Surely after coming such a long way yourself, you can appreciate that.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow. “I traveled the whole way in a carriage. Do I know that it was far? I know that it took some time.”

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

“Only that I did very little traveling of my own,” she said. “There is a difference between traveling and being carried from place to place. One is not the other, Lady Rarity.”

Whenever she said my name that way, I could not tell if it was meant sincerely or not. She almost seemed to be mocking me, but when she was in mixed company Twilight never mocked anything. Yet she always twisted that word.

She did that to many things. It is what Twilight is good at, taking things and knowing them so well so quickly, and then using that knowledge to turn something simple in on itself.

But I am getting far ahead of myself, aren’t I?

“What brings you this far?” I asked her, hoping to find something to hold onto in this stranger, something a bit more normal than her pale face and her uncomfortable focused eyes.

“Hm. Adventure, I suppose you could say.” She leaned forward slightly, and it was then that I noticed that she hadn’t touched any of her food. “I’m looking for new tastes.”

I glanced at her plate, and then back to her dark, dark eyes. “And yet you’ve not touched a bite,” I said softly.

She chuckled, and then made a great show of sighing. “I am not well. I feared this might happen, actually, when my uncle told me where we were staying. I did not wish to be rude by refusing to sit at your table, yet I cannot eat.”

“What ails you?” I asked.

Another sigh. “I know not. I’ve always been sickly, ever since I was a child.”

“Forgive me,” I said, before she could continue on, “but… just how old are you?”

And then Twilight Sparkle laughed at me. For one who was ill, Twilight Sparkle managed to laugh with gusto. “Nineteen summers,” she said when she was done. “That’s how many I’ve seen in the light of day. And you, my lady?”

I huffed. “Eighteen, and I’ll not see you make light of them just because you’re older, now.”

She shook her head. “I would never. What sort of guest would I be then?”

Twilight Sparkle was an accomplished conversationalist. I learned this quickly, and never once doubted her skill. She talked circles around me with ease. She did so to my father, and she did so with Bartleby the few and far between times that she spoke to him at all. For a niece out on a long journey in foreign lands, she seemed rather independent.

As the night wore on, my father and his guest grew progressively more drunk, and I was asked to show Twilight to her quarters.

The manor of House Belle which sits above the town is divided in two. The great hall where the dining table is ends in a grand staircase that leads both right and left. If one mounted the great stair and turned right, one would find my own room and my younger sister’s room among others. If one turned left, my parents and the guest rooms.

We turned left and walked down the hallway. I do not recall what we discussed on the way, but I am sure we spoke. I am also sure that when I opened the door and stepped aside for her to enter first, I felt her hand touch my own briefly, and felt how cold her skin was to the touch. She felt… no, not even then did I think of ice or the clammy touch of the dead, as one expects from the tales. No, even then, I thought of the touch of iron on a winter night. Cold, yes, but dangerous and instantly and imminently so.

I bid her goodnight, and left feeling a bit more at ease. My misgivings seemed so silly. She was a strange girl in some ways, yes, but nothing more than a bit eccentric and a bit ill. This was what I got for staying at home when my other friends had opted to spend the summer in Canterlot proper, enjoying the sights and sounds of the ancient fortress city. Ah, but I opted for a quieter season at home! I had thought to what, find some inspiration in the rustic environment? Try my hand at my being a lady of the people? It was no wonder I was bored to the point of inventing phantoms where there are none.

That night was strange.

My dreams were confused, feverish things, that I remember well. I also recall tossing and turning in my bed trying to fall asleep permanently. But nothing seemed to help me to prolong my stay in the lands of sleep, and at length I rose and found a robe to go over my nightgown. If tossing and turning would do no good, then nothing would but time, and I was not going to spend that time lying like a fool and staring at the ceiling.

I had in mind nothing more than a brief foray, a casual stroll. At most, I had in mind a light snack from the kitchen. Insomnia has ever been a struggle for me, but it is not such a fearsome enemy. Generally a short walk down to the kitchens for bread is enough to settle me for the night.

I left my room only after lighting the small candle on my desk, making sure that I brought along my matches in case a sudden draft snuffed out my only source of light.

The manor is strange, at night. Perhaps all grand structures are strange in the absence of light in a way that twists them into something else entirely. I am used to the great hall of my ancestral house being warm and well-lit, with the occasional bit of song.

It is, generally, a warm and loving place. A safe place. It is dry in every storm, sturdy against the winds and travails of time, secure against war and expropriation. I have fond memories of running along the lengths of the hall as a child, mischievous and alive. Older, I remember my mother teaching me needlework at the long table, and every time that I work with my hands I recall the warmth emanating from the great fireplace and the smell of dinner on its way.

But at night, it is different.

At night, when you leave the hallway behind and step out onto the stair, clutching the banister, nothing of that warm world remains. The moon filters in through the windows, casting the the crossbar’s shadows on the empty table of my forefathers. The stairs and the stones are cold to the touch, and cold against my bare feet.

The shadows seem fuller. No, deeper. Solid. No longer frail things cast by the sun but entities unto themselves, dependant on nothing for their being,not cast but instead present and rising up out of the masonry.

I descended the stair, clutching the banister with my right hand and holding high my lonely candle with the left. Not for the first time, I cursed my father’s luddite attitude towards the new magic and the new sciences. One of those odd pre-fabricated spells, a light one, that would have been a blessing. As it was I tread carefully, able to see only a few steps ahead.

I had made this trip many times before, and so feared nothing in the dark.

And yet, as I left the stairwell behind I grew nervous. It was not noticeable, at first. Just a passing feeling. Just a slight discomfort in the dark, alone, which is natural to man since long before Canterlot’s hallowed stones were stacked atop each other, with us since before Celestia the ever-radiant, chosen of the sun came to teach peace to our chaos-troubled lands. The fear of the dark is a natural thing. It is a healthy thing. I did not know then how perilous the dark was, and yet my mind knew, the part of it which knows without need for recourse to the thinking brain.

Perhaps it was not merely the dark, at first. Perhaps even then I knew.

Something was watching me. Someone.

Do you know the feeling of being watched? Of course you do. I doubt there is a soul who has not felt it. It starts as an idea which burrows into any train of thought, followed by a slight shiver, a feeling of unease, the compulsion to turn swiftly to face the intruder.

These I felt, and so I did, stopping and turning at the door to the manor’s kitchen. I swung my candle out as if it were some kind of sword. Ridiculous! Yet I did it, as if darkness could be challenged in such a way. But there was nothing. Of course there was nothing. It was merely my imagination, playing an unkind trick on my weary nerves.

I turned back, and entered. I had proved that there was no cause for alarm, and yet I recall that I moved swiftly, somehow not convinced. I procured bread and cheese from the larders, and sat at the small servant’s table with my candle resting in its holder as the centerpiece.

Chuckling, as much from the sudden outburst as from the scene, I thought to myself that it was a rather lovely romantic candle-lit dinner for one. How emblematic of my own life, I thought, that I should enjoy it not only alone, but burdened by my own imagination. I was a great lover of stories of romance, yet I had nary a suitor. It was a bitter moment. Also, a self-indulgent one.

The universe grew bored with my self-pity, it seemed, for it sent to me a curious and ironic gift.

There were soft footfalls, and I paused mid-bite to listen with bated breath. In the day, such a sound would have meant nothing at all to me. Company, merely that. But somewhere between my door and that table I had lost my poise.

And who arrived to accompany me that night but Twilight Sparkle herself, in a nightgown not unlike my own--I found out later it was in fact my own, borrowed by my mother’s insistence--watching from the door way. She offered no greeting, and did not smile the knowing smile she had worn at dinner. No, she watched.

I swallowed. Why did she say nothing? Was she ill? So I spoke first, and cursed the sound of my voice. “Having trouble with sleep?”

“Not at all,” she said. And then at last her face shifted. She smiled. She looked, I remember thinking, more human. “Mainly because I never really tried. Some nights I am unable to sleep.”

“Ah, because of your sickness?” I asked.

“Yes. It is not contagious, again I feel I must say that it is not, but it is vexing. Might I sit with you?”

I both did and did not wish that she would. But a lady is never rude to a guest. I nodded, and gestured to the other seat.

She did not walk over so much as glide, and we faced each other around the rough, circular table.

She smiled, and her eyes never left mine. “Hungry?” she asked.

“Not particularly,” I answered. “But food sometimes has a somnolent effect, I find. Insomnia is a curse.”

“Indeed it is, though as curses run it is rather mild. Some of the things I’ve seen…” she chuckled. “I would rather insomnia be the worst of our troubles.”

I balked a bit. “Pray tell?”

Her smile turned sad, or did I imagine it? I know it was, now. “Yes. Did I tell you of my tutelage and trade at dinner?”

“You did not.”

“I studied under the Princess. She tutored me rigorously in the magical arts, and I daresay that I am proficient. I am, in fact, technically still her student.”

I started at this. “Truly? A student of the Celestia, princess and all? My word! I had no idea that we played host to a mage in the making!”

“Aye.” She chuckled. “Something of that nature.”

I took another bite of my late-night sandwich and thought. “Ah, my friend, I do have a question. If you are here, then how can you be a student?”

“All students of magic wander. Eventually, anyhow. Have you heard of a journeyman? It is like that. Some leave for only a few months. My own wanderings have lasted seven so far. Seven long, long months.”

“Ah! That explains why you would travel while seeming so weak,” I said, before I could think better of it. I probably flushed in horror and tried to temper what I had said, but she waved it off.

“Do I seem weak? Ah, I suppose I do. I assure you that I am not, not in the way that you are thinking. At any rate, I do not find that my magic suffers for it.”

And then she worked magic for me. The first true magic that I had ever seen, not something pre-fabricated or bought from a trader in scrolls, but honest mage’s power. Smirking, Twilight snapped her fingers and called up fire like a prophet out of the age of legends.

I regretfully admit that I fell from my chair in shock and that she moved with an almost catlike grace to catch me in mid fall. I was beyond mortified, but she seemed rather calm. The fire hung in mid-air, unattended, but this did not seem to bother her.

She set me up again, and I beheld her work. “By the stars… you must think me a country rube,” I said. “Some shabby country gentry, that knows nothing of the world. But I tell you the truth, we have no workers of miracles such as you in this town of ours, nor in all my father’s holdings.”

She snuffed out the flame and only when we were in total darkness did I realize that my bumbling had killed the fire of my candle. I shivered.

“You would be hardpressed, I think, to find one such as I,” Twilight Sparkle said.

“Friend, might I trouble you to relight my…” But she already had. I offered her a smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I sighed. “Truly, I find myself for the first time utterly outmatched. You are a fascinating person. I’ve always wanted to go to Canterlot and see the beautiful streets and the miracles that the mages work, and now you’ve traipsed into my own manor to tell me that you have learned at the foot of the Princess herself. Next you will tell me that you were born there!”

“Ah, but I was.”

I leaned in. I had quite forgotten all thoughts of food or sleep. No, I was wide awake. “Then darling, you simply must tell me all about it. Every detail that you can bring to mind! I had so hoped to stay there this summer with my friends, but I was unable to persuade them.” I paused. “Funny. Ironic, perhaps. I am only here at all because I wished so fervently to go, and yet I find that Canterlot has come to me, instead.”

“The world does, on occasion, have a sense of humor,” said the young prodigy who sat so casually before me, reclined and almost lazy. Lazy in the way that a tiger who knows that it need not expend much energy to catch its prey is lazy. Indolent, even. “But I would not be so quick to assume that it not… ah, a wicked sense of humor,” she finished with a tight smile.

And she told me of Canterlot. She did not seem impressed, it is true, but to me? To a girl of the country manor, it was all wonderful. A many-tiered city of ancient walks and high society. What she described as boring and shallow I imagined as the height of the sophistication I had so often dreamed of, embedded as I was in environs that were decidedly not befitting one with a temperament such as mine.

At least, that was what I thought.

She asked me in return to tell her of my own life, what little there was to tell. I spun a tale or two, but it was when I mentioned my work that she paused.

“Truly now?” she said.

“Yes,” I replied, feeling suddenly exposed. “I admit that it is not the most… noble of things, using that term to refer to station. It is honest work, though, and my father has approved. The Belle family maintains business connections in many cities, and he says that as his heir I should have some knowledge of the ways of the world.”

“Dresses? Might I see some of your designs? I confess I know little of such things.”

“But surely—”

She shook her head. “House Sparkle was never one for ostentation, and in this I live up to its legacy.”

Oddly, this made me feel rather more at ease with letting her see what I had created on my own. I bit my lip, debating. It was rather late, and yet as I gazed into her beautiful, dark eyes, I could not imagine denying her this. Certainly not when it meant a chance to show off my work!

So I stood and gave her my most winning smile. “Come, then, and I’ll show you.”

I reached for the candle, only for it to float towards me of its own accord. I stared at it, open-mouthed and bewildered, until Twilight laughed.

“You truly haven’t seen much magic. I can carry this, if you like.”

“Certainly!” I said, and strode off into the darkness with her to light the way.

Twilight was a silent companion. The feeling of being watched did not return, but I was constantly aware of her presence by my side.

I think that she made me nervous. Not in a fearful way, but in the way that one feels with nothing to say standing before a Princess. At least, that is how I imagine such a situation would feel. I filled the air with mindless, empty talk, and she nodded or smiled in turn as was appropriate, but I cannot recall a word of it.

At my own room, I halted and momentarily panicked. Was it tidy? How could I let such a refined Canterlonian see my apartments in disarray? I knew they would be, for I had no other place to work my art and I have ever worked best in a sort of comfortable chaos.

But before I could warn her, Twilight Sparkle coughed. “Well? Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asked with a smile more like the ones at dinner, knowing with just the slightest touch of mockery, not of a malicious sort but rather as if some ridiculous foible were being put to scrutiny.

“Do go in,” I said in a huff. “Are all in Canterlot as formal as you?”

She strode ahead of me. “No, not all.”

I followed her, and went straight to the desk. I motioned for her Twilight to set the candle down, and I lit my second one. Not that it would provide enough light, but one did what one could.

“I am sorry that there isn’t more light,” I said. “But…”

Twilight snapped her fingers, and it was day again.

Or, rather, my room itself was lit by a great light that Twilight held in her hands. “The snapping,” she told me, “is just a bit of showmanship. I find that it comforts people to be able to attach some physical action to magic.”

“So you don’t need to do that?” I asked, averting my eyes from the light.

“Not at all. I need only a working mind to cast magic. It is mostly a silent art.” She had taken a place on my bed, and sat almost catlike atop it. She was beautiful, stunningly so. I had thought so before, but it occurred to me all over again, it seemed, alone here in her company. She was almost… statuesque. That was the word I struggled to bring to mind at the time. She seemed less a woman and more an artist’s dream of one.

I turned quickly, feeling rather silly for having lingered staring. No doubt she thought me rude. Besides, I had a sketchbook to find. And find it I did, buried under a bolt of fabric, for goddesses above only knew what reason. Quickly, I turned and sat on my floor, skimming through the pages.

Few things can prompt me to throw off my studied propriety and manners, but art has always been one of them. A lady does this and does that, but when I am talking of art, of work, I am not a lady but merely Rarity Belle, and I need not stand on ceremony.

I found some of the newer ones, the better ones, and rose to sit on my bed beside her. I held the book out, feeling the familiar rush that one feels when unveiling a beloved creation. “Go on!”

“Can I look at the other pages?” she asked, taking the book in both hands.

“Of course. Of course! In fact, nothing would make me happier.” I gushed at each page as she looked through the little book, ecstatic. Occasionally she would hum or comment appreciatively, but she said little until at last she looked up. I had not noticed just how close I had moved to her until we were face to face, only a few inches apart.

“Your draughtmanship is superb. Are you self-taught?” she asked.

Feeling, again, ridiculous, I moved back a bit. “Ah, no. I mean, to an extent I am. One of my father’s friends patronizes a young artist who father paid to teach me the basics. But from there I simply honed my skill in private.”

She nodded. “I am impressed. You should be proud of that skill. Might I see your charcoal for a moment?”

“Hm? Oh! Yes, certainly.” And so I fumbled like a fool looking for it.

As soon as it was in her hand, Twilight found a new page and went to work.

I had, for a brief and foolish moment, thought that I had found some art or skill or anything that I could confidently say that I had bested Twilight in, but that was dashed. She worked swiftly, with nary a pause, and I leaned in until I was touching her as I watched in awe. She worked with such skill, such precision! Surely she was an artist.

It was a bit like watching creation, if I might be dramatic here, where no one shall scoff. Before my very eyes she willed a winding city street, populated with people and lined with shops. Some of them were human, but others had wings, and still others were nothing at all, too far from the vantage of her art, mere shadows to suggest a thrumming, living crowd.

I do not know how long I leaned against her, watching in rapt attention, but it was only after she had finished and set my charcoal aside and let me stare that I felt her cheek against my own, cold as ice, yet strangely pleasant. Not like ice, no. Like a cool breeze that comes in the window on a scorching day.

I drew back, startled. “Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry!”

She smiled that easy, casual smile. “Why? You were warm.”

My mouth worked, but no response to that was forthcoming. “What a forward thing to say,” I said at last, and I am quite sure that my face was practically aflame.

“And it was not forward to do what you did?” she teased.

“I… My word.” I looked away. “I was simply excited. It has been so long since I could share this side of myself with anyone that I became overexcited.”

“I rather liked it. It’s a street in Canterlot near my favorite donut place. Do you like it?”

“A… pray tell, a what?”

I knew that she was hiding a smile behind her hand, but at least I was spared another bout of laughter. “It’s a pastry of sorts. They come from Griffonia. I’ll have to show you one sometimes. I think you would like them. Of course, I’m of the mind that everyone would like them.”

“Curious,” I said softly, and held my book, returning my gaze to the street. “This is really quite lovely.”

“Not as much as yourself.”

I clutched the book to my chest. “Honestly! I apologized, Twilight, there is no need to tease me so!”

She chuckled. “Of course. Thank you. I’m glad that you like it. I thought you might appreciate a bit of Canterlot scenery. Perhaps I could draw more for you, ‘ere I leave. I might not hold my birthplace with quite the same regard as you, but your ardor for it is… endearing.”

I couldn’t stay annoyed with her for long. The gift was too perfect for that. “Thank you, darling. I will treasure this. You have no idea how happy I am.”

She only smiled. “Your designs are wonderful. Might I show you the ones I liked the best?”

I gave her back the book, and she pointed them out. A few, she said, bore remarkable similarity to dresses she had seen at formal functions at the palace, and while I was annoyed that they were not quite as original as I would have liked, to be so close to the real thing! Oh, it was a heady draught, and I was drunk on the excitement in short order.

And Twilight, through it all, did not take her eyes off of me for very long.

Author's Note

From the Gdoc:

Words words words channel Stoker a bit

I write now in this diary for the first time in many years. All the energetic sex really takes it out of you for writing. And since I’ve been having absolutely SINFUL banging on the regular, I’ve not really had the time to leave my orgasmic haze to do, well, anything. That would require clothes, for one, and frankly I’ve forgotten how or why clothes were a thing. How did I live before all of this absolutely bitchin’ lesbianoge was happening Seriously, I think all the incredible sex has wiped my memory. Is that a thing? Oh man how would I even know??

II. The Self, Which Is In Despair, Desires To Be What It Is Not

The next morning at breakfast, Father broke the news: Twilight Sparkle would be staying with us.

Not forever, mind you. But her sickness, whatever it was, had become worsened by her constant moving back and forth. Bartleby had asked my father to let his niece stay behind and await his eventual return. I thought it was quite reasonable, and that my Father was generous to offer to host the dear without compensation, though the merchant offered him a reasonable sum. The House of Belle would not take money for such a thing, after all! Generosity has ever been our watchword.

As for myself? I was pleased. Beyond pleased! Despite the oddness of our first impressions, the thought of more time with this fascinating girl was the best news I’d heard in a while. For a moment, the summer laid out before me seemed much less dreary.

It was then that I noticed that Twilight herself was absent.

Curious, I asked her guardian why this was so. Old Bartleby Beetle, a man who I had never seen be anything but boisterous and lively, seemed rather drained as he responded that Twilight was ill. In fact, he continued, seeming quite worried, Twilight had not left bed since the night before and her weakness this morning had prompted his request of my father. He had considered it, but looking the facts in the face he had realized that it would be unseemly to bring her along any further. She had protested, of course, but he insisted that he had been quite firm about it.

I was of two minds. On the one hand, I was surprised and worried for my new friend’s health. To not be able to rise at all? That seemed more serious than I had expected when she spoke of her illness. Yet, even as I was concerned for her, there was the rebirth of the lingering doubt. She had spoken of herself as ill, yes, but she had certainly not appeared to be so! If anything, our new guest had been the perfect picture of health, putting aside her admittedly odd pallor and the coolness of her hands.

Doubt. Was it mistrust? I don’t think so. Suspicion is perhaps a better word. I never felt that I had a reason to mistrust or alienate myself from Twilight Sparkle. It was more that I always sensed there was more to know, and even from the beginning I wished to uncover whatever secret lay buried in her.

Breakfast over, I resolved to see Twilight. But Bartleby had to say his goodbyes first, and I could not break away. By the time everything was packed and he was off, he seemed much healthier and far more lively. I supposed he was just weary after a long journey. I know that it would take a toll on me, as well. And nervous over his niece, I suppose.

I did go to Twilight. Or, at least, I tried to. I knocked gently on her door before lunch, but she did not answer. I assumed she was asleep, and though I wished to wake her and see, I knew that she needed her sleep. So I waited.

Yet, all that day Twilight did not leave her room. I waited and waited. No, I did not loiter outside her door like a barbarian. I did other things! But still I waited, expecting any moment to see her.

Until at last, around dinner time, Twilight Sparkle arrived.

I had just sat down across from little sister when I saw her first. She descended the stairs with an almost inhuman grace, smiling wanly at us. Yet it seemed she only looked at me as she approached. My parents fawned over her and fretted, but Twilight assured them with ease that she was fine.

She sat beside me, of course, but asked only for a little food. My mother tried to insist, saying that she needed to keep her strength up, but she again assured us that she would be fine with only a little. For once, for perhaps the only time, my mother did not attempt to argue. She simply acquiesced.

I almost missed what she said to me, so astonished was I to see anyone turn away the maternal drive of the Belle clan’s matriarch.

“Even if I am staying because I can’t continue on,” she said softly, as if just for me, “it is a happy accident that I should be here with you. I believe this stay shall be quite an enjoyable one.”

“And why is that?” I asked between sips of wine. “Surely not for my sake.”

She only smiled.

That evening was a rather uneventful one. Most evenings in the manor were peaceful. My younger sister played piano, and as I always do, I listened. I have ever tried to be generous with my time, and especially with her. Twilight accompanied me.

The music room was spacious, with chairs enough for the whole family and a few guests. Often, my family would play music. My parents insisted we be versatile with at least one instrument. I myself started on the piano when I was a bit younger than Sweetie Belle, but moved on to the harp. I tried to play violin in the summer of my sixteenth year, but the teacher that my parents found was, frankly, a great bore and so I dropped it. More’s the pity, I suppose.

And Twilight, once again, sat beside me. Not merely beside me, but right up close. We were only a few inches apart. Throughout my sister’s music, I could not help but be fixated on that closeness. Unbidden, a memory of her saying that I was warm came to mind, and I had to look away to avoid her seeing my mortified dismay.

Sweetie finished her piece, and I clapped with gusto. “Oh, brava! That was splendid,” I said, as my little sister rose from the stool and gave a great exaggerated bow. I admit, though she vexes me often, I am always fond of her.

Sweetie turned to Twilight. “Do you play, miss?”

Twilight arched an eyebrow at her. “Do I play? Well, only a bit. Shall I show you?”

Sweetie nodded eagerly, and vacated her spot to sit by me as Twilight leisurely strolled over to the piano. She situated herself, taking far too long to do so, in my opinion, and then stretched. She hummed, and locked eyes with me. “What shall I play? I know a few pieces by heart.”

“Oh, any old thing,” I said, knowing she was about to show off. I could see it coming a mile away. And yet I was still eager to witness her do so.

“Any old thing?” She chuckled.

And then she began to play “Fur Elise” easily and effortlessly. It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Not bad,” I said, cracking a smile. “But it’s a bit easy, isn’t it? I learned that when I was Sweetie’s age.”

But she did not seemed perturbed. “Indeed it is. I did not mean to make a show of myself, but if you insist, I believe I shall.”

What came next even now I find hard to describe. I have heard more music than one might expect, living as I do at the fringes of the modern trends here in the country. But my mother insisted on keeping up with the latest works, and often acquired new records for the gramophone in the corner of the room. But I had never heard anything quite like what she played.

It began with a jerk. Short staccato notes that almost seemed violent, but then she moved on, and before I could recover from the abrupt introduction, her fingers flew over the keys and drew me into a maelstrom of sound. And then it ended, again, and we were wandering. The right hand played a fluttering bit, almost like a bird from tree to tree, whilst the left like a traveller in some murky wood meandered downwards.

I could almost see it, you see. Whatever this strange music was, it painted an image in my mind of, well, myself. Myself in a strange and foreboding wood, the mist of morning curling around my every step.

And then the music rose to a fever pitch, only to drop. Again. Again, and then it swelled in a cacophony that was almost unbearable, and I saw myself running through those same woods, something behind me. Perhaps Twilight herself? Perhaps it was, but I had no time to dwell on it, for she landed at last on a grand chord.

The song that came after was different. Stately. Regal. At the time, the image in my mind broke up and was replaced by sunlight streaming in through the trees, and an image of myself at the edge of this grim wood, Canterlot in its splendour, shining in the light of day.

When she was finished I was breathless, and when she stood I also stood, clapping for her.

“Did that suit you?” she asked, grinning.

I had forgotten all about her boasting and her demeanor, so enthralled by her skill was I. My sister took her turn next, and Twilight returned to my side, but I confess I thought very little about anything but the way she had played. So full of passion! Wild and yet in control of the chaos which rolled from the engine of sound that she had transformed our piano into briefly.

My sister, when she was finished, asked that I take my turn. I hesitated, but Twilight at my side spoke up.

“You play as well, then? I had suspected.”

“Yes, a bit. I’m more familiar with the harp,” I said, suddenly feeling shy in the presence of one more skilled than I. “Where did you learn to play? Do all students of magic learn such a thing?”

“It is common for Celestia’s students to take up some instrument or another,” she said. “I have… improved, I guess you could say, since I first left my teacher. Changed, if you will.”

“Ah. Well…”

“Do play. I would love to hear.”

I relented, and sat down at the piano. It seemed only right that I should follow suit, after all. I stretched out and touched the keys. How long had it been since I had played by myself? And what do I remember well enough to muddle through without humiliating myself before not only my sister, but this prodigy of all arts?

“Can’t think of anything?” she asked.

“Just… thinking,” I said, and bit my lip. “A lady should never rush, you know.”

She chuckled. “Of course. I defer to you in this, Lady Rarity. Though there is no need to be shy about it.”

“I am not,” I said with a huff, for I often did things in that way when Twilight was around, and began to play.

Something simple. It was night, wasn’t it? I could play the song that most reminded me of night.

“Moonlight Sonata?” Twilight asked, and I looked up at her. There was something about her face in that brief moment that gave me pause. For just that moment, some of the self-assured mask fell away.

I am not a genius. I am not, to be honest, very skilled. But what I am is precise. Where I lack in speed and daring I make up for with precision, at least in this one area.

I looked back down at my hands, keeping track of what I was doing, and that was when I heard it. Mirroring the movement of my hands, the sound of a violin. My own, in fact, abandoned a few years ago but kept in prime condition all the while, waiting to be played again.

I could not tell you how long we played. I did not care to know. All I knew was that we played in tandem, with nary a beat missed, and that when I looked up her eyes were on me and there was none of her earlier eagerness to impress. I felt, for perhaps the first time, that Twilight saw me as an equal in an area in which she excelled, and I could not help but feel warm at that.

That night, I had a strange dream.

I dreamt that I lay alone in bed. Nothing strange about that. I had just woken, by what I did not know, when I felt my bed move beneath me slightly. I did not see what moved it. I could not, at first, move at all.

Something cold and soft touched my cheek, and immediately I knew that it was someone’s hand. I blinked, and found that I could move my head, and tried to find the source.

Twilight Sparkle, smiling down at me, sat on the edge of my bed. Her back was to me, and she leaned slightly back, so that I could see only a ghostly suggestion of her face. But her eyes seemed almost to glow, strange as it is to say. Like small crimson moons, perfect twins. But I was not dismayed by this. I was calm. Absolutely calm.

The hand slid across my cheek and one finger rested gently on my lips.

“You look lovely,” she said softly, this ghostly dream image of our guest. “More lovely than the others by far. None were quite as interesting, either.”

I did not understand, and she seemed to accept that.

“None so…” She chuckled. “Promising, perhaps. It’s unfortunate, but we do what we must. Do you know what I’m about to do to you? For a moment… Nevermind. You won't remember this, will you? I almost wish you could,” she said.

My eyes felt so heavy. “What? Twilight?”

She shushed me and leaned down so I could hear her whisper. “Now, now. None of that. How do you feel? I hadn’t expected you to be so alert.”

“I feel… sleepy,” I said, my voice almost slurring. “You woke me up. Are you alright?”

I tried to sit up, to ask her more questions, but she shook her head and for some reason this took much of the will out of me.

“I’m fine,” she said. “More than fine. Well, aside from two things. I’m cold, for starters. Would you help me with that?”

“Of course,” I murmured. “A… Mmm. No lady of House Belle would be so ungenerous as…”

Whatever else I might have said was lost. Her brow furrowed a moment, but then smoothed, which made me glad. She was so beautiful, and I hated to see even the slightest cloud of doubt or worry to mar that beauty.

“Sh, none of that. You are a generous soul, aren’t you? I appreciate that.”

I did not know how it happened, but perhaps in my weariness I passed back into sleep. When next I was aware, she was beneath the covers beside me, and we faced each other. She was humming something… I couldn’t think of what it was, but I’m sure I knew it. Her hand was on my cheek again, and perhaps because I was only half-conscious, I nuzzled it as if I were a child again.

This seemed to amuse her. Again, she moved a finger to my lips. “I’m going to ask a favor of you, Rarity. Will you help me?”

“Of… Of course.”

“If I needed your help to get better, would you help me?”

“Yes,” I said. “What do you need?”

“Only a bit of permission to ease my heart,” she said softly. She trailed her finger down, past my chin, lightly across my neck, down. Any dismay or shock I should have felt as it lightly touched my chest was dulled by the enchantment of her eyes, crimson and full of otherworldly light. They seemed to take up everything, but I knew that was silly.

She moved closer, and my breath caught but I did not know why until she kissed me. Her lips were cold, yes, but I could not experience them as anything other than bliss. I did not stop to think, or to be alarmed, or anything. Her lips left mine, moved down. I felt a hand in my hair, tugging slightly, and I obeyed the wordless command, groaning softly, not even knowing why I was groaning, and then a sharp pain--

I woke the next morning in a daze.

I have never been a morning person by nature, but rare are the times when I cannot rise until my sister comes loudly to besiege my door with tidings of breakfast.

I rose, and felt as if three decades of age were piled on me. Every part of me ached as if I had run to the sea and back in one go, and when I all but rolled out of bed in the most undignified manner I laid on the floor a solid minute. Only the incessant knocking of Sweetie Belle could rouse me from my lethargy.

I felt drained and exhausted all the way through breakfast, but food does wonders for the soul. I attributed my malaise to waking up in the night. I vaguely recalled a dream at the time, or at least something like a dream, but that was all. It was of little concern. Sometimes, one simply finds it hard to wake up in the morning.

The day after was an average summer’s day. I took Sweetie Belle into town and chatted with the townsfolk as she found some gaggle of children to frolic with. We took lunch on the lawn, and I had tea with mother in the shade of our gnarled oak, and we watched Father on the green below organizing some of the youths in some ridiculous game or other. It was pleasant. Almost perfect.

The one fly in the ointment was Twilight, much as it had been the day before. My parents did not seem to think anything strange of her absence when I inquired. She was ill, they said, and needed to rest during the day.

Well, I did not let it burden me overmuch. I had a wonderful night with her, did I not? I looked forward to hearing her play piano for me again. I was no longer quite as interested in her as a Canterlonian, for now I wanted to hear of other things. I wished to know about her studies, and about what she liked and what she had seen. There was something about her that was practically intoxicating, something learned and confident in the ways I had often wished myself to be, though perhaps not quite in the way she was.

Perhaps, I thought as I smiled under the oak, she would show me some magic if I asked.

Again, Twilight did not appear until dinner time, as the sun was in retreat. And again, she ate little, yet seemed perfectly healthy. In fact, she seemed to be doing much better than at any other time. For the first time since I had met her, our guest looked hale and wholesome.

She was lively at dinner, and spoke of all sorts of things. It was almost as if she were in three conversations all at once. With my father she bandied barbed jokes and stories from the realm at large with insight that astonished. With my mother, she traded stories of her own mother and a childhood spent in the Palace, and with my sister she spoke with fluent ease the language of youth, asking her about the village children and their games. And with myself? Ah, but that was different.

It was odd, really. At first, she did not seem inclined to look at me. I was puzzled, but when I asked her if she would like to retire with me to the music room again that night, she blinked and then smiled warmly at me. I wondered at her odd behavior, for it was not merely that she had not paid attention. No, at first she seemed almost to avoid me and my gaze. But once that interdiction was broken, it was as if I was taken into her secret counsel. It was as if I was in on things, on the inside of a circle of two, and her asides to me were meant for me alone to understand, as if it were all tangential to the two of us.

She was amenable, and in the music room I played my harp for her at length. It was restful, and after I had played a few pieces, I kept a repeating arpeggio going, some simple thing I could do without thinking, and we spoke.

“Tell me about magic,” I said.

She smirked. “What do you wish to know? My knowledge on the subject is vast. Shall I explain the nine transformations of Starswirl? Or perhaps my own variations on the forty-seven forms? Alchemy, perhaps, if that suits my Lady’s fancy.”

“I know that you’re intelligent,” I said, not looking up from the strings. “You needn’t prove yourself, you know.”

I looked up, one eyebrow raised. She seemed taken aback at that, but only a moment. “Perhaps it seems that I boast, when I aim only to inform.”

“Perhaps.”

“Ah, but I won’t fool you, I see. I confess that it has been a problem of mine since I was a girl.” She hummed. “Magic. What would you like to know?”

“Anything,” I said quietly, still playing. “What is it like?”

“Potential.”

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly,” she said with a smile. This smile was more honest than the one before, more genuinely Twilight and less of this arrogant genius mask that she carried about. “When you say ‘what does it mean’ you have struck the root of it. What is it? What does it mean? The unanswered space! The blank! Magic is that which worms its way out of our grasp whenever we try to close our fist around it. It is the potentiality of things, so Starswirl said it, frustrated old man as he was. Ah, but I fear I’m going about this the wrong way. You think of magic as… as a trick. As a machine, of sorts. This is the wrong way to think of it. It is natural philosophy. It is less a machine and more… a web. To call it a system would do it a grave injustice.”

“Goodness. That seems complicated.”

“It is,” Twilight said. “I miss the school.”

I stopped playing long enough to reach across and touch her hand. “Dear, it isn’t as if you’ll never go back.”

She startled, and then took a deep breath. “You’re right,” she said at last. “It isn’t as if I can never go back.”

Things went much the same, after that. Day in and day out, we fell into a pattern. Life was normal and carefree in the daylight, and in the night time Twilight was constantly beside me. We played music together, we took strolls through town under the stars and talked. I learned of magic, and for once in my life, listened to an honest-to-Celestia lecture on anything. In those magical evenings we spoke of everything from the mundane day-to-day to the mysteries and the arts. She asked after my family, about my dreams of a studio in one of the cities.

And I told her everything, that first week that we knew each other. Twilight could at times be a bit too full of herself, but she never belittled me. Not on purpose, mind you. She boasted, but she was just as quick to encourage. She knew so much, and I wanted to learn it all. I couldn’t fathom what interest, if any, she had in me. Yet she never seemed to grow bored or tired in my company, and I was thankful for that.

And I slept well. Until the one night I dreamed a strange dream yet again.

It did not begin quite the same way. I found myself on my side, facing the window. She rested there, one arm propped on the sill, looking out. I thought of whispering to get her attention, but I did not. It was only a dream, after all, I remember thinking hazily.

Before I could examine that, she turned and smiled at me. It was her warm smile, not the boastful, prideful one. “Good evening,” she said. “I waited, though I know you don’t know that.”

“Hm?”

“I did. Are you well?”

I nodded. The poor dear, standing in nothing but a shift at the window. She would catch cold, wouldn’t she? It never occurred to me to wonder why she was in my room, of all places. She was here, and that was what mattered. I pulled the covers back.

“You’ll catch cold,” I told her.

She held my gaze for a moment with those eyes of hers, and then she smiled. “Indeed I will. Thank you for the invitation,” she said, and glided over to the bed.

She did not merely slide in beside me, as one might expect. No, Twilight Sparkle was not one for half measures. She planted a knee on my mattress and arched herself over me, still smiling, leaning down slowly.

It was a strange dream, and as strange dreams often go, it made little sense. Why else would our fascinating, wonderful guest lean into kiss me as she did, soft lips on mine, chasing away all thoughts of her illness for a moment. I did not think of saying no--or rather, there was no reason to think this. I found I wanted her to kiss me, and that I wanted her to continue doing so as long as she was willing to.

Twilight maneuvered herself so that she straddled my waist, and like the dream before, I felt her hand on my cheek. I touched it, just lightly brushing my hand across.

It was not like the time before. It felt different. Clearer, for one. Before, it had been like my eyes saw mist and light and little else, but now I saw clearly as Twilight broke our kiss and leaned back. Her hand trailed down my cheek, down my neck, and rested in the valley between my breasts, on top of my night gown. Even through the fabric, I could feel the slightest chill of her touch. Was she always so cold? Why was she...

“Still concerned for me?” Twilight asked with a smirk.

To which I frowned and said, “Of course. You’re… Mmm. Forgive me…” I yawned again, suddenly feeling lightheaded as I gazed up into her eyes. “You’re ill…”

“Yes. Won’t you help? I’ve felt so faint.” Her hand moved down to my stomach, until she was running her hand along a line above my waist. Twilight’s touch was gentle, light, sometimes seeming only to vanish but never completely leaving me for more than a second.

“I would love to,” I said. “What can I do?”

She just chuckled. “Only lie still for a moment.”

She paused, staring down at me intensely, and a brief shadow passed over her face. I wondered why, but she did not seem to be close to providing an explanation. It did not please me to see her even the slightest bit troubled, and yet there was a small silly part of me that adored the way she pouted in thought. I gave her a smile. Whatever it was, I’m sure she would figure it out.

“I could…” she trailed off. “Do you think that I am beautiful?”

And because this was a dream, a vivid dream, and my senses were afire, I said: “Yes. Very much so. I find it hard to keep from staring in an unseemly way.”

Her eyebrows raised, and she played with the top button of my gown. “Hm. And what do you think, when you see me coming down the stairwell in the evening? Oh, that would be… nice to hear, yes, but a different question. I could make this even better for you, if you wish. Have you ever thought to lie in the arms of another woman?”

“No,” I said, and then shook my head, still feeling a little dizzy every time I met her eyes. “Yes. From time to time.”

She hummed, and undid the top button. I felt what she was doing, and I suppose I could have watched, but I didn’t want to. It felt imperative that I focus on her eyes.

“And you liked the idea, did you? You enjoyed the… aesthetics of it, I guess you could put it.”

“Yes,” I answered. Hearing my own voice was strange. Did I always sound thus? I was about to ask, but Twilight continued. She wore a look… it was, at the time, hard to describe. It was as if a dozen emotions warred across her beauty, but none marred it. But one of them I recognized, though I scarce think I could call it emotion: desire. I shivered. And even though it was nothing but a strange, strange dream, I reciprocated that desire. The idea of it alone was heady.

“What if it were me? Would you object to that?”

“Not at all,” I said, perhaps too eagerly, my voice still odd in my own ear.

“Good.”

Another button. Another. She moved down until the gown parted to my waist and then she stopped. The air was cool as it flowed between the parted ends of fabric, but I did not complain. I just watched her.

Twilight moved up a bit and kissed me firmly as she slipped her cool hand through the gap and touched me lightly, fingers grazing the skin.

I gasped and then stifled a little groan against her sweet lips. But she did not release me, nor was this touch as fleeting as the ones before it had been. It ended only as she slid the gown off of my shoulders entirely, exposing my upper half in full to the summer night. My first reaction was to cover myself, suddenly bashful even in the liberty of dreaming, but she caught my hand in a gentle vice and grinned victoriously.

“None of that,” she said. “Art should be witnessed, you know. Appreciated without anything in the way.”

I flushed, feeling warm even in the night air, and looked away briefly. “C-charming, that,” I murmured, but she turned my head back to see her almost wicked grin.

“It’s what I do best,” she replied, and once again let her hands fall from my chin and run down my neck. Except this time she stayed there, her touch light, like a soft vice. I trembled slightly, unsure why I did, mind racing with thoughts.

Still atop me, I saw her differently for just a moment. Powerful, skilled, masterful in her control. She could and she would do what she liked, and I knew unshakeably that I would acquiesce without an ounce of resistance. It excited me. More than excited, I was enthralled.

She released me, though there had never been an ounce of pressure, and then moved off of me. I whined, not wanting her to go, but she only chuckled and adjusted her position so that she was supported on her hands, almost mirroring me.. Before I could ask what she was doing, she had already begun. I felt her lips on the peak of one breast and her chilled touch on the other, and nothing could back my reaction. I moaned into her hair, trying to curl up around her more by instinct than by choice, as if to hold her in place, but Twilight was ahead of me already.

With her free hand, she held me down, and stopped her ministrations over another of my soft whines. “Sh. We should get you of this, don’t you think? I do believe it’s in the way.”

“Only… only if you do as well,” I managed.

More and more this felt like a dream, but my desire did not falter. If anything it grew. I wanted her to undress me as I had, guiltily, tried not to do with my eyes on our walks. I wanted to feel her skin on mine, pressed tightly to me. I wanted her eldritch, enchanting gaze and…

I barely remember how it happened. My mind burned as if in fever as she undid the rest of the buttons and let me somewhat awkwardly squirm my way into nakedness. She only chuckled once, and before I could remark on it she was behind me, one arm tight around my stomach and the other cupping a breast. I gasped.

“H-how are you so quick?”

She kissed my neck and I shivered at the way it sent warmth down my spine. “If you have not noticed by now that I’m swift… Perhaps I merely have clever fingers.”

“I was… I was, ah, counting on it.”

She didn’t reply with words. She scooted closer and pressed herself to my back. Cool to the touch, yes, but just the thought of it, contact itself, sent my mind reeling. I felt lucid but I no longer cared if this were a dream or something else entirely.

Perhaps she sensed that, then, as the arm around my stomach loosened and she slipped her hand down, down, searching until she was running one finger along the outside of my sex, teasing. “Counting on it? My, forward aren’t you, Rarity? What was it you were hoping for again?”

I groaned, this time in frustration, and she simply nuzzled my neck and then kissed my bare shoulder. “Hm?”

“I… I…”

“If you can’t ask, how will I know what you want?” Twilight continued, her tone light as if it were nothing more than lunch that she was talking about.

The words—a horde of them—were right there, waiting to be said. But I couldn’t. It was so uncouth. It was so not like me. But she would just keep teasing me until I said them. Torturing me with small glimpses of what she could do until I gave her what she wanted.

I was already breathless just thinking about it, and feeling an almost shameful need. “Please?”

“Please what? It’s only words, Rarity. I know what you want. Your body betrays you in that.” She pulled her hand from my breast and raked her nails along my leg, not too harshly, but enough to pull out an altogether embarrassing sound from me. Stars above, but I couldn’t hold out like this and she knew it. “After all, isn’t it more ladylike to ask? Surely you agree. You are the paragon of proper behavior between the pair of us. I know what I want. I just want to hear—”

“Please do it,” I said. “T-touch me. Just… ravish me. Do what you will, but please!” I said, throat feeling tight, all of me feeling far warmer than I would have thought possible.

Twilight obliged me. She slipped a finger in with ease and I tried to cry out, but I couldn’t. She had a hand over my mouth, and I felt her shaking her head into my hair. “Now, don’t be too loud. Wouldn’t want to wake anyone, Lady Rarity. Do you like when I call you that? I think it suits you.”

There was no way I could reply. Not with words, at least. I moaned into her hand, and clamped my legs around her hand, wordlessly demanding that she not stop, that she never stop. Another finger, and I pressed my mouth against her hand to muffle me, and even that didn’t stop all of the noise when I felt her hand against that most sensitive of places.

“So loud,” she chided, and I could almost hear her smiling. “I hadn’t expected that, but I’m delighted. I’m going to take my hand away—no, not that one, don’t you worry—and you won’t be loud, will you? For me?”

I nodded, and bit my lip rather than make a sound. She moved her hand away.

And brought it back to rest against my throat. She did not apply pressure. It was the suggestion of her hand, the suggestion—the possibility—that she might if she wished. It was almost frightening.

And I loved it.

“Y-you can…”

She shushed me, and then I couldn’t say anything. She tightened her grip just slightly, still not constricting anything, and my whole world narrowed down to her skillful fingers and their rhythmic, beautiful movement. It felt better than I could have imagined. But I did not cry out.

I did not last much longer. I could feel myself right at the edge, and I rode it, not wanting it to end, not wanting her to stop even for a second. Her lips were on my shoulder, my back, one hand buried and the other gripping tighter, enough for me to feel it. It was too much.

I came, harder than I had before in my life, and my legs shook slightly as I did. Twilight covered my mouth again but I didn’t care, I was glad for it, I wanted to be as loud as possible as I rode the waves of pleasure.

Feeling weak, I slumped back against her as she withdrew her hand and kissed my neck. “Good,” she said in my ear. “Good. You did well. Did you like it?”

I murmured something and nodded. Talking was difficult. Breathing was a little difficult. My chest heaved.

I was covered in sweat, from the air or excitement or contact. My hair was wild and I knew it, and there was little left of the daytime Rarity, in control of herself and the image that she had constructed of the manor’s lady. I was not that Rarity. I was shameless and I knew it, and I reveled in it. Twilight brought her right hand, the one that had brought me to this point, up and when she commanded I obeyed, suckling her fingers. Tasting myself. It was absolutely insane, but I did not want it to end. It was like being someone else entirely.

Twilight kissed my neck again and hummed against my skin. “I suppose it is my turn,” she said, so softly I could barely hear her.

She gripped a handful of hair in one hand and pulled my head back. Not swiftly but firmly, and I let her happily.

I was eager. But before I could turn to offer anything, I felt her bite down and it was not a normal bite. This was not a lover’s bite. It was sharp, and it went deep, and it was unbelievably painful. And yet at the same time it was as if I had finished again, on the tail-end of the first. The room and the window where the moon shone in grew indistinct, and my sight swam.

III.The Greatest Danger Is Losing the Self

And then I woke up, sprawled on my bed.

I did not move at all, at first. Everything hurt, much as it had the last time I had experienced a strange dream involving Twilight. Even keeping my eyes open seemed difficult. At some point, I drifted into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

Again, just as before, it was my adorable yet far too loud little sister that awoke me with her impudent knocking and her sweet yet incessant calls that I come down for breakfast.

Answering was… difficult. My throat felt dry, and my mind felt fuzzy at best. But I managed. “I can’t.”

She stopped knocking. “You can’t?”

“No,” I croaked. “I’m ill.”

For all I knew, it was true. I had felt bad the time before, but now? I felt exhausted to the point of death. The very idea of rising filled me with dread.

“Oh… Shall I fetch mother? Do you need anything? Is your door locked?”

It was not, because the fates were kind, so I did not need to let her in. I just groaned wordlessly in reply. Eloquent? No, but it served its purpose. My sister opened the door and took one look at me before nodding.

“Yes, I think I should get mother. Don’t go anywhere!”

Yes, as if I could, I thought with a bit too much acid in my internal tone. But she returned swiftly with my mother, her face painted in worry, and somehow this made things worse. She sat down on the edge of my bed, beside me, and put a warm hand against my forehead.

“You say you feel ill, dear? You certainly look it… Goodness, Rarity. But you were doing well yesterday!”

I groaned at her.

“No, it’s alright, don’t feel the need to answer. I can see it written all over your face. You, my sweet, are confined to bed until the color returns to your cheeks. Sweetie Belle, do be a good sister and bring us up a plate, would you? Not too much. Water, as well, and perhaps a bit of orange juice. Yes, yes, I know we don’t have much left from the last merchant coming through, but your sister is in need. Shoo! Away with you.”

She stayed with me much of the morning, feeding me and then trying her best to keep my spirits up. I was of two minds. On one hand, I felt loved and I quite thoroughly appreciated the attention. On the other, it was all a bit undignified and I felt like a child again.

But eventually, she departed. My father visited and sat with me for some time afterwards, talking of small things before some business with the Reeve called him away. Sweetie Belle tried, bless her, but she mostly succeeded in making me feel even more tired. If such were possible, at least.

Lunch was also light, and I was ravenous. Mother didn’t let me have seconds, insisting that I should wait for the doctor to come in from Canterlot in the morning before I overdid things. I complained, because a lady certainly does not whine, but she has ever been stubborn.

After that, I slept off and on. I would wake, find myself still trapped in my room, and then grow bored and drift back into the arms of restless sleep. It did not help. Not really. But the universe chose to have at least some mercy, and eventually my mother brought me a few books from my shelves. Tawdry things, romance novels I’d acquired from the bookseller in town for a pittance, but I adored them despite their cliche-ridden plots. Anything was better than the tedium of recovery.

After the books, the drudgery lightened some. It was not the best day of my life, certainly, but it was strangely pleasant to languish in bed with a book held high above me. By the time the lights had dimmed enough to make reading difficult, I was feeling remarkably better. Tired? Yes. Very tired. The thought of leaving my bed was still abominable. But some of the cheer I hope is characteristic had returned.

But in all of my distress, I had forgotten something. Something I didn’t remember until my sister brought me dinner.

Twilight.

All at once, the dream came back in vivid detail. I was glad that Sweetie Belle had left, for my cheeks were surely aflame recalling the intensity of what I had felt. Gingerly, I held a hand up and touched my neck.

From that moment until my mother came to see me before she went to bed, I waited for Twilight to visit. At last, I asked after her, and my mother frowned.

“I’m sorry, dear, but she wasn’t feeling up to visiting. She asked that I send her regards. She was quite worried about you. I assured her you would be fine. It’s curious,” she said, after a moment, “that your illnesses seem so similar. But it couldn’t be more than coincidence. Her fragility is inherited.”

“Oh? She’d not spoken of it to me,” I said. “What is the nature of her illness, anyhow?”

My mother shrugged. “A general malaise, you could say. The poor dear seems so tired during the day, but she certainly livens up at night. I’m glad the two of you have gotten along so well. It was fortunate that she came along when she did!”

I readily agreed, though my heart ached a bit.

I had grown strangely used to her company so quickly. When she spoke, I could hear the excitement in her voice over the smallest things. I confess, to myself if no one else, that I have never been so… fascinated by any person so quickly before.

I was sure she would visit before I fell asleep again. Absolutely sure. Somehow, I knew there was not much that could keep Twilight away. And, honestly, what else was there for her to do? Without me she would perish of boredom.

My mother rested her hand on my forehead again and sighed. “I’m sure the doctor will have an answer. You’re cold to the touch, dear.”

I shrugged best I could. “I feel much better, at least.”

She smiled at that, and then bid me sit up, which I did begrudgingly. When she informed me that she wanted me to change into a new gown and let her wash the old, I almost rebelled. But she was right, and with much effort I disrobed. My movements were stiff, and I felt strangely uncoordinated.

My mother accepted the garment and I shivered as I quickly donned the new one and returned to my safe haven beneath the covers. I laid on my side and winced.

She made to stand, but then paused.

"Are you alright?"

"It's nothing," I said quickly. The place where my neck had hit the pillow was sore to the touch, extremely so.

“Dear, what is this?”

“Hm? What is what?” I replied, distracted by the strange feeling as I traced it with two fingers.

“This,” she said, and showed me the collar of my gown.

There was a nasty stain on it, darkest red. Asymmetric and… crusty, to be frank. I recoiled in abject disgust. “My word, how…?”

“How indeed,” my mother said, as puzzled as I. “Did you hurt yourself? You would tell me if you had, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course!” I replied, my voice rising a bit in volume as the bewilderment settled in to stay. “I’m as perturbed as you are, Mother. Perhaps… perhaps I cut myself earlier. I was working on… no, I couldn’t have. I would have recalled such an amount of blood, and it's far too much for sticking myself with a needle.”

I offered a helpless shrug, and my mother pondered for a moment more.

“Tell me if you find out,” she said, voice low. “For now… get some rest. The doctor will be here in the morning.”

She bade me goodnight and left me to my devices. Which was to say, she left me to lie in bed and do nothing, for the light from the rising moon was not enough to read by at all.

The good humor that had so buoyed me as I read slipped away into the night as the hours passed. It rallied, briefly, when my sister came to read to me. I was feeling well enough at that time to half-rise from my bed and hug her goodnight, and this helped, but otherwise?

Well. Twilight did not visit, and this was hard to not to be bothered by. Was she sick? Had she grown tired of me? Did she stay away in fear that my weakness would infect her?

There were other possibilities but I did not think of them. Perhaps at that time I could not think of them. The blood on my collar, the vivid dreams that I no longer felt so sure were normal dreams, the weakness in my body… These things, separated, were like great towering towers in my imagination. Each was visible, tall, impossible to ignore. And yet they could not be linked. The more I tried to think on them, the more my head ached.

And yet, all that I had was time. Time to think.

Twilight Sparkle. I confessed, at least to myself, that I was fascinated by her. Far more fascinated, in fact, then should be normal in the amount of time we had known each other. I knew my own… proclivities, yes, but even for one such as I… You can imagine how I turned and turned, considering her and myself and how these two things might coincide in every way imaginable. Perhaps I even liked her, it’s true, and in more than a merely friendly way, but that was all vague and half-illusory. Perhaps I thought her beautiful on top of strange and fascinating, but again, it was ephemeral.

Somewhere in all of this pointless thinking, I dozed off.

I woke when a cool hand touched my forehead, and opened my eyes to find her.

Through half-lidded eyes, I saw her with a look of such concern that it melted my heart. Whatever afflicted her, I would needs put an end to it.

“Darling, you came,” I said.

She jumped. “Yes.”

Twilight did not look at me at first. She looked, in fact, at everything but me. But I continued on regardless. “I’m so glad. I was sad that you did not… and now here you are. I’m afraid that I’m not well enough to do much tonight.”

“That’s… that’s not why I came,” Twilight said slowly. She chewed on her lip for awhile, deep in thought, and I waited, not sure what could be on her mind. She seemed worried. “How are you feeling?”

“Well,” I told her. I paused, and then chuckled. “No, I’m not well. But I am doing better than I was. There’s no need to worry. I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow, wait and see.”

She hummed. “I’m sure you will,” Twilight said. “I’m sure you will. But perhaps we’ll take it slow, won’t we? Not too boisterous? You’ll… take care of yourself, right? Surely.”

I frowned at her. “Is something the matter?”

“Not at all.” Twilight smiled sweetly, yes, but falsely.

The thing about Twilight Sparkle was that her polish was more veneer than anything else. Oh yes, she was smart as smart could be, intelligence for days and all that, but the poise? Practiced. And not in the good way, practiced until it was second nature. Twilight’s poise was mostly a studied mask that she did not understand well enough by far.

So I could see something nervous in those eyes. Something more nervous, more worried, than a simple day sick in bed should have warranted. I felt, for a brief moment, that I was on to something. That if I opened my mouth and asked her about… about… it was on the tip of my tongue. About anything, maybe, and the truth would all spill out.

So instead, I patted the bed next to me. “Are you cold?”

She recoiled. No, flinched, for she caught herself. I still noticed, because now I was alert. That brief suspicion that had filled me during our initial meeting had returned, and with it rode my newfound affection. I would not push her. I knew she would tell me.

I didn’t know what she would tell me. Somehow I knew there was something to tell.

“Yes,” she said, and shivered. The poor dear look distressed.

“Come lie down,” I told her gently. “At least for awhile. You don’t have to stay if you don’t wish. You seem unwell. And I am doing much better. And…” I chuckled. “I could use your company, awake as I am.”

She nodded and slipped underneath the covers.

To say that I experienced deja vu was understatement. The bed moved slightly beneath her and my heart skipped at least two beats. All of a sudden, the dream came back to me and I was certain that my face was quite literally aflame. This was how it had begun, hadn’t it? Face to face, her back to the window, in the dead of night?

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Twilight asked, obviously having seen my reaction.

“Yes! Yes, of course,” I said quickly, trying very, very hard not to think about any of the things that had happened in that dream. Very, very hard. Especially not—

“If you’re sure,” Twilight said, but seemed hesitant to come any closer.

I wanted to ask her to move a bit closer, whether for her sake or mine I did not know. I sighed.

“Come here, already. No need for that nonsense,” I said.

I scooted forward just enough to lamely capture her with a single arm and pulled her closer. She—and I swear before the stars that this is true—made the absolutely most delightful little noise of alarm, which I very courteously elected not to notice.

“You… ah, you’ve grown more… forward?” Twilight said, and I giggled.

“More like…” I trailed off. And yes, of course I thought of that dream. But not as I had before. She was rather lovely, wasn’t she? “You seemed troubled,” I said instead. “Are you?”

She took a deep breath. “I… I’m fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” she said, a little more firmly. “I’m more worried about you. Your mother and father are as well, you know.”

I huffed. “I’ll be fine! I’m fine now.”

“Liar.”

“It’s more or less true. A lady does not lie. She merely presents an alternate set of truths. Or something. I’m running out of those little aphorisms, you know.”

“Yes, I can tell.” Twilight sighed and hugged her arms around herself. I let my own arm fall back to my side, and thought.

Dream still in mind, I found I wanted to run my hand down her arm or touch her shoulder. Anything, really. But I didn’t. Dreams are dreams, after all. But the poor dear did seem unhappy, and…

And long story longer, I leaned over and put my face a bit closer to hers and ran a hand over her arm, up and down, in what I hoped was at least a slightly comforting manner. “I really am glad that you visited, even if it was a bit later than I’d expected. I would make some comment about being ‘fashionably late’ but I’m not sure you would even have arrived at the sort of thing one is fashionably late for.”

“Stake through the heart,” Twilight murmured, but she laughed. “I’ve many things on my mind. I’m sorry to bother you. I am glad that you have the energy to joke.”

There are moments when we make a decision without a conscious thought. Where, one moment, our whole disposition lay in a single direction, and before any change can be detected, one has done quite the opposite. I felt that I did not want to push her. I felt that these strongholds in my mind, the dreams and the blood on my collar, all of it, were not things I wanted to touch.

But touch them I did.

I hummed. “My mother is worried, you said? Perhaps it has something to do with the blood on my collar,” I said softly, just soft enough that a normal person might have leaned forward to hear me repeat it.

Twilight had been moving a pesky strand of hair from her eyes as I said it, but froze. Her hand stayed in front of her face, and I could not see her eyes. But, a second or so later, she continued on as normal.

“Blood, you say? Curious. Did you hurt yourself?”

“Not that I remember,” I answered.

You see, Twilight’s mask of poise, as I said before, was just that. A mask. It was a thing one could see the edges on quite easily. And now that I could see those edges, all at once, the whole mask seemed almost ridiculous. Well. Not all of it. Just the parts where Twilight Sparkle seemed invulnerable and aloof.

“Strange,” Twilight said, and I was not convinced.

“Yes, it is. Very strange. It’s been a very strange time recently, ever since you arrived. You know, I rarely remember my dreams?”

“Do you? I remember mine.” She seemed almost eager to talk, as if she might be able to drive me off into a new conversation. It was obvious and nakedly avoiding the great wordless thing between us that I think we were both beginning to feel. It was an almost magnetic attraction, after all, down into the answer. But I did not feel any annoyance with her diversion.

“I envy you. I always wished to remember mine. But you see, I have been. And they are very, very strange.” I licked my lips. Nervously? Probably. I felt the urge to rush, but I couldn’t. I needed to do this delicately. I needed to do it carefully. I continued with my hand, up and then down, from shoulder to elbow. I scooted closer. Lowered my voice. Took on the personage of a co-conspirator.

“Strange? You keep, ah, saying that.” Twilight did not look me in the eye. “How so?”

“Oh, I can’t say,” I said, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. I hadn’t anticipated that she’d actually ask. Well played, Twilight. Well played.

“Unpleasant dreams?” she asked, frowning. “Nightmares?”

Because of course it did, my mind jumped to a particular moment of the second dream and looking Twilight in the eye became a bit difficult. “Definitely not unpleasant,” I murmured.

“Ah.” Raised eyebrows, but she didn’t ask anymore.

So I continued. “But I could say that you’ve been a visitor in them.”

“Me?” She smirked. “My, how—”

“I remember all of them, you know,” I said. My hand stopped on her shoulder.

Her smirk died. Quickly.

“Do you.” It was not a question.

“Yes. And if you leave this bed without an explanation I will try and come after you. I can’t threaten more than that, you see. I’m a bit indisposed. They aren’t dreams, are they?”

Have you ever seen a panicked, frightened animal? Seen it turn its head, side to side perhaps, eyes wild and wandering, mouth half open in alarm, body stiff and jerking as it looks for some safe haven?

That was what I saw in Twilight’s face. Panic.

I tightened my grip on her shoulder. “Just speak,” I said, almost hissed. “Just speak. If you do not tell me this instant what you’ve done, I will be more than merely cross, Twilight Sparkle.”

“I—”

I tightened my grip further. “Did you do something to my memories?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice sounding strangled.

I released her. “Did you…”

“I’m sorry!” Twilight was close now, right in my face, filling up most of my vision. “I’m sorry, I tried to keep you from knowing! Or being hurt, or… or… but I…”

She was panting. Breathing hard, far too hard, like a runner at the end of his race.

“You said I could,” she said weakly.

“Was I lucid?” Because how could I know, really, at this juncture?

“Yes,” she said. “Please believe me. I always… I…”

I had gone from warm and happy to furious, and now my anger wilted.

She looked… miserable. Genuinely miserable. Could such a creature cry? And there it was, creature. It felt loathesome to even think of her in such a way. Cold and unfeeling.

I took a deep breath. Twilight, on the other hand, seemed like at any moment she might hyperventilate or fly off into the night. Or both, honestly.

“Twilight?”

She recoiled, and I will admit that seeing her do so stung. But had she not injured me first? I felt a bit frustrated, but I kept my voice even. “Twilight, calm down. Can you calm down, darling? Just for a moment. Breathe, will you? In and out. Yes, like that.”

Comforting her came surprisingly easy, but it had never been said that I was not generous. After a moment, her breathing had calmed, but her eyes had not lost their worry.

She… well. She still looked lovely. She still seemed to be Twilight Sparkle, the strange girl who’d been deposited on our doorstep, as it were.

“I’d like to see something. Don’t worry too much. Just… say still,” I said.

Before she could ask what it was I wanted, I cupped her chin and used my thumb to pull her bottom lip down.

It was as part of me, some part of me far below the surface that knew more than it ever should, had suspected. Canines that were far too tall, far too sharp, far too thick. Just seeing them made me wince. Behind them, I saw others, sharper than was natural.

“Stars,” I whispered, and let her lip go. She looked away. “So it’s true. I…”

She didn’t say anything. Not that there was anything to say.

Absurdity is the juxtaposition of disparate things in nonsensical relation. Just the teeth alone, sharp and made for tearing, and she could kill me. I had never thought this of anything, you see. Never had I looked at anything and thought—this, this could kill me in a moment if it wished—and now I thought it rather loudly, and yet I did not feel a further thrill of fear.

She seemed more afraid of me than I was of her. Here I was, a cowering monster of legend in my bed, and I was… what, scolding it? It was like imagining a child scolding the Spirit of Discord itself. Ridiculous, and yet here we were.

“Is your name truly Twilight?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes. Twilight Sparkle. I really am… I really was a student of Celestia. I left on my sabbatical six months ago. Bartleby Beetle isn’t my uncle. I… He was just a trader I met on the way. I used my glamour to gain safe passage.”

“And somewhere between then and now…” I trailed off. She nodded. “How?”

She shuddered and closed her eyes. “His name was… It’s not important. I don’t want to talk about it. It was about Celestia. Please don’t make me.”

I didn’t think first. I reached out and stroked her cheek. “I won’t. You don’t have to tell me. And then you came here. Why?”

“I didn’t want to hurt Bartleby, and I couldn’t keep living off of him. I was drinking from his… from his wrist,” she said, and shivered again. “But he was getting tired. He’s old. And then… I saw you.”

I nodded. I didn’t ask any of the questions I could have, that I wanted to.

So, instead, I continued to stroke her cheek, and some of the tension ebbed. She nuzzled my hand, and it felt strangely familiar. “You’ve not panicked much,” Twilight mentioned at last.

“No. I was angry. But now, seeing you… Well, perhaps these are crocodile tears. I won’t deny that. But I suppose that if they are, you’ve worked a bit too hard for a woman who can’t quite escape you. Roll over, would you?”

She blinked at me. “W-what?”

“Roll over.”

“I… Fine, then,” she said.

I scooted up, until I fit behind her. Twilight stiffened, but didn’t object. Which I suppose she probably couldn’t. Twilight probably owed me. No, not probably. Definitely. And it was comfortable.

And, more importantly, she wasn’t looking me in the eye, and I wasn’t looking her in the eye. No more glowing eyes, no more panicked looks.

“I’m not sure what you’re doing,” Twilight said.

“Neither am I,” I admitted. “I have no idea how to process this, there is a small chance that I am in shock of some sort or another, and I should probably be terrified. I’ll fret about it properly in the morning. So, you’d thought I was still under spell then?”

She nodded.

There was a part of me, that part which is never aware when its impulses are poorly timed, which wanted to kiss the spot where her neck met her shoulders. “Are you going to leave, then? Now that I know, and all.”

“I… I don’t know. No one has found me out before now, so I don’t really have a protocol in place.”

“Protocol?” I chuckled and nuzzled against her shoulder. “That is exactly how you’d say that.”

“Do you want me to go?” she asked. “I will, if you want me to. I can mostly alter your parent’s memories, and your sister’s as well, I suppose. I would never have been here. You will recover.”

“So I’m ill because of you. I mean, I had suspected…”

“Yes. I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” I asked. I snaked an arm around her waist and enjoyed the added warmth.

“Sometimes, when I… when I feed, I guess you could say. That’s accurate. Feed. But when I do, sometimes I find myself unable to stop. It’s so hard. I get lost in it, and… and it’s especially hard when I’m already excited, and…”

I think we were both trying to conceal just how embarrassed we were trying not to fill in that blank.

“Right,” I said.

“Yes. Of course.”

Another beat.

“So, if I’m getting you right—”

Twilight groaned. “Celestia kill me. Yes. Because I was… was… Ugh.”

“I’m not sure whether I’m more mortified to be discussing this, or intrigued, or amused.” I smiled. “You’re shy now, but you weren’t before.” And, again before I could think better of it: “I rather liked it.”

She squirmed. “I’m… not quite myself when I’m thirsty. I’m more me? Less me? I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

“Or, if I might be so bold, it seems that you might be experiencing the rather normal madness that comes with desire, hm? I am quite a prize, if I say so myself. Which I do. I say that.”

She chuckled. “I wouldn’t know.”

“What? You wouldn’t know? I distinctly remember you and I enjoying—”

She turned her head so that she could see me out of the corner of her eye. “No! I enjoyed… I mean you were…” She turned back and groaned again. “I meant, I’m not exactly…”

“Ah.” I reached up and began playing with her hair, glad to have something to toy with as I thought. “So. First?”

“Essentially.”

“But not the first you’ve drunk from, correct?”

“No. I had to survive.”

I nodded. “How much do you need?”

“It’s hard to say. I know when I’m fine for a week. I… I can last about a week.”

I nodded absently. “We’ll just have to be more careful, won’t we?”

She turned almost violently to face me, something almost indignant in her face. “Rarity, you’re—”

“Going to be fine, I think,” I said. “You’re staying here, and you will need some to survive, will you not? I’ll not have you drinking from my sister, and after our activities together I can’t imagine you’d settle for my parents. So you’ll have me, won’t you? I think you would regardless, wouldn’t you?”

She bit her lip—there were the fangs. I shivered a little, seeing them. “I... “

“That’s a yes then.” I smiled, feeling a small thrill of power as she nodded. “What did you like? Hm? What brings you back?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it thirst that brought you to my bed, or something else? You’re here now. I might as well know.”

Twilight was silent for awhile. I was alright with that. I knew she would say it had been nothing but lust, and I prepared myself. It wasn’t as if my feelings were strong, obviously. But it would be a bit—

“They’re hard to separate,” she said at last. “I… I liked being with you.”

I nodded again, and this time I did kiss the crook of her neck. “I can accept that. And you’ll stay? Promise me that you’ll stay.”

I kissed up her neck, slowly, waiting for her to answer.

“I will.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t been aware that I’d been holding on to. “Good,” I murmured against her cheek, and then I kissed her right on the lips.

And you know, it was strange to feel them. Fangs. Right there, right beneath her lips. It was strange to know they were there and that Twilight could choose to use them at any moment, and yet did not. Eyes closed, leaning into her timid kiss as it grew not so timid, I could see her mouth open as she prepared to—

I shivered. Twilight tried to pull away but I clung tighter. Just the thought of it set me aflame.

Author's Note

IV. Eternity Asks But One Thing: Whether You Have Lived in Despair Or Not

After that, things changed.

Twilight would come to me at night, as she had. We would walk under the stars, in the lit town streets, as we had. She would play the violin I had abandoned and I would play my harp, and all the while we would have eyes only for each other.

We did not speak of that night, not while we were together and there were things to be done. A sort of truce developed between us. An armistice, if you will, not to let the matter lie but merely to move away from it.

Until, of course, the time would come when she would need me again.

I confess that during the day it seemed unreal. It was easy to say that it had all been a dream or a feverish nightmare or… Anything at all. It is the daytime, under the sun alternatively kind and cruel, that we find it most easy to hide. The daylight hours are the times of posturing and respectability. The light, ironically, lies to us about the secrets of the world. It appears that everything is uncovered—and, perhaps, to some that might be true—but I’ve always felt that we are less real in the press of activity. Less authentic. Detached from ourselves.

Or, perhaps, that was just me. Perhaps others feel differently.

But in this story, it mattered only that I felt that way, and that it allowed me to slip away from the reality of my dilemma. It is hard, you know, to think about vampires who ravish you in the night when the sun is shining and you’re watching your little sister reading under the tree.

Experience divides itself naturally. Not just along this divide, but along others, and it takes time and effort often to reconcile one thing to another. There is no connection between that moment, as Sweetie Belle flipped her page in the grass, legs kicked up behind her and her stomach flat on the ground, carefree as a child, and… and the nights, when Twilight came to me. When she creeped in to lie in my bed, cool to the touch with eyes of red and a look that seemed almost too hungry at times.

It was like there were two Rarities, I supposed.

Her demeanor during those times was mostly the same as before. She returned to her old self, confident and bold, knowledgeable in seemingly everything and a frightfully effective orator to boot. She indulged me as I gave her speeches from the great plays, and she would strut across the floor of my room in an exaggerated way, reading loudly as I giggled.

Sometimes it was not so lively. I worked on a new dress, and Twilight lay on my bed. She read, or at least she seemed to, but I know that she let me catch her eying me more than once.

Needle in hand, I would pause and feel her eyes on me. At first, I would glance her way and find her reading as if nothing else existed in this world. I would turn, resume working. But soon I stopped turning, and I would let her watch me.

I confess that I loved the idea that she was watching me, sizing me up. Judging is the wrong word. Appreciating is perhaps closer to the truth. What sort of things was she thinking, as she watched? I could imagine. I could imagine all too well, you know. Because, with every passing day, I thought them myself. I found myself far too happy to see her smile and to hear her laugh. I shivered when, by chance or more probably by design, that her hand touched my own, or when she passed close enough that we brushed sides.

I knew she was doing it on purpose. I could see it in her eyes, whenever we locked gazes. I was being not so much courted as pursued. Hunted, if you will, and if you can bear the half-formed cliche.

When it was time for me to retire, I would bid Twilight good night for appearance’s sake. We would part, and as I said farewell her eyes would lock on mine with intensity that I could scarce hope to match. We both had the same thing in mind.

I would return to my bedroom as normal. I would dress for bed and lie down as normal. Time would pass, but not much. The night would settle around me as the village and the manor fell asleep bit by bit, and then? And then, as I lay there silent as I could be, betrayed by my rioting heartbeat, she would appear.

I never saw her enter. Never. In the blink of an eye, she would be there, watching. Sometimes she stood at my window, blotting out the sky. Or she would be at my door, as if she’d just closed it behind her and slipped the lock down, I would see her predatory smile in the moonlight, as much suggestion as anything.

And, wherever she appeared, she would glide across the floor silent as a cat, and in another blink, she would be in my bed.

We… shared the nights together. We did not make love, and certainly not as we had the time before. At least, we did not at first. It could not be that way at first. I was shy, and unsure, and on fire for her touch all at once, but she did not take any liberties. It was all quiet kisses at first and gentle, almost nervous touches.

The predatory look would come back sometimes, and each time I saw a glimpse, I would shiver, but never say a word. It made me afraid, yes, but it also made me… Well.

We talked, mostly. When we weren’t busy. She told me about what it was like to walk in the night as she did. She tried to describe what it was like to drink, but she shied away from it. I did not press too far, but the questions lingered in the back of my mind.

When at last we ventured into intimacy again, she always gave. She seemed so shy at my own, shamefully limited attempts to reciprocate, and I confess I was far too timid in this new idiom of love to do much more but follow. Yet it was good, very, very good, and she did not deny me. Nor did I deny her.

And so days passed. More than a week.

She began to diminish. I could see it happen before my eyes. Some of her liveliness fell away every night, until she seemed exhausted. Yet—Stars bless her if they can bless such as she—the poor dear refused to be stopped. She would entertain my family with tales and talk at dinner as she always had, and now that I was in on her secret I could see her working her charms so that no one but me noticed that she never ate a bite. Her conversations did not flag, but I could see her straining to be conversational.

Yet, night after night, she did not drink from me.

I grew frustrated. She needed me, didn’t she? I was here. She came to my bed every night, and then… what? Denied herself? Yes, I was afraid of it, I admit. Yet stronger than that fear was indignation that she would dare to deny herself in the face of my openness. Would I not offer myself? Surely she knew that I would. This was worse than foolish. I feared, deep down, that it might be damaging. I did not want to think “fatal”, but somewhere I did think it.

It came to a head the night that I finally saw her enter.

She was later than usual, you see. Quite a bit later, and when she arrived, it was through the door. I watched her enter quietly and close it behind her, and when she turned to face me, I did not see that predatory smile. But I saw something decidedly predatory.

And torn.

She licked her lips. “Rarity, I… I’m not sure—”

“You’re sick, aren’t you? Thirsty or hungry, or however you would say it,” I said. It was not a question.

She nodded, mute and staring.

She had told me that her eyes were always crimson, and that only by magic had they appeared any different. Her features could be hidden this way, she confided in me, but it was tiring.

She was not hiding now. Twilight Sparkle, without an ounce of protection from my gaze, fangs and all. I saw little of the confident lady who had spoken with such a measured tone at my family’s table. No, that was all gone.

“You haven’t taken any from me. Why?”

“I… I’m worried that—”

I held up a hand. “No.”

I rose and walked the cold floor to stand before her. Twilight stiffened, but said and did nothing. Waiting, I knew, on me and what I would do. Or say. Surely she saw my frustration.

“Open your mouth,” I said, and my voice shook a bit. But I reined in my nerves. Now was not the time for that. Now was the time for strength. I was going to make damn well sure that this did not happen again.

“Wh—”

“Do it,” I said firmly.

She obeyed, perhaps because of my tone of command, or perhaps because she was simply too bewildered to protest.

I reached up and grabbed her jaw. Not forcefully, or not too much so. She stared wide-eyed as I examined her, a thumb on her tongue. She squirmed, but she did not resist.

“These?” I purred. “Do you think me a coward, Sparkle? Hm?”

She tried to respond, but I had made it a bit difficult on purpose.

“Ah, you do. Or perhaps it’s you who is afraid. Yes, I think that’s it. Needful, but not needful enough? I suspected that, but seeing you now… No, you’re desperate, I think. And you don’t want to ask.”

She tried to nod, but I held her firm. “Well. I don’t think you’ll get to ask. Twilight, Twilight. At first I was hurt, you know.”

I released her, and her mouth snapped shut. She looked a bit upset, but I didn’t let her speak just yet.

“I was. I felt that you didn’t trust me. Even after I had let you into my bed, and into my arms. But now… no, now seeing you in this state, I am frustrated. A bit angry, perhaps. I wish to help, and find myself spurned. Vexing, isn’t it?”

“Rarity, I—”

I shushed her. “No, you had your chance,” I said. “Now we’ll do this my way.”

To be perfectly honest, because if to no one else I must to myself be true, I had not the faintest idea what I was doing. All of this was emotion pouring over, mixing itself in with a shamefully liberal amount of lust, and raw initiative. There was something that was a bit heady about having one up on Twilight, as you will, whatever that says of my character. Perhaps I was a bit vindictive. But I wanted to prove to her that she could come to me, and that she need not fear what I would say.

I wanted it to be unmistakable.

“Rarity?”

I had paused. Now or never.

“I think,” I began, banishing the nervous excitement that had finally caught up with me from seeing those… fangs. “I think that you have far too much on. I’d like to see that changed.”

“What?”

“Now. Honestly, for such a clever girl. I shall be a bit more clear: strip. Now.”

She blinked, and then swallowed, but she did as I told her. After a moment, the garment fell to the floor.

It was not the first time I had seen her naked, obviously. Far from it! But always before my vision had been blocked somehow, or my mind had been clouded either by sleep or by sensation. She was an alabaster dream, and I felt no shame in thinking that particular thought, as eye-roll inducing as it must have been. I did not care a bit. Every inch was perfect, from her sculpted face to the tower-like neck, to her small, pert chest, down to legs that begged to be touched. She stood ramrod straight, obviously unsure.

I stepped back and gestured with a hand for her to follow. She did, but stopped when I made another sign and stood there for me to stroll around her and examine her.

And if she was impatient? Well. She could deal with that a few more minutes.

I ran my hand along her collarbone lazily as I walked. “You’re beautiful, you know. I’m not sure I’d told you that yet.”

“Thank you.”

I smiled, but said nothing. I let my hand slide down her spine and when she shivered I took it away.

“Do you want me?” I asked from behind her, leaning in so that I was next to her ear. She shivered and nodded. “How much? A lot? Just a bit? I think that you want something very particular, don’t you? Something you could get from others, I suppose, and yet here you are. With me.”

“Y-yes.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking about you and your needs, darling, and you know what I think? I think you’re a bit addicted to me. Oh, don’t protest so!” I wrapped both arms around her waist, and pressed my cheek against her back with a smile. “Just a bit, hm? Do you deny it? If you can, I’ll take it all back. But if you can’t…”

Twilight, bless her, tried to give a reasoned answer. “Addicted is a bit… ah, strong…”

I rolled my eyes and kissed her neck. “You are a pedant,” I said, holding in a chuckle. “But I don’t mind. Not really.” I backed away, smiling widely. “Sit on the bed for me, wouldn’t you?”

She tried to look at me, but before she could focus in I gently pushed her towards my bed. “None of that, none of that.”

“I just—”

“Ah. See, that’s the problem. I don’t think you’ve quite grasped the situation.” She sat, and followed her, planting a knee in my mattress and a finger between her breasts. “To be fair, I’ve not made it really clear for you, have I?”

And with that, I pushed her down with the palm of my hand. Instinctively, she reached out to stop her fall but it was not mere fall. I held her down, though something told me that she could escape in a moment. But she did not. I loved the look of shock on her face, how her eyes widened and her mouth parted just so.

“It’s not really up to you, Twilight. At least, not like it has been. I waited…” I ran my hand over her smaller, pert breasts, and she shivered beneath me. Good. “And waited… and waited. But you didn’t take your chance.”

“I was worried…”

And a light twist, and suddenly she found it difficult to complete her sentence.

I won’t lie. I had thought about this, all of this, and more than once. Perhaps I had been thinking it ever since the second night that Twilight Sparkle kept herself alive by what she took from me. I wanted to do to her all of the things she’d done to me.

I leaned in, until her face was just an inch or so from my own and grin. Our eyes locked, I reach back behind myself, running my hand along her smooth skin. This was not the first time, but even so I feel a little thrill at the touch. Not the first time, no, but it would be rather different this time.

Torturously slow, that’s the way, and I knew that it got to her. She bit her lip—much like I do, I think—except that I don’t have the fangs that peek out to glare at me from behind those lips.

I sidestepped my path, running my hand along the inside of her thigh, and I know she was frustrated. I saw it in her eyes, and to be frank I enjoyed the look on her, but I only smiled.

“You should have come to me,” I said softly.

It was strange. Only then did I notice how odd it was to breathe so close together. I wondered if she even needed to, or if it was some vestige of a human life she’d left behind in pieces here and there.

“I did. I’m… I’m here now.”

I hummed. “You are. And yet you haven’t asked me, have you? Ah, don’t now. Not yet.”

Down one thigh, and then down the other. I merely ran my hand over the smooth skin. Mostly, I thought about what to say. There were an awful lot of things that I wanted to say.

I decided not to put it off any longer. If she was even half as excited as I found myself… So my hand came to rest lightly on top of her lower lips, trailing a single finger along them. She groaned softly, and I kissed her.

Twilight tried to push herself up, tried to be more assertive, but I kept her pressed down with my body and gently pushed the lone finger into her, slowly, teasingly, but still giving her what she wished.

I pulled my head back, panting, and she moaned for me like an angel. With my free left hand, I pulled her hair enough to bare her neck to me as I had done for her, and Twilight yielded.

“Tell me about it,” I told her.

“W-what?”

“Tell me. I want you to tell me about how thirsty you are. About how much you can’t decide what you want more, this—” I pushed in a little deeper for emphasis and she cried out. “Or this?” I let go of her hair and cupped my hand around my neck. “Hm?”

“I… I want both.”

“Oh, Twilight, you of the grand vocabulary! Is that the best you can do?”

“I’m starving,” she whined. “I… I just see you and I can’t help but stare and wait…”

I hummed, moving my hand and drawing another little whimper out of her. “That’s a good start. And you wanted to ask me, didn’t you? Just for a sip? You’re addicted, Sparkle. Admit it.”

“I won’t.”

“Oh, you will. You’re crazy about me, one way or another. Did it drive you crazy, hm? Watching me move about with life and warmth?”

“Yes,” she managed. She was staring at me now. The crazed, hungry look had returned. Good—I wanted it. “Always so close…”

“Mm, yes. And you, what, didn’t want to hurt me? Thought I was fragile, yes?”

“I did last time,” she grumbled. “I will if I—”

I pulled back on her hair again and she gasped. I stopped moving my right hand and she whined as I drew my fingers back. “Twilight, I’m of half a mind to slap you. If I didn’t think that, annoyed as I am with you, I might enjoy it a bit too much, I just might. And if I thought it would do any good. Which, sadly, it won’t.”

She whined, and I went back to stroking the entrance of her sex in loose circles.

“What if I don’t mind being hurt a bit?” I asked lightly. “Or if I might even like it, for a good cause, hm?”

She stared at me, furrowed brow in confusion, and I rolled my eyes. “Honestly, is it so hard to comprehend?” I asked. “I rather liked what you did before. Wasn’t that obvious?”

She nodded.

We settled into a rhythm. I worked her closer to climax and admission in turns, with skilled fingers and lovebites on her neck and shoulders and breasts, with light suggestions. I wanted her to admit it. I wanted her to say that she couldn’t help but want and need me.

She came before she said it. I’ll give her that. I held her closely and kissed her more out of passion than any droll need to be quiet. The way she looked, panting, lost in her own pleasure, how could I not? She compelled me.

I let her recover, stroking her face until her eyes focused in on me again.

“Did you like it?” I asked.

She nodded. When she rose slightly to hug me, I did not push her down again, and when she kissed me I was eager.

“Twilight,” I said when we parted. “I—”

“Please,” she cut in, breathless. “I need this. Please. I won’t hold out again, just…”

“Will I faint again?” I asked.

“Not if you don’t want to,” she replied.

“I don’t.”

“Then you won’t.”

There was a second of confusion, and I found myself pinned to the bed, Twilight holding me down. “Take off the robe,” she said after a pause. “The blood. I don’t want to alter memories when I don’t have to. Or can’t.”

I tried to say something smart or crisp, like “Right,” or “Of course,” but the suddenness with which Twilight had rearranged us had left me a bit out of breath. So I just nodded and she let up so I could squirm out of my clothes.

As soon as I was naked, she was on me again. I gasped at the feeling of her naked breast on mine, of her legs on mine, of her, but I barely had time to think before she was kissing up my neck feverishly.

“Rarity,” she mumbled, as feverish as her action. “I—”

“Do it,” I hissed, not angry but tense. I wanted it but I still feared it with an animal fear. “Please, do it.”

And she did. Again, the third time, I felt her bite into the poor flesh and I cried out and clung to her as best I could, unwilling to let even the smallest bit of air between our bodies. It was… it was awful. Painful. It was like feeling your consciousness seeping out of you.

And it was wonderful. Stranger yet as powerful as any climax I had experienced. The pain sent sparks down my spine.

I don’t know how long it took. I didn’t lose consciousness as I had before, but I lost track of time. She drew back, and shivered in my grasp before kissing the wounds she had made.

“Lightheaded” did not begin to describe how I felt. I was aware of Twilight kissing my neck, my cheek, my lips, but I was hardly there. I was aware that my neck was agony, that it felt like mangled flesh, but I could not really gather myself enough to feel that it was my neck or that I ought to care overmuch.

It was a bit like being drunk. That is the closest sensation that comes to mind, reflecting back.

Somehow, I found myself under the covers again. Twilight pressed her body to mine, kissing me and speaking gently. Her lips tasted like copper, and I wished she wouldn’t pull away so much, so I could figure out why.

“You did so well,” she whispered. “Are you alright? I tried to take only what I needed.”

“I feel… wonderful,” I said, voice slurring a bit. “Just really great.”

“Sure?” I swear that she chuckled. “You sound a little woozy, Rarity.”

“And you sound… beautiful,” I said, because I was in fact not entirely there.

“Do you think so?” she asked. I remember that she stroked my cheek. I remember a hand running through my hair.

I hummed and nodded, I suppose. “It hurt,” I said. “But that’s okay. I’m well on my way to loving you, I think. You shouldn’t wait… next time.”

I remember that her hand froze, mid stroke. It was still tangled in my hair that she’d been playing with.

“Come again?”

But I didn’t say anything. She was warm, and I was exhausted. I snuggled closer and fell asleep with my head tucked between her chin and her chest.

Author's Note

V. "The Sickness Is Not Unto Death" And Yet Lazarus Died

The young man closed the book.

Once again, as he had done already, he felt the cover. It felt worn, didn’t it? Old, though to be perfectly honest, how did one “feel” oldness? He wasn’t sure, but the impression remained.

What was it, this book which he’d found? The handwriting was elegant, sometimes a bit frayed, and it practically screamed archaic. It’s tale was ridiculous at best. Entertaining? Well, sure. But impossible. Utterly and absolutely impossible.

The young man sighed and for the umpteenth time looked for some clue as to the book’s title. He assumed, of course, that it must have one. All stories had a title of some sort, didn’t they? And beyond that, if it were a diary as old as the words suggested, it would not have been so carelessly lost.

At least he’d been able to figure out who the book might belong to, or at least the name of someone who might be able to help.

He’d been in the library, headphones in and music going, when a woman had bumped him on accident. Startled, he’d looked up and seen Her.

She was, by all accounts, beautiful. Beyond that. Trying to describe her to a friend later had been met with rolled eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Perfect and whatever,” they’d said, but he had insisted. No, they didn’t understand. Not in the way one often hears that word thrown about. No, in a more otherwordly sense. Not in the sense that a model is perfect, but in the sense that a statue is perfect. A painting. Something which was not quite alive.

And yet She moved.

He watched her for a long moment as she walked calmly down the aisle between the chairs at tables and the books in their shelved homes. When she turned, he had caught but a glimpse of her face and seen little more than a pair of glasses.

Something had possessed him, and he did not tell this part of the story to anyone. He did not know his own intent, and even thinking of the stupor which had called him from his studies into the stacks was faintly humiliating. He hadn’t even bothered to put down the textbook that he’d been working from.

But he had followed. Of course he tried to speculate on why. To ask her name, perhaps? To talk to a beautiful woman? These are not harmful things in of themselves, with a right spirit, and he was a good sort. But these were explanations attached long after the fact.

He found her as she turned the corner. Or rather, she found him.

The crash was quick but loud. The beautiful woman’s stack of books clattered all around their feet, and her purse was lost briefly.

The impact had dispelled whatever strange mood had overtaken him. Awkward, a bit shaken, and altogether apologetic, he had quickly helped her recollect her things.

The beautiful woman thanked him, and rushed off before he could say much else, simply whispering that she was in a hurry, and that she was very sorry. Not quite rude, but it felt anticlimactic.

Until, of course, he noticed that she’d left one of her books behind.

He asked around. No one knew the woman, or if they did, they’d only seen her briefly here and there. Or they’d seen her, and didn’t know her name. Eventually, he found a student from the Physics department that gave him the answer he needed.

She’d absorbed his admittedly weak description of the mysterious woman and shrugged. “Go to Longville hall and find Dr. Shine. She can handle it for you.”

Whatever that meant.

So, here he was, book in hand in the lobby of Longville Hall, waiting for… what? Motivation? A bit. But mostly waiting one Dr. Shine’s last class for the day to let out. He’d skipped Metaphysical Poets for this, and he would be damned if there wasn’t some sort of answer to be had.

The young man checked his phone for the time. Oh. He’d gone over. Easy to do, with something to read.

He stretched and then headed upstairs.

Finding Dr. Shine’s office wasn’t particularly difficult, even though he’d not set foot in the building since his required science credits as an underclassmen. It just hadn’t been his thing.

But it was a bit of a walk up the stairs. There was enough time to think.

It read like a diary in some respects, but in others? No, not a diary. Personal narrative, yes, but a memoir? No, the conventions were all wrong. It claimed to be personal account, but too quickly gave up any sense of believability. It had to be fictional, obviously. Perhaps a personal project by a woman with an interest in period pieces? He couldn’t fault her. It was a fascinating period, though he did feel that she should try it again without the, ah, vampires. Bit of a distraction.

He hoped asking what the book was for wouldn’t be construed as rude. Was it prying to ask? He hoped not. But he still wished to know, either way.

He found her door open, and a conversation going on inside, so he paused at the door and tried not to listen as he waited his turn.

At last, he heard a woman cough, and say: “I think a student is here. Give me just a moment.”

“Oh… fine. Darling, will you at least help me look?”

“Of course, love. Why wouldn’t I?”

The young man peered in and was greeted by the woman he had run into and another, who wore the same awe. He stood stunned for a moment, but they did not seem to notice.

“I, ah… I found this book,” he said. “You bumped into me at the library and lost it, ma’am, and it took me awhile to find out who it belonged to.”

“Oh! There it is, Twilight! And you say that luck isn’t real,” said the first lady he had seen, smiling widely at him. He held the book out and she took it, cradling it to her chest. “Ah… I’m so glad that you took good care of it! It’s my baby, you know. The first diary of a new life, and all that.”

“It’s like reading a romance novel of your own life,” groused the shorter woman, who rose and offered him a hand. “Thank you, regardless. My wife has been worried.”

“You were worried too, Twilight!”

There it was again. He’d missed the first time but now… The pouting woman with her book, the smirking one behind the desk, it all narrowed down into a single idea.

“I…” He swallowed. “Just glad to be of service, I guess.”

He shook the professor’s hand. It was cold to the touch. That didn’t mean anything.

He left after a few pleasantries, and steadied himself against the wall once he was at the end of the hall.

Coincidence. A story written as a joke. IT had to be.

Why did they seem so…

A door behind him shut, and he whirled to see “Twilight” and who he only assumed was Rarity herself standing there. Twilight locked the door, and some joke or another caused her to laugh as they talked.

He hid behind the corner, heart pounding. Why was he so terrified? What could possibly be threatening about two women he’d only met once? Nerves. IT was all nerves from finals coming up, all of it. He just needed—

They were coming closer. He heard them.

“Are we going out tonight? I’m famished.”

“Tonight? Alright,” Twilight said. “Mind if I pick where and when?”

“Ooh, certainly. Surprise me, dear.”

The young man took a breath.

And found himself caught in a vice. His face was against the wall, and a cold hand pinned him there. Another was firmly planted right beside his face. Painted nails. Pale.

“Oh stars,” he breathed.

“I knew you’d read it,” Twilight said in his ear. “Not you specifically, mind you. Just whoever picked up my wife’s little book.”

“Oh, don’t tease him,” Rarity said near his other side.

“I’m sorry! I was trying to figure out who it belonged to!” he wailed.

“Oh, we believe you,” Rarity purred. He felt a hand playing with his hair. “I’m very grateful you brought the book back. You’re a kind young man.”

“Would you like this one?” Twilight said. “He’s on the way, as it were. Besides, I think he’s most properly yours.”

Rarity huffed in his ear. “Honestly. I prefer to seduce and woo a bit before, you know that.”

“And I love seeing you work. I’m sorry to spoil your sport, Rarity. But our guest is a bit nervous.”

“Poor dear. I’ll take him.”

They moved too fast for him to run. Twilight released, and then Rarity had spun him around. His back was against the wall, and her body was pressed against him. He swore he could feel every inch of her through the short dress.

She smiled, and he saw her fangs.

“I really am grateful,” she said. “Did you read it?”

He wanted to say no. He desperately needed to say no. A negative answer would save him, somewhere he was sure of this. But as he gazed into her eyes--how they had changed! So dark now, so red, taking up all of his vision--that hope died. No, nothing would spare him. This was a huntress, beautiful as she was savage in her grace. To even be noticed was a blessing.

“Y-yes. Oh, stars, please don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? Darling, dearest! I’d never dream of that. No, not of that.” She chuckled and pet his cheek. “No, this won’t hurt at all. And you will be waking up in your dorm room with a headache and nothing more. No more memories, not even of this. No dreams of me, nor of my beloved. You’ll not want to think about that book, or about this night. Isn’t that nice? And…” She traced a finger down his chest and lowered her voice. “Come now, I knew you were staring at me before. I felt it. My love and I have places to be, but…” she chuckled.

And then she struck, and he lost sight of the world.