The Sickness Unto Death

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.