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